Sitting side by side, four days away from our one year anniversary, we looked out at our daughter playing on her swing set and then back at each other.
The words sat on the tip of my tongue but were so hard to get out.
But he knows me so well.
I had spent the last four days in bed from what felt like a cold and was a cold but was also the pull of depression weighing me down and yanking me further and further into the dark.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit it.
“I’m sinking…” was all I could get out before the tears started to well.
I felt like a failure and was overwhelmed with the urge to run inside and go back under the covers where I felt safest.
He grabbed my hand and held tight, reassuring me, and then reminding me that this wasn’t the first battle I’d been through, nor had it just started. He took me back weeks to where I had been bed ridden, sad, negative, agitated, and depressed but unwilling to see the signs.
He reminded me of my PCOS, another contributing factor to my depression that I had forgotten about in my obsessing over bipolar and how much I hated “working through it” all of the time, and helped me see that we were on the right road to getting that fixed.
A healthier me.
Had I kept all of my emotions in I would have continued to sink into the depths of sorrow that I was loathing in for days, worried that he would be upset with me.
When in fact he knew all along.
Communication is key in a marriage.
Something I had forgotten.
And now we’re on the road to getting me better… the fight is on again.
But for him, it never stopped.