I wish I had found this book, this board five years ago when it all started. In hindsight, I would say that my husband was susceptible for developing
depression and at times, when events occurred, he would self medicate (i.e., smoking, drinking). But it never got too bad, lasted too long or gotten to the
point where he was manic…until.
I say he was susceptible because there is a history of depression in his family. His brother and his niece (from another brother) are both on meds for their depression. His mother use to turn to the bottle when she was younger. Her mother committed suicide. So along that line, either through genetics or through environment, there is that link.
His depression manifested itself when he was injured on the job and could no longer be in that line of work. In the military and civilian world he worked as a bomb tech and a police officer. A back injury while on a government contract would prevent him from ever going back into that line of work. It may not seem like a big deal, retrain, adjust, go on. But for him, his job, his ability to do that kind of work and be good at it was a large part of his identity.
There was a lot of frustration which fed his depression. He couldn't get proper care under a workers comp system. Once we were able to get him off the WC system and onto private insurance, we had to start all over again. He went from an active man in his mid thirties, to needing help getting around with the use of a cane. They put him on pain management, which included morphine, he chose not to take it. His new doctor gave him what seemed to him a death sentence, that he wouldn't be able to go back to his line of work.
I saw the signs before this, the stress. We were having issues with our marriage. At some point the problems were my fault, then they were his. Emotionally that time was a rollercoaster. When the doctor baulked at performing surgery on his back, and told him he would never be a cop again, that was the day I saw the complete collapse. I came home to find him sitting in the dark, the gun on the nightstand, him playing Pink Floyd over and over again. I sent my daughter down to the neighbors and refused to leave him alone. Eventually he got past that and the doctor agreed to perform the surgery, fusing the disc's in his lower back.
After the surgery and the rehab, the pain went away and he set it in his mind that he would prove the doctor wrong, that he would be able to do the work he did. And he did. He took a contract job in bomb disposal that took him to Iraq. The one thing I didn't know, something he read to me in his journal after he returned, was that he was going to be the man he once was, or die trying.
After he returned, there were a lot of factors that drove him into a deeper depression, one that he couldn't pull himself out of. Money started getting low in the savings, we were relying just on my paycheck. We tried setting him up in a business of his own, that failed, mostly because there wasn't deemed a need in it where we lived. All the resumes he sent out went without responses.
It took a suicide attempt for him to realize he hit rock bottom and needed to get help. Our marriage still continued to teeter but I realized at that time, it wasn't personal, it was the depression. The good days were loving and there was laughter, the bad days were nothing less then nightmares, they weren't mine they were his despair.
We got him an appointment and the psychiatrist gave him drugs, but the drugs were worse then his depression. They made him sick, very sick. There were times in the early morning hours that I'd find him banging his head off of the wall, then he'd curl up as I held him and tried to reassure him. We finally got him off of those particular drugs and onto a new script, they seem to work better. He went through numerous psychologists who didn't seem to work for him. He nearly gave up again. Figured I'd be better off without him, that he'd be a burden to me.
In the process I learned his triggers, what set him off. A lot of times, it would be our monetary situation. His self worth hit rock bottom. He'd go days without showering, the drinking got heavier, he'd stay up late at night and sleep a lot during the day, I couldn't get him out of the house. The late nights were always the worse, there were no distractions. It seemed to him that all hope was gone. For me, I tried going about my life. It wasn't as bad as before, without his meds, but there were still times that he'd fall into despair.
There was a slight turning point, when they accepted him into the states vocational rehabilitation training. It helped a bit. To him, there was still hope. He accepted things he couldn't change. They helped him find a psychologist who actually acknowledged that losing the ability to do the job that he once did was losing a part of his identity. His pdoc was the first one to think that he may have, ptsd, which was driving the depression.
For me, I found my outlets outside of our relationship. I started writing poetry, I started blogging. I blogged about his depression, I blogged about sports and found laughter outside of the marriage. I had long ago learned not to take it personally, learned to find his triggers. I found ways to reduce my stress. In the times he felt like I would be better off without him, I reminded him (and myself) that I'd be doing the same things whether or not he was there.
When he applied for an actual job training program and it seemed to take forever to get a response, I brought in kittens. The cats have been the best therapy for him (and me) that we've had in a long time. He's in the training now, but there are still times. Like the morning I woke up to find him asleep at my feet. He had told me, reluctantly, that he had thought about suicide again and that he fell asleep where he did because it brought him comfort.
I've learned to quit looking into the future and just take things day by day. In the process I've felt like I've gone through hell and back with my husband. He had asked me once, why I hadn't left and I just told him that I realized he had a disease and if I wouldn't abandon him if he were suffering from cancer, I wasn't going to abandon him during this. It's been hell, and I'm sure it's not over with or ever will be. I know three things. One I can't save him, only support him. Two, he's the only one who can make himself better or worse. Three, it's not personal.
The worse part for me wasn't his episodes but that I felt so alone at times. There was no one I could talk to who understood. I guess, in hindsight, I should have found a therapist myself, and I probably still will. I won't deny that there's resentment and I can't say where my marriage will be in a week, a month, a year from now.
I say he was susceptible because there is a history of depression in his family. His brother and his niece (from another brother) are both on meds for their depression. His mother use to turn to the bottle when she was younger. Her mother committed suicide. So along that line, either through genetics or through environment, there is that link.
His depression manifested itself when he was injured on the job and could no longer be in that line of work. In the military and civilian world he worked as a bomb tech and a police officer. A back injury while on a government contract would prevent him from ever going back into that line of work. It may not seem like a big deal, retrain, adjust, go on. But for him, his job, his ability to do that kind of work and be good at it was a large part of his identity.
There was a lot of frustration which fed his depression. He couldn't get proper care under a workers comp system. Once we were able to get him off the WC system and onto private insurance, we had to start all over again. He went from an active man in his mid thirties, to needing help getting around with the use of a cane. They put him on pain management, which included morphine, he chose not to take it. His new doctor gave him what seemed to him a death sentence, that he wouldn't be able to go back to his line of work.
I saw the signs before this, the stress. We were having issues with our marriage. At some point the problems were my fault, then they were his. Emotionally that time was a rollercoaster. When the doctor baulked at performing surgery on his back, and told him he would never be a cop again, that was the day I saw the complete collapse. I came home to find him sitting in the dark, the gun on the nightstand, him playing Pink Floyd over and over again. I sent my daughter down to the neighbors and refused to leave him alone. Eventually he got past that and the doctor agreed to perform the surgery, fusing the disc's in his lower back.
After the surgery and the rehab, the pain went away and he set it in his mind that he would prove the doctor wrong, that he would be able to do the work he did. And he did. He took a contract job in bomb disposal that took him to Iraq. The one thing I didn't know, something he read to me in his journal after he returned, was that he was going to be the man he once was, or die trying.
After he returned, there were a lot of factors that drove him into a deeper depression, one that he couldn't pull himself out of. Money started getting low in the savings, we were relying just on my paycheck. We tried setting him up in a business of his own, that failed, mostly because there wasn't deemed a need in it where we lived. All the resumes he sent out went without responses.
It took a suicide attempt for him to realize he hit rock bottom and needed to get help. Our marriage still continued to teeter but I realized at that time, it wasn't personal, it was the depression. The good days were loving and there was laughter, the bad days were nothing less then nightmares, they weren't mine they were his despair.
We got him an appointment and the psychiatrist gave him drugs, but the drugs were worse then his depression. They made him sick, very sick. There were times in the early morning hours that I'd find him banging his head off of the wall, then he'd curl up as I held him and tried to reassure him. We finally got him off of those particular drugs and onto a new script, they seem to work better. He went through numerous psychologists who didn't seem to work for him. He nearly gave up again. Figured I'd be better off without him, that he'd be a burden to me.
In the process I learned his triggers, what set him off. A lot of times, it would be our monetary situation. His self worth hit rock bottom. He'd go days without showering, the drinking got heavier, he'd stay up late at night and sleep a lot during the day, I couldn't get him out of the house. The late nights were always the worse, there were no distractions. It seemed to him that all hope was gone. For me, I tried going about my life. It wasn't as bad as before, without his meds, but there were still times that he'd fall into despair.
There was a slight turning point, when they accepted him into the states vocational rehabilitation training. It helped a bit. To him, there was still hope. He accepted things he couldn't change. They helped him find a psychologist who actually acknowledged that losing the ability to do the job that he once did was losing a part of his identity. His pdoc was the first one to think that he may have, ptsd, which was driving the depression.
For me, I found my outlets outside of our relationship. I started writing poetry, I started blogging. I blogged about his depression, I blogged about sports and found laughter outside of the marriage. I had long ago learned not to take it personally, learned to find his triggers. I found ways to reduce my stress. In the times he felt like I would be better off without him, I reminded him (and myself) that I'd be doing the same things whether or not he was there.
When he applied for an actual job training program and it seemed to take forever to get a response, I brought in kittens. The cats have been the best therapy for him (and me) that we've had in a long time. He's in the training now, but there are still times. Like the morning I woke up to find him asleep at my feet. He had told me, reluctantly, that he had thought about suicide again and that he fell asleep where he did because it brought him comfort.
I've learned to quit looking into the future and just take things day by day. In the process I've felt like I've gone through hell and back with my husband. He had asked me once, why I hadn't left and I just told him that I realized he had a disease and if I wouldn't abandon him if he were suffering from cancer, I wasn't going to abandon him during this. It's been hell, and I'm sure it's not over with or ever will be. I know three things. One I can't save him, only support him. Two, he's the only one who can make himself better or worse. Three, it's not personal.
The worse part for me wasn't his episodes but that I felt so alone at times. There was no one I could talk to who understood. I guess, in hindsight, I should have found a therapist myself, and I probably still will. I won't deny that there's resentment and I can't say where my marriage will be in a week, a month, a year from now.





