To preface this week’s most humble of offerings, what I’m going to write about will be written with full consent of all parties involved and the full oversight of Tina, my editor-in-chief, wife, and woman for whom enough superlatives have not been invented.
Because this week it’s not about her, it’s about me.
Double Trouble
Long term sufferers of this blog will possibly know that Tina has her battles with mental health. She suffers from both depression and anxiety, never the friendliest of bedfellows, and, at this precise moment, is having somewhat of a difficult time, triggered, in the main, by the increasing decline of her mother, Gwen, a lovely lady who suffers from Vascular Dementia.
But, as I say, this isn’t about Tina
Because, at Tina’s prompting during our weekly discussion regarding what I should pour forth upon, she suggested I should write about the experience of someone who lives with, and cares for, someone with her particular maladies.
So here goes.
Signs Of The Times
I think the main thing that I have learned in our thirteen years of marriage has been to recognise certain signs. It can be quite subtle, and a lot of it is stuff I might not pick up on if it were anyone I’m not as close to.
There’s a quietness, a removedness, that creeps in when the black dog is pawing at the door. There’s also a distinct lack of focus that is a sure sign that her anxiety levels are high. The channel on the T.V. will be changed and changed and changed again. The first ten to fifteen minutes of a show or a film will be played before being abandoned in favour of a search for something else. Something that will often focus on people going through traumatic events of their own, possibly as a way of normalising such struggles, making her feel less like an odd one out. Possibly as a way to minimise her internal struggles by concentrating on other people’s more external woes. Or, quite possibly, and as with most things, I could just be talking complete crap.
So what do I do?
Well, generally I take a watching brief until the constant doomscrolling of medical emergencies, people in poverty, and other such ‘reality’ programming starts to impact my mental health and divert me from whatever online activity I’ve chosen (one of us tends to have the telly, the other the internet). At that point I will implore her, in the most polite manner, to ‘just bloody choose something’, or suggest she does some painting (an activity that engrosses her attention enough to minimise at least some of the internal chatter).
Getting Physical
In the main, I see my role as a support function. I’m there to lean on. To understand, however imperfectly. To try my best to be non-judgemental and even tempered. I’ve learned that walking on eggshells doesn’t work. A slip will still happen. A word, A well meaning suggestion. Sometimes bluntness is better. Sometimes silence. Sometimes it doesn’t matter.
There have been times that have tested our relationship to the Nth degree. The time I threw away every sharp knife in the house. The helplessness I experienced as she used her nails to put physical shape to her internal war at the expense of her skin. There have been arguments. There have been tears. There has been a growing understanding of mental health and the reality that conditions like depression and anxiety aren’t simply things to ‘get over’ they’re real, physical illnesses. An imbalance of brain chemistry often caused, informed, or reinforced by trauma (as I say I’m no doctor, but this is my understanding). As concrete as my MS or Spina Bifida, and like those two conditions, management protocols can be implemented. Help can be sought.
Sharing Is Caring
Do I fail in my small part in these endeavours? Frequently. Will I ever stop trying? No! Because life is a journey, and Tina is my chosen travelling companion. A companion I choose again with every new day. We both have our issues in life. Mine are more obviously physical. Tina’s more capable of remaining hidden (and that is such a part of mental health. The secrecy it engenders in those who suffer from it. The unearned shame).
We tend to compliment each other pretty well, Tina and I. Where one is strong, the other is weak and vice versa. A bit like those weather doohickies where the man emerges in the rain and the woman in the sun. We complement each other. We work, through sunshine and through storms, we work.
So, yes, living with someone with mental health issues can be difficult. It requires understanding, sacrifice, and support. A degree of watchfulness. Consideration. A forethought that doesn’t always come naturally to me. But, at the end of the day, isn’t that what a relationship should be?
Until next time!
#
Hey, there! If you enjoyed reading any of the above, why not take a look at some of my published work? Below you’ll find links to a number of short stories I’m lucky enough to have included in anthologies. I’d love to know what you think.
New Tales Of Old
Death Ship
Pestilence: Drabbles 1
Reaperman: Drabbles 3
The Musketeers Vs Cthulhu
Eldritch Investigations
No comments:
Post a Comment