anxiety

Here I go again. I told myself that I shouldn’t write about all of this, but I feel like I really need to. I need to get it out and I need to perhaps get some perspective on things.

After seven weeks of medication experiments that almost went terribly wrong, the despondency and distance are virtually gone (although my memory of them and the sense of despair they instilled in me are still very much with me). There has been a return to kisses hello or good-bye, or even just because I passed him in the hall. There has been a return to laughter and silliness and even to the ruthless tickle-attacks that I missed so much. But over the last several days I have been aware that there is something else. In the evenings he is restless. And last night he finally opened up with me about it. He said he feels like an old man, just coming home each night and doing nothing…that he needs some excitement and danger in his life. To a small degree I feel like I can understand how he is feeling. But I can’t help but be frightened by it as well…like I’m not enough to make him feel satisfied. My logical brain is thinking that while the depression is improving, there is still clearly an issue with anxiety. Since I have experienced anxiety myself I do understand the feeling of discontent and restlessness and the sense that there must be something missing or something *outside* that will make things feel better. I’ve encouraged him to talk to the doctor about it when he sees him next. It may be that there is yet another medication that is warranted, or perhaps some tinkering around with the one he is on.

I wish that I could just wake up and that we would be on the other side of all of this. I told him last night after we had talked that I was feeling upset and helpless about it all. He told me that it is a good thing that we can talk about it, that if we couldn’t then that would be something to worry about. Ugh. Tell that to my stomach, which is an acid mess right now.