After you've gone

About a month ago now, I guess, you moved back to New York. I don't know how things really are going but I hear from you quite frequently and it's nice to know you're still alive. We don't really have conversations - just little pings of quips or photos. Once you said you were feeling stressed and anxious. Other times you reply to my notes about post that had come for you, or send me cute animal photos from Reddit. 

We redecorated your room a little. Swapped the old bed for a new one and got a vintage shelf. Now we play music in that room in the evenings. Unsurprisingly I've decided to leave your blanket and pillow on the bed. I still go there to nap sometimes because I miss the smell of you. 

Walking to the grocery store the other day I thought of how it was when you were living here. Sometimes when I used to see you come out of your room unexpectedly I was still struck by your presence (the color of your hair, the shape of your nose, how you wear a hoody like its a permanent hug). It seems unfair to me that when the sight and thought of you can bring me so much joy, none of that makes a dent to you in your misery. I wish that I could take some of the happiness you bring to me, and make you feel it too.

I know sometimes things were hard and we were both very sad and frustrated. But when I have the presence of mind, I remember that you are not the sum of your problems, overwhelming though they may be. I'm friends with the person who is struggling against all the things he is not.

Once when you first took the medication for acute anxiety you told me that you feel very woozy and might not remember anything later, because it interferes with short term memory. I said well in that case I want you to know that I love you and I've always loved you. You laughed and went back to your room. 

There are times when I don't know if you find my affection for you awkward and/or troublesome, but I think mostly you like being liked (like that time when I called you fat-face and you said unfortunately it's true and I said oh come on, that was clearly a sign of affection and you laughed). 

I also cannot really explain why I should feel so strongly about you, but I'm ok with that. Like you always say, it is what it is - except maybe I say that with acceptance whereas you sometimes say it more so in resignation. It's odd but I've found time and time again that when I feel this way about someone I don't really think it's necessary that my feelings are reciprocated. I just want to be able to express fully how I feel without being a nuisance. It seems that we're ok at this equilibrium. The rest of the time I just want you to be happy again - maybe not today or tomorrow or the day after, but at some point. It would be good to see you smile and laugh and enjoy being your loving, wonderful self.

I still (I think) say goodnight to you every night - just a message. Sometimes I tell you love you or send you a hug or a squish. I don't quite know why it's so important to me, this ritual. Maybe because it's the only thing I can do. Occasionally you write me back but usually not. Once or twice you've written to say you miss us and I promise to visit when the pandemic is through. 

Sometimes my phone shows me photos from the past and every time I see your handsome face I feel a surge of affection and hope that we'll (all of us) be happy again. 

down & up again 2

 A first I thought I was just frustrated and angry with you all the time because PMS, but then my period came and went and even on days when I felt chirpy and upbeat, the sound of you arguing with someone in your room would stress me out immediately. Then I realized that I just have no tolerance left. 

One day I told you that it was really stressing me out and the real problem for me is that we don't see eye to eye on what the issue is. When I ask you to work on what I perceive to be the fundamental, underlying problem, your answer is "I can't", and if that's the case, then I feel like everything will always be worse than it could be, and that I couldn't bear. If the answer was "I'm working on it, give me time", then I would support you forever, but it's not. 

I also felt like things were starting to stagnate. I don't want this to be another place where you tread the same old path and live the same ingrained habits. More than a year ago when you started to call me up to keep me on the phone for hours, I told you that something has to change and maybe you are just burning all your bridges before that can happen. Now I wonder if I am one of those bridges. 

Maybe by keeping you here and cushioning you from the worst effects of your behavior, I'm enabling it, or putting off that moment when you'd either sink or swim? I don't know. Like a lot of other big issues we face, it's not an experiment. There's no re-do, no control group. If it goes badly, I can't hit rewind and try it again. I can't practice it until I get better at it. We agreed that you would start looking for somewhere to move to. I said I wish I could have done something more to help you, and I hope we'd still be friends. You hugged me and said of course we will, and made a joke about how I haven't done such a bad job since you weren't dead yet.

Since then you've gone up to Hamburg for a few days and come back. You started taking anti-depressants about three days ago and seem to be in a generally better mood. I can't help but think that some part of you feels bad for making my life difficult, and is trying your best to be your better self, even though you said you couldn't. Yesterday you made a joke about people shouting yea or nay in the British parliament. Today you came and told me you have another appointment with a psychiatrist. In between there are times when we kid around about something, and you laugh. 

Before bed I still go in to say goodnight and sit with you for a few minutes. I massage your hand or spoon you and stroke your face. Sometimes you start to say something about your problems and I have to gently remind you that we have an agreement. I just want to be able to express my affection for you without having to delve into the things which we are both of us powerless to change. I just want to carve out a little space and time for something else to exist.

Just now I heard you having a long meeting with your colleagues. At the end of it you said something to the effect of how they're always welcome to call you if they need help, because you'd be happy to talk to them. Something about the way you said it (and what you said) - was really you. The you that you are when you are not only the sum of your burdens and your fears. The kind, generous, and gentle person who just wants to help and share and be good to everyone. The person that I miss the most when you are not yourself. 

We haven't set a date for you to move out. I remind myself that just because you've had some good days, it doesn't mean that everything will get better. Perhaps your problems will drag you under again, and I don't know how or if I will be able to cope with that. But every time the real you resurfaces, I'm filled with gratitude, if not hope. I'm suspicious of hope, and I try not to have any expectations, but I'm glad for all those moments when you are not sunk so deep in pain you can't feel anything else. I'm happy every time you approach me to see what I'm doing. I'm happy every time we hug.

I'm still rooting for you.

Down and Up Again

 We had the worst Christmas in my living memory. Usually I don't make a fuss about Christmas. If in Germany we tend to spend in at Julian's parents' house. This year we decided to socially distance and just had a quiet one at home with the household. I bought a tiny little potted tree way back in November. We made cookies and decorated the tree, and everyone made an effort to get some presents. 

I got two books from Julian (one of paintings by Thiebaud, and one is about brush lettering). I gave Julian a pair of headphones much earlier, and then bought and wrapped a MUJI jumper (he was complaining of not having enough warm jumpers to wear). I knitted Sören a big grey and sea foam green mobius strip scarf, since he basically never took off the navy blue one I made for Julian last year. Sören's mum was in touch before Christmas and she decided to get Sören a Bose bluetooth speaker, and a big bottle of nice Scotch for us. Julian got eco friend super mario boxers for Sören, and similarly themed socks for everyone, which I used as stuffed stockings. 

The part that didn't go so well started around the time when M came to visit. I noticed you getting more and more down and frustrated all the time. By the time M left and Christmas came around you were sleeping poorly, barely eating, and pacing all day. When we opened presents you had a little note in an envelope which said that our gift is a KitchenAid and we should choose one. I was so touched and you were crying at least half the time. 

On Christmas day and the following days things got really bad. I would get up in the morning (super early) to have some quiet time to myself, and then spend a few hours sitting with you in your room, trying to calm you enough so that you can at least drift in and out of sleep. Then the day would be spent trying to stop you from getting frantic and hurting yourself. Finally you rushed off to Hamburg.

I worried about you endlessly when you were up in Hamburg. I packed your suitcase and pillow and stuffed some chocolates in your bag. When you arrived you texted "thank you for the chocolates" and I thought that was a good sign, you noticing something outside yourself. But the rest of the time still seemed full of anxiety and defeatism.

You came back yesterday (unannounced), your old self again, and said it was nice to be home, which I was happy to hear. In time maybe you'll start to see this place with us as a home too. Not like the home you had before, when you were married and things were very different, but also a home. A place where you are loved and comfortable. Somewhere where you belong. 

I want to make changes that will impact in the long term so had to sit you down and make you promise that you would get help and get meds so that these periods of intense anxiety and panic wouldn't happen again. This morning you woke up, and seemed fine. Better than you've been in a long time. 

At lunch time I heated up last night's left over lasagna and we ate together. You went back to your room to game some more before starting work. Knowing that you are well, and home, I now feel quite contented. 

A door stop

Today you said something about how some people learn to be hardest on themselves and believe that others must share their own low self-estimation. I hugged you and told you that I think you're wonderful and I like you just as you are. You said that you disagree with me and I said that's where you are wrong. Then I told you that it's only one of the many things you are wrong about, and I can't even begin to list all of them as it would fill an entire hardbound book so heavy you could use it as a door stop. 

A while ago

 A while ago we had the worst fight in ages, mostly because the boiler issue. I get so overwhelmed with anxiety and frustration sometimes and if you go on and keep underlining the worst possible outcome (however likely it may be) I just end up shouting which then sets you off shouting.

To be honest I’ve never had a friend I shouted at/with so much but every time it happens we make it up after, so it’s not (absolutely) a bad thing.

We also did some fun stuff like birthday with homemade chocolate cake, paper crowns, craft beer, and hand knit socks:

and I made you a badge with your nickname on it: 

We had French onion tart, rucola salad, and white wine at dinner, and popped some corn after so we could all watch Arrested Development together.

Over the next few days you were sometimes sad to be alone. But not all the time. 

We also went to the fields and gathered greenery for our advent candles. I got these tiny little mushrooms from Oxfam (along with a bunch of other old decorations). You said that you had them as a kid.

We also baked Julian’s favorite Christmas cookies. The first batch was filled with jam and the second with chocolate ganache.

Today we decided to make some homemade pocky sticks from the NYT food section.

It snowed overnight the other day and everything came up all frosty. It may be the winter of our discontent but I'm happy about the snow. 

A little joy

This morning you slept in but I got up early to put chocolate buns in the oven. Then I went into your room to check why you were still in bed. I sat on the edge of your bed behind you and put my head down on your side. You petted me awkwardly. Then I went to the other side and laid down in front of you. You put your arms around me as I curled up, and I felt that you liked having me there.

We chatted slowly about this and that, the same way we do when I say goodnight (I lie down and pat the bed, you sit down, then I curl up around you like a snail and put my head in your lap. You get up to brush your teeth and walk around mumbling while I wriggle around under the covers). 

Sometimes I get a clear sense that my presence and affection makes you happy and brings out something good. The days right now are so repetitive and the things we do daily over and over feel like small rituals. I want to build new habits - positive expectations of comfort, safety - of freshly baked things and warm meals and someone being there, morning, day, and night.

Because many other things are hard and often bad, without recourse, beyond control or ability to influence. Because all we have to lean on is our goodness to one another. Because it’s good to arrive and throw a tantrum and let it all out and be scooped up and held. And it’s good to be the one to say come here, where I can look after you.

Before you went to take a shower I sat you down and brushed out your hair. Today the server was down for maintenance all day and with nobody to shoot at you were getting agitated and anxious. I like to think that me brushing your hair was ten minutes that were better than the ten minutes before or the ten minutes after. It’s not much, but it’s also everything.

You look very handsome when you are happy.

Sometimes I’m worried

... that I might not make any difference. Sometimes I fear that I might have caught you on your way out. However much I might enjoy talking to you, however much I might wish to know you better, I won’t be able to persuade you to stay. And you would take all the good things with you when you go. (All the good things that are yours alone, that no one else is or could ever be quite the same.)

What I know is

It won’t be as good as before. It’ll be better.