My partner has been struggling pretty much since 2020 – the usual
suspects, anxiety at first, then depression, then very bad depression,
then substance use issues. He was recently diagnosed with adhd, which
makes a lot of sense, and is a good thing b...
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My partner has been struggling pretty much since 2020 – the usual
suspects, anxiety at first, then depression, then very bad depression,
then substance use issues. He was recently diagnosed with adhd, which
makes a lot of sense, and is a good thing because it means he can get
medication that could be life-changing. I really hope it is, and I know
he really, really hopes it is. I don’t even know how to start to talk
about how I’m feeling. I feel stressed. I feel overwhelmed. I feel
emotionally tapped out. I feel bad to admit that I am relieved when he
leaves the house, and bummed out when he comes home. The
unpredictability of his moods has left me feeling like I can’t relax,
can hardly think about anything else. It feels a bit like what I read in
this book once, that a partner said about their mentally ill spouse –
when they’re in the room, there’s no oxygen left for me. I just… feel so
totally burned out. I’ve tried to tell them. But it’s not easy to do –
or hear. They’ve described themselves as being in survival mode, just
trying to make it through the day, and feeling as though they’re in the
lowest point of their lives. They see light at the end of the tunnel
with the prospect of medication – the gravity of everything being put on
medication working is a thought a bit too terrifying for me to consider
fully. Today I told them I'm overwhelmed, I feel tapped out. I think
they took it as I’m just tired today. What I didn’t tell them, and
probably never could, is that I'm barely able to hear them talk about
themselves anymore. It’s all day. Every day. Every hour. I feel like a
round-the-clock coach or therapist. There are no breaks. There are
sometimes break-throughs, and these initially sparked so much relief and
hope in me. But I’ve been on the rollercoaster so long now, that I just
feel exhausted all of the time. It's this, every day, on rotation, like
a stuck record playing happy, sad, angry, hopeful, and hopeless songs at
total random: “I hate my life, I don’t want to be alive.” “I’m going to
do great things one day.” “I don’t care about anything, I don’t like
anything, everything is boring and I just want to be put to sleep.” “I’m
feeling pretty good right now.” “Why me?” “I appreciate everything you
do for me, and I’m sorry.” His words have gravity, even when they don't
– every interaction is filled with so much weight, and I want to cry at
the pressure.