Today I have a visitor. It will soon be time for me to go home. Where that is I have yet to figure out exactly, but I am on my way. But for today I am focused solely on one thing – my time with Jackson.
I haven’t seen Jackson since I came here. So much has happened that I don’t really know how it will be. It must now be obvious to him that I am not that strong, artistic, witty older woman he fell for. Instead he must know that I was in fact the opposite, tired and weak and lost. But I have reached a point where I don’t care anymore what people think. Take me as I am or don’t take me at all. Being otherwise nearly killed me.
But things are unresolved with Jackson and it is important that I see him. And that he sees me. It is especially important because I now know that he was the one who brought me here. He is the one who rescued me from myself. He loved me enough to rush me to the hospital. He was worried enough to call Joel. And selfless enough to leave before Joel arrived.
He hasn’t seen me since that day and I know he needs to. He needs to know that I am OK or at least on my way. And I need to see him. I just do.
As I wait patiently in the lounge I think about what he will see when he arrives and a quiet smile forms on my lips. I am dressed in too-big jeans and a t-shirt. I am terribly thin. My normally bright, blonde hair is dull, gray roots peaking through. I wear no make-up, only lip balm to fend off the dry hospital air. But I am calm and confident. I sit tall.
And then there he is. Tall and dark and wonderful. Tears brim in his eyes as he looks at me and I can’t help myself. I rise and we grab hold of each other. His sobs smothered in my shoulder. It occurs to me after a while that he is the first person, aside from my kids, that I have held unselfconsciously in a very long time.
“I was so damn scared.” He whispers.
“I know. I am so sorry.” I say soothingly.
We sit forever. Close to each other. At ease together. He talks and I listen. He asks me questions but not too many and not the hard ones. I am amazed at how strong I feel. How unfazed and clear headed. I don’t think too hard about the past or the future. I just enjoy his company. I don’t try too hard to be myself. For the first time in my life I just am.
* Joel = husband, in this 2nd post. Both pseudonyms starting with J make for editing mistakes.
* Joel = meant ‘Jackson’ , the other man
You misrepresent depression too. Taking it up as an excuse and your banner for you’re destructive choices makes me really write you off. I manage a lifelong depression, as do other women, and your causal uptake of psychiatric therapy (plus a psych hospital stay) misrepresents the honest admission and the continual work that a depressed person must do to manage their mood disorder. I don’t cheat on my husband because I’m depressed. I would cheat on my husband because my expectations of him in our marriage are fantasy that never work in reality. Your kids too are fine having a nanny. Your expectations are again screwy about your ideas of motherhood. Even the most involved moms get assistance by au pairs, nannies, parents, or siblings. You believe you would be happier if you didn’t have a nanny, a night nurse, and any other help? You wouldn’t. Instead you would be writing drivel on this website about how hard worked you are in your duties to you kids (plus house cleaning, and laundry btw), and you would be cheating on Joel because you’re the overworked housewife. So you’re destructive because of your screwy beliefs. In any life, you would still find reasons to hurt the family members who are involved with you. Be an adult now and admit your errors and grow up from them.
You’re still whining and pining about your life? Now you’re writing us drivel & crap that Joel is selfless plus you’re telling us your revelatory motto of “Take me as I am or don’t take me at all. Being otherwise nearly killed me.” Oh please. You’re an idiot and a destructive one. The people I will take as they are will be your cheated on Joel, who happened to visit you almost everyday while you were in the psych hospital. Your kids are the dears who have my sympathy. But you. You stink. I really don’t care who here writes in your defense. You are very destructive of those family members who are involved with you – – the psychiatrists don’t get hurt because it’s their job to assist you in getting out of your destructive funk.