The other half and I got into a major, major fight on Sunday over something so small and petty I can't bear to think about it. What I do have to remember though, is how completely irrational I was and how, even though I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, see how much I was hurting him, and know I probably looked and sounded like a teenager, I wasn't able to do a single thing about it.
It's mad, this depression. It makes you do and say things you'd never have dreamt of doing before. After the fight, when things were calmer and we'd agreed to talk about what had happened, I asked Mike whether he liked me anymore. He said no. He told me he loves me still, but he doesn't really like me much these days. And who can blame him? I'm a complete misery and I pick on him mercilessly. I'm on a deadline with a copyediting project at the moment, so I asked him to take care of Owen and a few things around the house on Sunday so I could work in peace upstairs. At 1pm he was still playing video games, so I sat on the stairs and reminded him of our agreement: he works during the week, I work weekends. He apologized and once I'd gone back upstairs he got to work.
The thing is, Mike's brain works differently to mine. In my mind, the things we needed doing were for the benefit of our Book Club guests coming over that night. That meant clean bathrooms, vacuumed floors and tidy rooms. In Mike's mind it meant ripping up the rest of the kitchen linoleum because he was embarrased it was still there. Which created more mess, which meant everything was still in transition at 5.30pm when I needed to be in the kitchen preparing food. So we fought. And I was irrational. In fact, I was completely off my fucking head because he asked me to get something out of his car (a shop-vac, brought home from work to vacuum large splinters and particles safely), and I STORMED out to get it, STORMED back inside, threw the thing on the floor and slammed the door behind me. The reason? I was cooking and even though he was shirtless and shoeless and it was below freezing outside, I didn't want to be interrupted.
If I weren't depressed, I would never, ever have behaved that way. Getting something out of the car to help out my partner would have been second nature, and once everything had blown over and we were like old times yesterday, I would have done it for him again in a heartbeat. But when I'm in that moment, and the cloudiness is fogging my brain, it's really, really hard to see and behave clearly. I have no idea how to change things, either. It's like I'm watching myself on a screen somewhere, half the time. I know I'm hurting Mike and I know I'm simply terrible to live with, but I just don't know how to stop it. How do you stop a runaway train?