“Michael?”
I moved closer to my husband. He was on his stomach, his face a mottled purple. It was morning and I thought he might have passed out drunk the night before. Maybe he had alcohol poisoning.
“Michael.”
I shook him. Nothing.
Again. Still no movement.
His body was stiff, arms stretched overhead.
I checked his neck for a pulse and it felt warm, but I couldn’t detect a pulse. Still, his neck was turned toward his shoulder — maybe I just wasn’t feeling for it in the right place.
Imagine that you live with two horrible roommates. They disrespect your space, your time, and your relationships. They barge in at all hours of the day, leaving a mess in their wake that you have to clean up. Neither of them are particularly nice to you, and their constant belittling and berating makes you doubt every optimistic thought that crosses your mind. To top it all off, you’re stuck there. You can never move. You’re permanently trapped under the same roof as this irredeemable duo. It’s forever.
If you’re in the same boat as me, you really don’t have to work hard to imagine. I’ve always likened having depression and anxiety to being stuck sharing a home with a pair of bullies. They aren’t always around — in fact, sometimes I get nice long breaks while one or the other skips town for a bit — but it’s still their house, and they always come home.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén