Friday, July 29, 2011

Maybe It's Nothing

I think he's depressed.

He seems happy enough, usually, although it's almost a manic kind of happiness. But behind it, there's sadness, always sadness. It clings to him like fog clings to a lonely shoreline, seeming to disappear when the bright sun breaks through, but always returning with the darkness of night. Sometimes it comes out anger, sometimes bitterness, but really, it's always sadness.

She's part of it, I'm sure of that. He doesn't talk about it, but every once in a while it seeps through. He's angry at her, he's angry at the other man, the grown man who should have known better--they both should have known better--and she, like a child whose mother has left the room in frustration, sits confused by his withdrawal.

He's hard for me to pin down. He's friendly and talkative, but it's difficult to make a real connection. I think it's a problem of passion. When he loves, he loves wholly and passionately and with complete abandon, and when he hurts, he hurts deeply and permenantly. Middle-ground relationships are difficult.

Maybe I should say, Cheer up. You've got so much going for you. You're amazing and capable and you don't need to do this to yourself. The alcohol doesn't help the way you think it does. Throw it away and embrace life and love and be happy.

That's easy for me to say. My adult life has been charmed. Everything I should want--love, family, children, money, education--has just fallen into my lap.

But even with all that, I'm still sometimes consumed by depression. I just hit the coffee cup instead of the beer bottle. We're both just trying to make it through the day, trying to find that elusive, fickle thing called happiness.

I hope he finds some.

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