The Non-Dad Stuff

Sarah and I continued to hang out almost every day. We eventually started keeping a spare toothbrush at each of our apartments. I told her that I loved her before she said it to me, and she actually didn’t say it for another month or so. When she did finally say those three words, she was so embarrassed that she ran away from me. I had to chase her through her parents’ house and into her sister’s room, where she finally conceded that I was her boyfriend.

Sarah was offered a job in Fort Wayne, Indiana about a month later. We still had two apartments and were technically living separately, but spent most nights together. If we went to Fort Wayne, we’d move in together. If we stayed, we’d continue business as usual. Sarah told me that she wanted to try it out but if I didn’t want to move down there, she would stay. I wasn’t unhappy in my current job, but was becoming less and less enthused with it. Contrary to my doctor’s advice on what was healthy for me, I told Sarah that I would move with her. Sarah took the position and, for the first time in my adult life, I became dependent on another person.

After the move, I printed off fifty copies of my résumé, put on a suit, grabbed a map and went on the hunt. Unfortunately for the sake of this story, I can’t remember how long it took me to find a job, but it was somewhere between two and six weeks. I’m actually inclined to say it was much less than that even.

I found a doctor in Fort Wayne who changed my meds again. This newest Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor, aside from a very common – and very unfortunate – side effect, brought along some new ones that I was unprepared for. Soon after taking my prescribed dosage, I found myself strung-out, for lack of a better term. I was high-energy, couldn’t focus and would sometimes ramble on and on, jumping from one topic to another. Later, I would feel empty and want to hurt myself. The strange thing about it, to me, was that it wasn’t a depressed "I want to end the pain" thing. Instead, it was as if I just had a NEED to hurt myself. To Sarah and my co-workers who, on many occasions asked "what was wrong" with me, I joked about my behavior and told them I felt great. Truthfully, I was terrified. My doctor dismissed my concerns and said I needed to give the meds more time to stabilize in my system.

I became more and more irrational and distant from Sarah. I lost my temper at a moments notice and would shout insults at her. Sometimes, she would return my shouts, but not to throw insults. She just wanted me to hear her. Most times, though, she would tell me that she didn’t understand what was going on with me.

The day I told Sarah that I was moving out, I immediately wanted to take it back, but didn’t. With her unflinching desire to help me and care for me, she put aside her anger and pain and rented an apartment to me in an adjacent building. She helped me pack, she helped me move my stuff, and she helped me unpack. Then she told me she couldn’t bear to be in contact with me anymore because it hurt too much.

At that very instant, it all became real. I had been walking down this path for months, but never stopped to look around and figure out just where in the hell I was. When I finally moved my eyes from the tips of my toes to really draw in my surroundings, I found myself in a new apartment. All alone. How did I let it get this far? And quite frankly, how could I have fucked things up this bad?

Three days later, I begged Sarah to take me back. She refused. I hurt her too badly and for too long for her to take me back just because I "didn’t like being alone for one weekend," especially since I left her alone for months. Her words cut deep. Again, I asked her to take me back, and again she declined. I asked her for something, anything, because I couldn’t accept losing her. Mercifully, she relented a bit, and told me that she wouldn’t take me back, but she would give me a chance to prove myself to her. I gratefully accepted and set to work rebuilding what I had carelessly ruined.

Without even a courtesy call to my doctor, I stopped taking my meds. The information sheet warned – heavily – against discontinuing use without properly weaning down the dosage. My mind and emotions endured two weeks of utter hell while dealing with withdrawal symptoms. Eventually, the fog in my head cleared, and my emotions were once again "felt".

I still have bouts of depression every few months. I tell Sarah that I’m feeling down and she understands. She hugs me more, she tells me she loves me more and she waits for me to feel better. I feed off of her words and support while I wait for the darkness to pass.