dilate.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when N made a gross comment about my depression, again, on Friday. It’s par for the course with him. He’s made various remarks in the year+ now that I’ve known him, about how he thought he could “fix” me and about how he doesn’t believe in medication, essentially always implying that if I just tried harder, if I didn’t succumb to it, that I’d be fine. As if my lifelong chronic depression is my fault. So add it to the list when he made another such comment–“I don’t expect this to help you, but it helps me to remember that it could always be worse.”

Of course it could be worse? “It could be worse” is one of the top things NOT to say to someone about their mental health. It’s one of the least helpful things you could possibly say. Of course it could be worse. So now you want me to feel bad that I can’t snap out of it? His misunderstanding of my mental health struggles was one of the biggest issues between us before, so I don’t know why I would have possibly thought he would have learned or evolved any since our split. (Besides the fact that he told me he’d grown and changed so much. Fucking give me a break.) The truth is I don’t want him to do anything about or say anything about my mental health. I just want to not feel dismissed by him about it.

I’m so tired of his bullshit. Ultimately we just won’t ever be compatible in the way that I need. Entertaining this whole “look how much I’ve changed” charade was a waste of my time. I know better than to fall for the dog and pony show, but I did anyway. I always do, with him. He’s just so fucking charming and so goddamn attractive. I can’t believe his charm and his looks can cloud my judgment so severely. I KNOW BETTER.

Everyone else in my life gives me space and understanding about my mental health, and for that I am grateful. It’s been so easy for everyone else to be understanding and patient with me, so it really just has boggled my mind again and again as to why it’s so hard for him to not stick his foot in his mouth. All he had to say was, “I’m sorry you’re struggling, I’m here if you need anything.” The end. And I wouldn’t come to him if I needed anything, so he’d be off the fucking hook anyway. I don’t need anything from him. I don’t need anything from anyone. All I want is to not feel rejected for struggling with my mental health during a global pandemic. It’s not outlandish that I’m having a rougher time than usual. We all are. This isn’t rocket science and it certainly isn’t a moral failing on my part.

I’m not ever going to understand why the things that feel so easy to me seem so catastrophically hard for him. Even just me telling him how I felt dismissed. If someone told me they felt dismissed, I’d earnestly hear them, internalize the feedback, and apologize for any hurt I’d caused. This feels second nature to me. But him? Nah. Doubled down. Told me the solution was to not talk for a while because I always misunderstand him.

This man is 39 years old. Fucking grow up.

It’s like the Ani Difranco song. I see him and I am so unsatisfied. I see him and I dilate.