Today I'm concerned about my husband. I have a chronic depressive illness, but unless I've missed it before, I've never seen him depressed. Well, he's depressed. He even said it. He, who cannot put a name on his feelings. He, who when asked what emotion he felt in a certain situation will answer instead with what action he took, because the word "feel" doesn't compute.

He had called me on his lunch hour at work, as he always does, and I caught it in his voice. I observed that he sounded depressed, and he acknowledged that he is. Later, when he came home, he noted that although he thinks he has to do everything around here and nobody's helping, he realizes that's not realistic because we're all doing the best we can do. "I have to do everything around here," is merely the thought he has because he's depressed. He actually used that word, "I'm depressed."

And I find myself doing all the wrong things. Thinking I should be able to do something to fix it and cheer him up. Feeling frustrated because whatever it is he needs, I can't provide it. Begging him to be happy because I love him, when I know it's not about that. These are automatic responses because I know how much depression hurts, and I absolutely hate the thought of him feeling that.

Last night, when he was telling me how frustrated he was over a certain situation, I (wrong move!) asked him what he wanted from me. He darn near cried. "I don't want anything from you." High pitch, tight voice. The most emotion I've ever heard from him. Understand, he's not a crier. Normally he's stoic and unemotional. Sometimes I compare him to a Vulcan. If he's showing me that he's in pain, he's in a LOT of pain. I just hugged him.

When the shoe is on the other foot, I know there's nothing anybody can fix to make me suddenly happy again. I know that being told to be happy is not at all helpful. Yet all I want to do is fix it, and I suppose that's how others feel when I'm depressed too.