The clock is ticking.

Mental illness runs in my family.

Depression being the main culprit for most of us. The history isn't as important as the effect is has had. I myself have trudged through years of antidepressants hoping to see the sunshine more often then the clouds.
 Three years ago I had a pretty severe back injury. I had two surgeries on my back in 5 months, 16 months of physical therapy, wore a bone stimulator belt 4 hours a day for 6 months, have had steroid spinal injections, blah, blah, blah and the damn thing still won't work right. Probably a Wal-Mart back with no extended warranty.
I suppose you think this blog is about me. It's not. It's about my best friend. The man who has walked this long unbearable road with me and some how got lost along the way. Sadly I was so stuck in my own sad life with the loss of my life as I knew it that I didn't really see the disappearance of my husband until he was truly gone.
A month ago today my husband packed a bag and walked out. Not a big bag. A sad little small bag. Even at the end he didn't have enough energy to pack a lot of stuff for himself. He walked out not because he didn't love us. He actually walked out because he loved us so much he couldn't bare to hurt us one more day. Obviously this HAS hurt me. It's pretty hard to feel abandoned and not feel hurt.
I have struggle for a month trying to understand how his depression is different then mine. Sadly it is and it has been for a very, very, very long time.
 It's not all the same that is why it is so hard to treat not to mention the times where we all feel GOOD so we figure we are cured and take ourselves off the meds just to end up throwing a full can of pop at our spouses head sometime down the road. No I wont tell you that story.
As I am trying to keep my own head above the water right now and it is truly becoming a difficult task to hold onto a life preserver for my husband in hopes that sometime soon he will actually grab it and trust that I DO have enough strength and faith to help us both climb out of shit stew we have been calling our life for a long time.
I have spent the past month watching from a very long distance as to whether he is getting the help he needs or whether I will have a cop show up on my door to give me the news that he lost the grip of that life preserver I was holding onto. Honestly at this point I don't think I would answer the door so I hope no one wants to serve me with papers anytime soon because they can all just kiss my ass at this point.... I am not answering it. I may wave at you through the glass but that door isn't opening.
He had started therapy, did see a medical doctor, did get a new type of antidepressant along with some Xanax to help him calm down before he wigs out and becomes unemployed. He has been trying but this journey took a long time to reach the bottom of the barrel so it will probably take a long time to come up for air. While I wait I can almost hear the clock ticking loudly because this illness at this stage is a race against the clock.
I'm sure some of you are saying commit him. I would love to send him to and let him rest for awhile but I don't even know where he lives right now. I also don't know where he is hiding because he has had some enlightening thought that has told him to go out in the woods and spend 3 or 4 days to become one with himself. So he is a grown man hiding in the woods....and yet I still hold this life preserver...while I tread water.
Today my arms are tired...so very tired.