My Boyfriend, Depression

Noah, My Dearest

Noah woke up the morning I was supposed to go, and held me tight, and I could feel the warmth of his heart calling out to mine, as he was worried for my situation. As I walked out the door, I stopped for a moment to turn back; I looked at him and his eyes screamed out that he loved me and wanted to hear good news when I got back. I smiled, and said, "It'll be okay. I'm sure everything will be just fine." Though I had no idea what was going to happen, I reassured him. His only reply was a smile, as he told me he loved me for what seemed to be one of the last times he meant it. Going to the doctor, I was nervous. They took bloodwork, asked a plethora of questions then sent me to a specialist. The future was already starting to look a little bleak. The specialist had an idea of what was wrong, and when the tests were done; we didn't like the answer. I had the same problem my mother had at my age, and with my genetics, the problem wouldn't be as simple as most people who also had this issue. For me, it could get worse, and develop into cancer. We went to three more specialists to try to get a better answer; only to get the same one every time. I had a few options. I could be put on birth control, which could have other negative effects on me, due to genetics, I could go through surgery to have my entire reproductive system removed, or... I could have a baby.

Being told all of this sunk my heart into my chest. How was I to tell my boyfriend this? I'd barely been with him a year, and I knew he didn't need this kind of thing to be dropped on him. I didn't make any decisions; I had to discuss it with him first. When I walked into the front door, he was already right beside the door waiting. "Noah," I said, taking his hand, leading him to the couch, "we need to talk about this..." and I explained the situation.

He thought for a moment, listening to what I had to say, understanding that I was willing to have a surgery to negate my ability to have children, or let him go, if he wanted, so that he didn't have to deal with it. His beautiful brown-golden-green eyes met mine, and he gave me his answer with a smile, "Let's have a baby."

With tears in my eyes I fell into his arms. I remember that this was the moment our relationship was the strongest. His arms were a sanctuary that I could escape from everything in. As tears rolled down my cheeks, he kissed my forehead, his hands brushing away the salty streams on my cheeks. Finally, our lips met and the weight on my heart was lifted, and at that moment, I knew he was the one. Depression, who had been prepared to walk right back into my life, stood in the corner of the room with his arms crossed. He was angry, and wanted me to know it. I was able to ignore his existence for quite some time. Noah and I grew ever closer as we tried our best to make a child—to no avail. Eventually, we were both put on fertility treatments, which didn't work. As time went on, we started to get into stupid fights, and we'd bicker over nothing.

The fights were always so... stupid. He didn't like the way my mother talked to me that day, or he didn't like that I was playing video games all the time, and wanted me to spend time with him and his friends, but then when I did do that, he said I was being too clingy. I didn't know what to do anymore. Depression hovered next to me constantly, trying to get my attention, which I refused him as best as I could. Every now and again, he'd be able to numb me, and take over like he used to. Noah would always be furious when he saw cuts on my arms that I didn't recall putting there.

As time went on, his expectations of me twisted and changed. I could barely have fun anymore. Sex was no longer passionate, or about us trying to make a child, it became about him getting off, then going for a smoke. Fun was me sitting with him quietly while he smoked, touching him only when he wanted to gloat about having a significant other—slave. I spoke only when spoken to, and the last time I recall having any real fun prior to him hitting me... was the day he touched me violently the first time. He'd put his arms around me, and I put my teeth on him—I didn't bite, I just placed them there, and he snapped my neck. My body went limp and fell over for a few seconds... I couldn't feel a thing; I couldn't MOVE a thing. Depression whispered to me, "Sweetheart, is this really the one you love?" and my eyes watered as I regained my ability to move, and sat up. He held me, kissed me, swore it would never happen again.

But... then at a party a few months later, I joined him and had a few drinks, by his request. I don't recall much, just that I was with him and his friends, and I'd made a joke with one of them, and he grabbed me by the arm hard enough to leave bruises and tugged me, knowing I'd injured my ankle a few moments prior, making me fall to the ground. As I fell, he still pulled my arm, making it twist... I fell to the floor in pain. My ex, Cody, who was standing nearby, approached me, shoving Noah away, "back off, Noah. If you touch her, I will fucking kill you," he said, cradling me in his arms, carrying me up the stairs to my bed. "Where did he hurt you?" Cody sounded like he was suddenly homicidal—a side I'd never seen in him before. "Did he fucking hit you?" His eyes were filled with a rage I could never have imagined in him, my hands taking his.

"No, he didn't. I'm fine..." I could feel myself stuttering a bit, as Noah entered the room, his expression blank. "Cody, would you give us a minute?" I requested, as Cody glared at Noah for a moment, getting up, and slowly walking out of the room.

"Let me know if you need anything," Cody said, shutting the door behind himself.

The broken Noah who entered the room sat on the bed beside me, and we sat in silence for a moment before he broke out into tears, apologizing over and over. I pulled his head to my chest, and ran my fingers through his hair, comforting him. We talked it out, and from that point on, things seemed to go back to the way they once were like again; happy.