It was his sympathy that unnerved me. When i told him, with barely concealed self pity, about my history of depression ,i was surprised to find, instead of incredulity , a certain compassion. I had thought that by evincing self composure i had waylaid him from his misgivings about me. I felt i concealed quite adroitly. Yet my disclosure seemed to affirm to him something he had already worked out and thought through beforehand. Either, and this remains indeterminate, i was crystallizing his preconception or affirming his doubt.
Over a period of time i began to doubt his compassion itself. He never impugned me or judged me but he demonstrated, in his mien, a certain stoicism that hinted at an unarticulated objurgation. I wasn't behaving embarrassingly. I was carrying out my work , if not fully competently, at least unobjectionably. Granted a torpor beset me at times, an inertia assailed me but i bounced back pretty fast. Throughout it all he was inveterately patient , self effacing and non interfering. These had always seemed to be attributes that augmented my sense of independence. Suddenly they hinted at a detachment,a philosophic dispassion that i found unbearable.
Compassion became condescension, at least in my aegis. His averred impersonality intensified my loneliness. At times i wished for an interchange, a mutual converse so that he didn't inhabit a superior position. I could discern his self righteousness but eschewed pointing it out, fearing that our already growing gulf would become unbridgeable. Besides his own pathology was unbeknownst to him. Any intimation from me would be highly unwelcome and might precipitate an irrevocable sundering. That was what i feared, more than anything else.
There was a phase of depression that lasted three months. I was in a bottomless abyss that seemed unending. I couldn't move, eat or perform ablutions. He ministered to me assiduously but the absence of any emotional interchange, did, in retrospect protract my phase of unhappiness. I was lumpish, an encumbrance and he bore the weight of my distress heroically. At any rate that is what he thought himself to be doing.
But i was tired of this facsimile of a life. I wanted to penetrate his self complacence . I wanted to break through the barricades of his self regard. Would the knowledge attendant on such a course of action be bearable? Could i survive it? Or would we get to a point where we could really talk to each other? This festering uncertainty traumatizes me. I can't find a way around my predicament. A confrontation is unavoidable. It is likely that my latent preconceptions might prove to be true. It is equally likely that i may discover something unexpected and unanticipated. Or i could just walk out, to seek a reprieve from this incessant self doubt.