TUBBY HUBBY
Not th man I marrie
Was there any way back for my husband and me?
H
urrying the kids upstairs, I turned to my husband Darren, then 46. As usual, he was sitting slumped in the armchair. Staring at the TV like a zombie, he had a glass of wine in one hand, a pack of sausage rolls in the other. ‘Are you coming?’ I asked him hopefully. ‘Later,’ he said to me, barely looking away from the screen. It was March 2015, and as I bathed our son Ieuan, then 6, and daughter Sophia, 3, my heart felt heavy. The truth was, my husband just wasn’t the man I married. I remembered
how, just a year ago, Darren would wrestle with the kids until they were both crying with laughter. ‘It’s bedtime!’ I’d groan as they giggled, clinging to Darren. Now, he spent all evening in front of the TV, eating and drinking. I’d have given anything to have the old Darren back. When we first met, more than 20 years ago, we’d go to karaoke competitions in the pub. He’d always have to win first prize. Darren had worked as a personal trainer and thrived on exercise. He competed in marathons, could run them in under four hours. But, a year ago, disaster struck. While competing in an Ironman Triathlon, Darren ruptured a ligament in his left ankle. I’ll never forget his pained face as the kids and I cheered him through the finish line. ‘Complete rest,’ a doctor warned the Darren put next day at Nevill on weight after his injury Hall Hospital, Abergavenny. Darren spent the
next six months at home, with his foot in a cast. ‘I’m useless,’ he frowned. He seemed to be spiralling into a depression. He was drinking up to three bottles of wine a night and gorging on junk. A year after the accident, he was a size XXL and weighed 18st. He still hadn’t gone back to work, was living on savings. ‘How can I train other people like this?’ he groaned, devastated. As months passed, his mood deteriorated. ‘I want to get in the car and not come back,’ Darren said to me one night. I’d go to work as a financial adviser, terrified that he wouldn’t be there
when I came home again. Darren was so full of self-loathing, he refused to go swimming with the kids. ‘No-one wants to see my disgusting body!’ he cried. I felt like a single mum, attending family gatherings and the kids’ school plays alone. I’d started to give up hope that the old Darren would ever come back to me. Then, one day in 2018, he couldn’t stop crying. ‘I need help,’ he wept. He’d hit rock bottom. Was there any way back..?
He seemed to be spiralling into depression
WORDS: FRANCES LEATE, LUCY NOTARANTONIO. PHOTOS: CATERS NEWS
Sarah Jones, 44, Cwmbran
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