The good, the bad, and the ugly

From what I've read, and I've found that you tend to read a lot about relationships when your marriage is falling apart, people tend to lean towards one of two extremes: remembering only the positive about the ended relationship, which only makes you feel nostalgic, which leads to depression about what you 'lost'; and remembering only the negative, which leaves you bitter and depressed and a bad case of the poor-me's.

So, I hereby present two stories about The Paperweight, one good and one bad, in the hopes that I can continue to move forward. I want to remember both the positive and the negative and hopefully grow from both. This wasn't the 'best' thing about him and (unfortunetly) it's not the worst story either. It's just shit I've been thinking about lately...

First, the good...
We celebrated Thursdays. Just for the hell of it. The Paperweight told me when we started dating seriously that it annoyed him when people did things and/or bought gifts for those they loved when it was a holiday or special occassion but then ignored them the rest of the year. So we had Thursdays and we did something for the other just to show our love, from a small gift to an action, just something that acknowledged the other person. Like, I would write him a poem or he would leave a bottle of a favorite beverage of mine on the roof of my car to surprise me. My favorite was the day he stopped along the side of the road and picked me wild flowers. The Paperweight knew this was a favorite of mine so he did it once again after we were married, about a decade later. Both times completely unexpected and completely romantic.

And the bad (which is also pretty ugly)...
I have had bouts of depression off and on for the majority of my life. I have since resolved the issue; it turned out to actually be just a symptom of a medical problem but that's a whole other story for another day.
Anyway, I had been treated occassionally for depression for a number of years. A few years ago (about 7 years, I believe), I was going through a particularly bad spell. Depression, mood swings and suicidal thoughts to the point that I checked myself in to a hospital that had a depression clinic. The Paperweight visited daily and had The Boy call daily (he was only told I was sick). I was stuck on anti-depressents (again) and given information on a therapist I could see when I got out. I was there, oh, I don't know, 4 or 5 days. The meds had started to kick in and I was feeling much better. The Paperweight came to pick me up, I signed the discharge papers, and we headed home....where he proceeded, on the hour drive, to tell me what a complete and utter fuck-up I was and how bad I was screwing-up The Boy. By the time we arrived home I, of course, was a basketcase and THANK GOD The Boy was still at the sitter's. The Paperweight followed me upstairs to the bedroom where I put my suitcase on the bed and he proceeded to pull a loaded .45 out of the back of his waistband, handed it to me, and said "Won't don't you do everyone a favor and just kill yourself?"