I think the hardest lesson I will have to learn as an adult will be that I can't save everyone.
I wish I could say that I will leave him a little better, a little happier, a little stabler and a little more hopeful, but I don't think I even achieved that. He's still troubled and angry and I'm a little less shiny, a little less innocent and a little more jaded.
I can't help but want to stay stubborn... not strong... stubborn, and refuse to let this disease win. But maybe it was never meant to be my fight. Maybe I'm not meant to slay this dragon.
It makes me sad. It makes me weary. And it makes me angry.
During my hardest times I can usually sit by the water or under the stars and talk to God and feel like I really get an answer on what I should do. This time He feels so, so silent. And I feel so alone. I wish I knew what the right answer was.
But every day I fight this fight for my husband's sanity and our marriage, I find myself further losing my spark. I feel myself becoming duller. I miss being shiny, and I don't think I can find it again with this constant barrage of discontent.
Either way, I'll miss you my Fat Bear. You were my first love, and I loved you deeply and I tried so hard to hang on for us both. I hope you fight the good fight and don't let this disease ruin my best friend and his true potential for greatness. I will always believe that you can find happiness and that in the end, you'll start controlling your destiny.
I'm not sure where I go from here.
Beautiful Disaster
Lyrics
He drowns in his dreams
An exquisite extreme I know
He’s as damned as he seems
And more heaven than a heart could hold
And if I try to save him
My whole world could cave in
It just ain't right
It just ain't right
Oh and I don't know
I don't know what he's after
But he's so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster
He's magic and myth
As strong as what I believe
A tragedy with
More damage than a soul should see
And do I try to change him?
So hard not to blame him
Hold on tight
Hold on tight
Oh 'cause I don't know
I don't know what he's after
But he’s so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster
I'm longing for love and the logical
But he's only happy hysterical
I'm waiting for some kind of miracle
Waited so long
So long
He’s soft to the touch
But frayed at the end he breaks
He’s never enough
And still he's more than I can take
Oh 'cause I don't know
I don't know what he's after
But he's so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster
He’s beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
It's Hard to Tell Where Truth Ends and Illness Begins
There are a lot of resources that are limited. Tears, I have discovered, are not one of them.
J and I had a conversation last night, where he was saying that being Bipolar was like being a superhero. I retorted that if that was true, he had unfairly cast me as the villain.
"Why, what do you want to be? The hero?"
"No. I just want to be the wife."
In this round of mania, it seems that I am the source of all of his unhappiness. Except he wasn't happy when he met me, and since Jerry Maguire was full of shit and it's actually impossible to complete a person, he's still unhappy. And as he says, he loves the feeling of being angry, so how on earth can you be happy if you're choosing anger every day? You certainly can't have both.
He wants a divorce. Or so he's said for the last few days.
I buried my grandmother just five days ago. Well not me personally, I don't mix well with physical labor, but you get my point. He didn't even wait two days after her funeral before he became the bully once again. I didn't know that I could get any lower emotionally than I already was, but he's proven me wrong.
Over and over and over.
Now all I can do is cry. Cry for the man that I've fought so hard for. Cry for how hard it must be to be so angry all the time. Cry for myself for once again being the proverbial punching bag. Cry because I didn't even have time to grieve before I had to once again become counselor, defender and protector.
Why does he want a divorce?
It depends on what time it is when you ask him.
Sometimes it's because I've done nothing positive for him.
Sometimes it's because he doesn't find a single part of me attractive.
Sometimes it's because I can't go hiking with him or keep up with him physically because of my health problems.
He wants someone to make him happy. He wants someone who can take his anger away. He wants someone who doesn't challenge him to find a better way to live.
I've made a choice to stay with someone with severe mania. I know there will always be manic episodes. I know that life will never be consistently peaceful. I know that I will always have to fight for his mental health. I stood before God and said, "In sickness and in health," and I meant it.
To hear him say that I'm not enough, that I'm not worth it, that my illnesses make me un-want-able is like a punch to the gut that I just can't handle. Even though I know that none of this is true, I can't stop crying and I can't stop thinking about every horrible situation he's caused that I've faced head-on out of love for him.
My seven year old found his wedding ring; thrown in the laundry room like it was some tin tchotchky from some God-awful pizza place. I wore it on my thumb and told him that I would give it back when he knew he wanted to be with me. That if he couldn't wear it, I would wear it for both of us. And I did, for three days. Today my hand just felt heavy. Like it was a weight I just couldn't bear anymore.
I'm not strong enough today to carry this relationship for us both. So I hid them somewhere safe until I'm ready to carry us through again.
I don't know what the truth is. I don't know if his mania is like alcohol, and all of the truth is coming out, or if it's simply his anger talking and he really does love me. All I know is that my heart is broken for us both and I don't know how to fight this battle alone anymore. My heart is so full of pain that it's hard not to pick up something sharp and fall into old self-harming habits.
I wish I could put my heart next to our rings, until it was safe to take it out again.
J and I had a conversation last night, where he was saying that being Bipolar was like being a superhero. I retorted that if that was true, he had unfairly cast me as the villain.
"Why, what do you want to be? The hero?"
"No. I just want to be the wife."
In this round of mania, it seems that I am the source of all of his unhappiness. Except he wasn't happy when he met me, and since Jerry Maguire was full of shit and it's actually impossible to complete a person, he's still unhappy. And as he says, he loves the feeling of being angry, so how on earth can you be happy if you're choosing anger every day? You certainly can't have both.
He wants a divorce. Or so he's said for the last few days.
I buried my grandmother just five days ago. Well not me personally, I don't mix well with physical labor, but you get my point. He didn't even wait two days after her funeral before he became the bully once again. I didn't know that I could get any lower emotionally than I already was, but he's proven me wrong.
Over and over and over.
Now all I can do is cry. Cry for the man that I've fought so hard for. Cry for how hard it must be to be so angry all the time. Cry for myself for once again being the proverbial punching bag. Cry because I didn't even have time to grieve before I had to once again become counselor, defender and protector.
Why does he want a divorce?
It depends on what time it is when you ask him.
Sometimes it's because I've done nothing positive for him.
Sometimes it's because he doesn't find a single part of me attractive.
Sometimes it's because I can't go hiking with him or keep up with him physically because of my health problems.
He wants someone to make him happy. He wants someone who can take his anger away. He wants someone who doesn't challenge him to find a better way to live.
I've made a choice to stay with someone with severe mania. I know there will always be manic episodes. I know that life will never be consistently peaceful. I know that I will always have to fight for his mental health. I stood before God and said, "In sickness and in health," and I meant it.
To hear him say that I'm not enough, that I'm not worth it, that my illnesses make me un-want-able is like a punch to the gut that I just can't handle. Even though I know that none of this is true, I can't stop crying and I can't stop thinking about every horrible situation he's caused that I've faced head-on out of love for him.
My seven year old found his wedding ring; thrown in the laundry room like it was some tin tchotchky from some God-awful pizza place. I wore it on my thumb and told him that I would give it back when he knew he wanted to be with me. That if he couldn't wear it, I would wear it for both of us. And I did, for three days. Today my hand just felt heavy. Like it was a weight I just couldn't bear anymore.
I'm not strong enough today to carry this relationship for us both. So I hid them somewhere safe until I'm ready to carry us through again.
I don't know what the truth is. I don't know if his mania is like alcohol, and all of the truth is coming out, or if it's simply his anger talking and he really does love me. All I know is that my heart is broken for us both and I don't know how to fight this battle alone anymore. My heart is so full of pain that it's hard not to pick up something sharp and fall into old self-harming habits.
I wish I could put my heart next to our rings, until it was safe to take it out again.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
In the Cold, Cold Night
Numb.
That's all I'm allowed to be.
Every forty days or so for the last several months, the husband becomes manic. He scares the kids with his energy and rage. He can't sit still. He fidgets. He comes up with wild ideas that he will defend with violence if necessary. He yells and argues and slams doors and breaks whatever happens to be in front of him when the rage hits. If I leave the room, he will hide what he broke and insist that it never happened.
He will do anything to try to convince that I'm crazy.
And sometimes it works.
Around him, I am zen. I am calm. I am acutely aware that arguing with a crazy person only makes you crazy. It doesn't always work, but I try pretty damn hard.
Sometimes I scream and rage myself when I'm alone, just to get all of those feelings OUT. I walk to the canal and sit and argue with God and throw rocks in just to watch the ripple effect. I chain smoke clove cigarettes that make me wheeze and hack but are heaven in that they allow me to focus on something other than the chaos surrounding me. I rehearse my various escape routes so I always know how to get out in an emergency.
Right now it's the calm after the storm. He's level and loving and I want to injure him. I want to hurt him until he knows what it's like to be hurt by the person who swore to love you the most. I want him to see the rage that he has inflicted upon me so often. I want to see my pain on his skin.
I'm not allowed to talk about his episodes. Once they're over, I'm supposed to pretend like nothing happened. There's no discussion, no restitution, no apologies, no responsibility. Just a facade of perfection that I'm supposed to embrace because, as he says, "it's over." It doesn't matter if it ended last month or yesterday, once a new day has begun, we're not allowed to discuss anything that happened before.
Like being Bipolar is simply an excuse to mangle people's lives every forty days.
He wants to hug me and hold me and all the while I taste bile every time he comes near me.
I have divorce papers nearly filled out. No one knows this. Every time he becomes manic, I fill out a little more. Soon it will be complete and then I'll have to make the real decisions. I don't know if it's what I really want, or if it's just something for me to do that makes me feel like I have at least a little bit of control on the situation.
All I know is that this anger, this waiting for hell to begin again, this game of pretend he insists we all play is killing me. I've given him everything. What's left for me?
That's all I'm allowed to be.
Every forty days or so for the last several months, the husband becomes manic. He scares the kids with his energy and rage. He can't sit still. He fidgets. He comes up with wild ideas that he will defend with violence if necessary. He yells and argues and slams doors and breaks whatever happens to be in front of him when the rage hits. If I leave the room, he will hide what he broke and insist that it never happened.
He will do anything to try to convince that I'm crazy.
And sometimes it works.
Around him, I am zen. I am calm. I am acutely aware that arguing with a crazy person only makes you crazy. It doesn't always work, but I try pretty damn hard.
Sometimes I scream and rage myself when I'm alone, just to get all of those feelings OUT. I walk to the canal and sit and argue with God and throw rocks in just to watch the ripple effect. I chain smoke clove cigarettes that make me wheeze and hack but are heaven in that they allow me to focus on something other than the chaos surrounding me. I rehearse my various escape routes so I always know how to get out in an emergency.
Right now it's the calm after the storm. He's level and loving and I want to injure him. I want to hurt him until he knows what it's like to be hurt by the person who swore to love you the most. I want him to see the rage that he has inflicted upon me so often. I want to see my pain on his skin.
I'm not allowed to talk about his episodes. Once they're over, I'm supposed to pretend like nothing happened. There's no discussion, no restitution, no apologies, no responsibility. Just a facade of perfection that I'm supposed to embrace because, as he says, "it's over." It doesn't matter if it ended last month or yesterday, once a new day has begun, we're not allowed to discuss anything that happened before.
Like being Bipolar is simply an excuse to mangle people's lives every forty days.
He wants to hug me and hold me and all the while I taste bile every time he comes near me.
I have divorce papers nearly filled out. No one knows this. Every time he becomes manic, I fill out a little more. Soon it will be complete and then I'll have to make the real decisions. I don't know if it's what I really want, or if it's just something for me to do that makes me feel like I have at least a little bit of control on the situation.
All I know is that this anger, this waiting for hell to begin again, this game of pretend he insists we all play is killing me. I've given him everything. What's left for me?
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