I will not get sucked back into this vortex.
It has been two years since we spoke by phone. It has been two years since we have been near each other without an officer or judge present.
I don't want to know you. I don't want to hear about you. I certainly don't want you to share intimate details about your life with me.
But in spite of myself, I respond to your chatty text messages and emails. I ask how you're doing. I make myself crazy and neurotic wondering what you're up to, who you're seeing and whether or not you've changed enough for me to ever fully trust you with my children.
In spite of myself, in spite of everything; I still miss you sometimes.
I haven't gone on a date in over nine months because I don't trust myself or my judgment. I've been learning the pleasures of being alone, and there are many. But today, for the first time in a very long time, I'm lonely. I miss someone knowing my intimate details. I miss being able to share my every thought. I miss someone understanding the dynamics of my family. I really miss someone knowing my body and how to make it respond. I miss everything we had together during the good times.
And I sometimes wonder if you ever miss me, too.
I know that most likely, I'll find someone when I'm ready. I certainly haven't been looking because I know I'm not there yet. And I also know that if I never find that person, then I'll be just fine on my own.
But I still wish we had made different choices, been different people and had the outcome I always wanted.
But mostly, I wish I had a clean slate where you never existed. I wish I was free.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
The Six Year Anniversary 4/26/2009
I found this in my unpublished drafts. I was too scared to post this. I didn't want police or anyone else notified.
I had completely forgotten about this night. Looking back, I think it speaks volumes.
The night before our anniversary, I went out for sushi with a couple of girlfriends. It's the first night I'd really been out in almost two years. My friend Kristina and I had been talking about it for months. She knew I desperately needed the break but I either didn't have the funds for it or couldn't get away. (My issues with getting away are another story entirely.) When my Dad received more bad news from his Oncologist, she swore she was kidnapping me if I didn't agree to go, so April 17th I went to Ra for a night out with the girls.
We laughed and joked and drank Saki Bombers and shared a bottle of Sparkling Saki while we delighted in the deliciousness that are Viva Las Vegas Rolls. At some point I remembered that our anniversary was the next day. I groaned that I'd forgotten yet again while I was sure he'd remembered, and joked that I was the man in this relationship when it came to things like anniversaries and birthdays.
It was already ten at night and I had NO IDEA what I was going to give him. We went through the list of places that would be open.
Gas Station.
Walmart.
Sex shop.
Bingo!
We decided that we would go back to Heather's house since her roommate had some friends over that Heather needed to say hi to, then we would head to Castle MegaStore for some "toys."
Perfect.
At some point, I texted the Husband to see if he had remembered the anniversary. It was apparent that he had not, but was trying to pretend that he had. For some reason, I found this to be hilarious and started to quiz him on what he had planned so I could eventually call him out on his fib and laugh together at how scatterbrained we were to both forget our anniversary.
Bad move Masochist. Bad move.
He did not appreciate the light-hearted ribbing. He finally told me that since I was "making fun" of him, there would be no anniversary celebration and I could simply sit at home by myself. This promptly brought me to tears which caused Kristina to take my phone from me while she shook her head at another night ruined by the Husband's anger. I begged her to take me home and she obliged.
We stopped for food at Filiberto's as a peace offering, but he wasn't home. I sent him a message and waited. When he finally showed up, he was holding a bottle of Tequila. So I asked, "Plan on doing any drinking?"
Bad move again, apparently.
He started slamming doors, stomping around the house and yelling at me for being gone all night. He was angry that I had been "making fun" of him. The more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. He told me I was crazy and drunk.
Drunk, yes. Crazy, not today Sir.
Then he told me to get out of the house, go for a drive.
If anyone else had tried to kick me out of the house, I would have told them to fuck off. But when a 230 lb. Bipolar who has left you bruised and bloodied before tells you to get out- you get the fuck out.
Here's where I act like an idiot:
Instead of taking my car, I took his truck. His precious truck that he loves more than he does our children.
Stupid stupid Masochist.
I grabbed my Filiberto's (which I was NOT going to share with him anymore thankyouverymuch,) some water and drove 2mph to the next street over and ate my food. Twenty minutes later he came screeching down the street and HIT his truck with my car. Not hard enough to damage it because that most certainly was not the point. Just hard enough to try to intimidate me.
Normally he would have, but being intoxicated and therefore somehow invincible, I started laughing. He leapt out of the car and walked on top of the hood of my car to get to me. I laughed even harder. He flung the door open and ordered me out. I continued to laugh and then laughed some more when I realized that I'd spilled sour cream all over his seat. His precious seat.
I got in my car, he got in his truck. He left, I sat there and debated on where I should go.
Home seemed like a very stupid option.
Driving anywhere on a main road seemed like an even stupider option seeing as how I still wasn't exactly sober.
So I slept in the parking lot of the local Mormon Church.
Happy Anniversary Masochist. Mazel Tov.
I had completely forgotten about this night. Looking back, I think it speaks volumes.
The night before our anniversary, I went out for sushi with a couple of girlfriends. It's the first night I'd really been out in almost two years. My friend Kristina and I had been talking about it for months. She knew I desperately needed the break but I either didn't have the funds for it or couldn't get away. (My issues with getting away are another story entirely.) When my Dad received more bad news from his Oncologist, she swore she was kidnapping me if I didn't agree to go, so April 17th I went to Ra for a night out with the girls.
We laughed and joked and drank Saki Bombers and shared a bottle of Sparkling Saki while we delighted in the deliciousness that are Viva Las Vegas Rolls. At some point I remembered that our anniversary was the next day. I groaned that I'd forgotten yet again while I was sure he'd remembered, and joked that I was the man in this relationship when it came to things like anniversaries and birthdays.
It was already ten at night and I had NO IDEA what I was going to give him. We went through the list of places that would be open.
Gas Station.
Walmart.
Sex shop.
Bingo!
We decided that we would go back to Heather's house since her roommate had some friends over that Heather needed to say hi to, then we would head to Castle MegaStore for some "toys."
Perfect.
At some point, I texted the Husband to see if he had remembered the anniversary. It was apparent that he had not, but was trying to pretend that he had. For some reason, I found this to be hilarious and started to quiz him on what he had planned so I could eventually call him out on his fib and laugh together at how scatterbrained we were to both forget our anniversary.
Bad move Masochist. Bad move.
He did not appreciate the light-hearted ribbing. He finally told me that since I was "making fun" of him, there would be no anniversary celebration and I could simply sit at home by myself. This promptly brought me to tears which caused Kristina to take my phone from me while she shook her head at another night ruined by the Husband's anger. I begged her to take me home and she obliged.
We stopped for food at Filiberto's as a peace offering, but he wasn't home. I sent him a message and waited. When he finally showed up, he was holding a bottle of Tequila. So I asked, "Plan on doing any drinking?"
Bad move again, apparently.
He started slamming doors, stomping around the house and yelling at me for being gone all night. He was angry that I had been "making fun" of him. The more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. He told me I was crazy and drunk.
Drunk, yes. Crazy, not today Sir.
Then he told me to get out of the house, go for a drive.
If anyone else had tried to kick me out of the house, I would have told them to fuck off. But when a 230 lb. Bipolar who has left you bruised and bloodied before tells you to get out- you get the fuck out.
Here's where I act like an idiot:
Instead of taking my car, I took his truck. His precious truck that he loves more than he does our children.
Stupid stupid Masochist.
I grabbed my Filiberto's (which I was NOT going to share with him anymore thankyouverymuch,) some water and drove 2mph to the next street over and ate my food. Twenty minutes later he came screeching down the street and HIT his truck with my car. Not hard enough to damage it because that most certainly was not the point. Just hard enough to try to intimidate me.
Normally he would have, but being intoxicated and therefore somehow invincible, I started laughing. He leapt out of the car and walked on top of the hood of my car to get to me. I laughed even harder. He flung the door open and ordered me out. I continued to laugh and then laughed some more when I realized that I'd spilled sour cream all over his seat. His precious seat.
I got in my car, he got in his truck. He left, I sat there and debated on where I should go.
Home seemed like a very stupid option.
Driving anywhere on a main road seemed like an even stupider option seeing as how I still wasn't exactly sober.
So I slept in the parking lot of the local Mormon Church.
Happy Anniversary Masochist. Mazel Tov.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Reflections
I have pitied you so much these last couple of months.
You were my confidante, my aggressor, my best friend, my abuser, my lover and yes, at times; my victim.
I have spent the last eleven months coming to terms with the last third of my life. I have examined the mistakes that I made, the choices that I should have and given myself credit for forgiving so much and trying so damn hard. Let me be clear... I am fully aware of the damage I caused in the beginning of our marriage. I was ready to divorce and run at the slightest transgression. I was belittling. You didn't make enough money, you didn't dress the girls how I wanted you to, you drove the wrong car... I didn't praise you enough.
I know my transgressions fully. They are numerous.
You have had eleven months as well. Eleven months without a family, without responsibilities and I was hopeful that you would have examined your mistakes as I have mine.
And today? Today I want to hate you. I can only pity you for your inability to learn from your mistakes. I don't believe that you will ever evolve because you are incapable of truly examining your actions. Rewriting history, blaming medication, blaming a lack of medication, blaming me, blaming your parents, blaming children... you have learned nothing except that if you don't admit your mistakes than you never have to take responsibility for them.
J, I am sorry. I am so sorry for the pain I caused you. For emasculating you and tearing your apart when I should have been your greatest supporter and partner. I didn't believe in you enough, and for that I am ashamed. Looking back has taught me to ask myself, "Would I want to be with me?" And being able to do so will make any and all of my current and future relationships better. I am sorry that I had to hurt you to learn that lesson.
Our children are watching us. They are learning how to handle a mistake that can have devastating consequences. And you are teaching them to bury it. To lie. To make sure that everyone you come into contact with knows that you are not to blame.
They don't buy it J. They left you and told me that you lied. You blamed your Bipolar medication. When you were sentenced for Child Abuse, you blamed a lack of medication. Now you're telling our children that you were never ill. That your medication made you angry and aggressive. A is old enough to remember what you've been like off of your medication. She knows the truth. You are not fooling her, you are simply reaffirming her belief that you can't be trusted.
Reflect J.
Learn.
Grow.
It's the only way you'll ever get your girls back.
You were my confidante, my aggressor, my best friend, my abuser, my lover and yes, at times; my victim.
I have spent the last eleven months coming to terms with the last third of my life. I have examined the mistakes that I made, the choices that I should have and given myself credit for forgiving so much and trying so damn hard. Let me be clear... I am fully aware of the damage I caused in the beginning of our marriage. I was ready to divorce and run at the slightest transgression. I was belittling. You didn't make enough money, you didn't dress the girls how I wanted you to, you drove the wrong car... I didn't praise you enough.
I know my transgressions fully. They are numerous.
You have had eleven months as well. Eleven months without a family, without responsibilities and I was hopeful that you would have examined your mistakes as I have mine.
And today? Today I want to hate you. I can only pity you for your inability to learn from your mistakes. I don't believe that you will ever evolve because you are incapable of truly examining your actions. Rewriting history, blaming medication, blaming a lack of medication, blaming me, blaming your parents, blaming children... you have learned nothing except that if you don't admit your mistakes than you never have to take responsibility for them.
J, I am sorry. I am so sorry for the pain I caused you. For emasculating you and tearing your apart when I should have been your greatest supporter and partner. I didn't believe in you enough, and for that I am ashamed. Looking back has taught me to ask myself, "Would I want to be with me?" And being able to do so will make any and all of my current and future relationships better. I am sorry that I had to hurt you to learn that lesson.
Our children are watching us. They are learning how to handle a mistake that can have devastating consequences. And you are teaching them to bury it. To lie. To make sure that everyone you come into contact with knows that you are not to blame.
They don't buy it J. They left you and told me that you lied. You blamed your Bipolar medication. When you were sentenced for Child Abuse, you blamed a lack of medication. Now you're telling our children that you were never ill. That your medication made you angry and aggressive. A is old enough to remember what you've been like off of your medication. She knows the truth. You are not fooling her, you are simply reaffirming her belief that you can't be trusted.
Reflect J.
Learn.
Grow.
It's the only way you'll ever get your girls back.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Six Months Later
Dear Fatbear,
I dream about you sometimes.
We sit and talk about everything. The future I wanted us to have. The mistakes that were made. The choices I still wish I could stop you from making.
You are an open book. Full of more honesty and integrity than you've ever possessed outside of my subconscious. I wake up feeling cleansed. It's cathartic.
I spoke to the prosecutor's office last Friday.
I called because D keeps asking me when all of this will be over. She's terrified that she'll have to speak in court. It doesn't matter how many times I reassure her that she won't have to see you, no matter what, it's just not enough.
I wish you had to see her tremble.
The prosecutor assured me that you were still being reviewed. That you hadn't fallen through the cracks. The police have charged you with one count of child abuse and one count of violating the Order of Protection. The prosecutor will then decide to keep, modify, drop or add to the charges. I'm still expecting a Violation of Probation charge and probably more Violation of a Court Order charges for the week you just couldn't seem to stay away.
Everything is done by chronological order. Did you know that? From the time you're charged, that's when they get to you. So no matter how horrible your crime, you still have to wait for the people who were charged before you. Seems like a silly way to do things, but I guess it makes sense.
Here's what I want you to know: I don't want you to go to prison. I never did.
Not after your first two Domestic Violence convictions.
Not after your first Child Abuse felony conviction.
Not after you gave me a concussion. I lay there crumpled on the floor, sobbing until my throat was raw, and all I could think was, "I can't tell. He'll go to jail."
So I didn't.
This time, If I'm asked my opinion, here's what I'll say: You have completed over two years of court ordered Anger Management. You started counseling in 2003. You began medication in 2005. You have been on supervised probation since 2007. You have been treated by renowned doctors at Mayo. You began and quit group therapy. You've had every opportunity to receive help. You've been given THREE chances to avoid prison.
I cannot stand by you anymore.
It kills me.
This time, I will not organize a letter campaign, lauding you for being an exemplary father.
I will not speak on the stand for you.
I will not hold your hand and reassure you that we will make it through together.
Most likely, you are going to prison.
Most likely, you will not see your daughters for a very long time. D is no longer yours at all, and you will only see her if she decides to contact you as an adult.
What a shame Fatbear.
I look around, and there are memories everywhere. We had the cozy house with the caring neighbors, and the lucrative business and the three beautiful little girls that everyone envied. You were my high school sweetheart. You built me my picket fence and I would have followed you anywhere.
And now you're someone I don't even know.
You don't ask about your daughters.
You don't pay child support.
You pretend like we never existed at all.
I will be in court, when you are finally convicted.
And I will stare you in the eyes.
Because we do exist.
Everything happened.
And I will never let you forget.
I dream about you sometimes.
We sit and talk about everything. The future I wanted us to have. The mistakes that were made. The choices I still wish I could stop you from making.
You are an open book. Full of more honesty and integrity than you've ever possessed outside of my subconscious. I wake up feeling cleansed. It's cathartic.
I spoke to the prosecutor's office last Friday.
I called because D keeps asking me when all of this will be over. She's terrified that she'll have to speak in court. It doesn't matter how many times I reassure her that she won't have to see you, no matter what, it's just not enough.
I wish you had to see her tremble.
The prosecutor assured me that you were still being reviewed. That you hadn't fallen through the cracks. The police have charged you with one count of child abuse and one count of violating the Order of Protection. The prosecutor will then decide to keep, modify, drop or add to the charges. I'm still expecting a Violation of Probation charge and probably more Violation of a Court Order charges for the week you just couldn't seem to stay away.
Everything is done by chronological order. Did you know that? From the time you're charged, that's when they get to you. So no matter how horrible your crime, you still have to wait for the people who were charged before you. Seems like a silly way to do things, but I guess it makes sense.
Here's what I want you to know: I don't want you to go to prison. I never did.
Not after your first two Domestic Violence convictions.
Not after your first Child Abuse felony conviction.
Not after you gave me a concussion. I lay there crumpled on the floor, sobbing until my throat was raw, and all I could think was, "I can't tell. He'll go to jail."
So I didn't.
This time, If I'm asked my opinion, here's what I'll say: You have completed over two years of court ordered Anger Management. You started counseling in 2003. You began medication in 2005. You have been on supervised probation since 2007. You have been treated by renowned doctors at Mayo. You began and quit group therapy. You've had every opportunity to receive help. You've been given THREE chances to avoid prison.
I cannot stand by you anymore.
It kills me.
This time, I will not organize a letter campaign, lauding you for being an exemplary father.
I will not speak on the stand for you.
I will not hold your hand and reassure you that we will make it through together.
Most likely, you are going to prison.
Most likely, you will not see your daughters for a very long time. D is no longer yours at all, and you will only see her if she decides to contact you as an adult.
What a shame Fatbear.
I look around, and there are memories everywhere. We had the cozy house with the caring neighbors, and the lucrative business and the three beautiful little girls that everyone envied. You were my high school sweetheart. You built me my picket fence and I would have followed you anywhere.
And now you're someone I don't even know.
You don't ask about your daughters.
You don't pay child support.
You pretend like we never existed at all.
I will be in court, when you are finally convicted.
And I will stare you in the eyes.
Because we do exist.
Everything happened.
And I will never let you forget.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Beautiful Disaster
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
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
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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