“In sickness and in health,” is one of the phrases in traditional wedding vows, and one of the few that I remember. I don’t think about them much, but I live them every day. My husband is bipolar. He doesn’t just have bipolar, this part of who he is. Yesterday, overwhelmed, and distraught from a series of stressful events, my husband sent me the above message, called our adult children to say goodbye, and went into the woods with a loaded 9mm. Today, we went out to lunch, grocery shopped, and visited the chiropractor for a tune-up on his back. Does this sound unbelievable? If you are married to someone with bipolar it doesn’t. It’s real, it’s scary, and there is no cure. I vowed to live with him in sickness and in health, until death do us part. The problem is, death could have happened yesterday, it can happen today, and it can happen tomorrow.
Why doesn’t he take medication? He does. Why doesn’t he see a psychiatrist? He does. Why doesn’t he read the Bible, or go to church? He does both of those things, and he listens to worship music, and sermons on YouTube. His faith is very important to him, and has saved his life on more than one occasion. He is also diligent in making sure he gets enough sleep, lots of exercise and eats properly. He no longer drinks alcohol, consumes only minimal caffeine, and doesn’t drink from any aluminum cans, or use any product with aluminum in it, including certain toothpastes and deodorant because that affects his mood too. That’s how in-tuned to his body he is, how diligently we both monitor his moods. and how careful he is…but still the threat of suicide looms, as it did for his father for years, until he silenced that voice forever with a bullet to his head. “I can’t believe he held out that long,” my husband observed. He was 63 when he took his life.
“Selfish,” I’ve heard people say of those who commit suicide. The ignorance and judgement heaped on the head of those already suffering makes me sick; and so angry. They have no idea the struggle some people go through each and every day… it is truly a battle. They just get tired; tired of the mental anguish, whirlwind of thoughts they can’t escape, and the feeling like they are a disappointment and a burden. I don’t blame them at all, instead, I admire their tenacity and strength, because I’ve seen the mental fortitude that it takes to survive, over and over from my other half, my ride or die, my…Whoops, I was interrupted here, by an “up” husband, who came bouncing inside like an excited Tigger to ask me if I wanted to take the kayaks out on the river to watch the sunset. Of course I did, because this is the good side of his mood disorder; spontaneous, fun, creative and boundless energy are the good things, sadness, guilt and shame are the bad. The worst, is a mixture of the two; frenetic energy, coupled with hoplessness and total despair is the most dangerous of all, and that was the mood yesterday. But today, is an “up” day; because the darkness of yesterday’s battle is still lurking in the recesses of his mind, it makes him feel the lightness of today all the more.
There was a breeze on the river as we worked our way upstream. It wasn’t difficult, because we each had a good steady rhythm, even though we were traveling against the current. We paddled steadily for about 30 minutes, side by side, talking the whole way. I told him that I was writing about bipolar and about yesterday’s events. “Oh no,” he said, and when we got to point where we were ready to drift back, I pulled out my phone and read to him what I had written so far, right there in the middle of the river. “No, no way!” He said. “I don’t want anyone to know that!” I told him that I understood, but by hiding it, he was feeding into the social misconception of shame in mental illness, as if anyone would choose to be bipolar anymore than they would choose to have cancer. We verbally sparred for a few minutes; He, saying that he was ashamed and it would make him look weak; me, saying that this is the opposite of weak, and what if this could help someone who feels alone? We stopped talking about it for a few minutes as we continued to bob down the river, our oars in our laps, quietly admiring God’s artwork; the green of the trees lining the river, set against an azure blue sky; the reflection of both caught in the mirror of the stillness of the surface of the water. The sun slowly desended, leaving shadows on our faces, and a chill in the air, as we neared the boat landing, when he said, “I guess you can write about it.” Now, I ask you is that weakness? Is that selfish? No, it is the epitome of courage and altruism. Mental illness is not for the weak, the strong survive, but the warriors thrive, and they are the only ones willing to expose themselves, and the demons they face, to help someone else. His generosity of spirit helps me to hang on, “for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
