Tag: Bipolar

Posted in mental health

The Bipolar Life of the Bipolar’s Wife

Posted on by Susannah Warner

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…the facts of life.” So went the opening song to a sit-com in the 80’s. The lyrics are true enough for life in general, but they really strike a cord for me, a bipolar’s wife.

Much has been said about bipolar, a genetic mood disorder. Generalizations and jokes are made all the time in a way that would never be tolerated in society today if they were about a race, or sexual orientation. Even I have laughed and referred to things as being “bipolar” including, but not limited to, my state’s fickle weather pattern. But, as a die-hard, full-fledged, longstanding supporter of this wonderful, horrible, manic-depressive club, I feel justified in making a few jokes about it. As the the saying goes, “you might as well laugh, as cry.” And, I have cried about it, a lot. But I’ve also laughed, a lot.

You see, to be married to someone who is bipolar, means that you have it too. Not in the sense that I literally do, because, as my husband has pointed out on a number of occasions, “you can go to work, or sleep, or leave, and get away from me. I cant, I’m stuck with myself all of the time.” Many times, when the strain threatens to break, rather than bend me, I have thought that same thing to myself, but in a different way. I’ve often thought, “as hard as this is, it’s easier to be me, than it is to be him. ” Because it is hard. There is a reason that bipolar carries a 20% mortality rate, and a whopping 90% divorce rate. It sucks sometimes, and it’s also fantastic sometimes.

Of course, there are the highs of bipolar that my friends see on social media; hikes, trips, spontaneous adventures, over the top expressions of love, even after 27 years of marriage. But, then there are the lows that most don’t see; accusations, paranoia, restlessness, physical pain, and shame. Such is the life of someone with bipolar, and inevitably, such is the life of the bipolar’s loved one.

There is a level of figurative tiptoeing around, that I do when the pendulum threatens to swing towards DOWN. It is instinctual, and it is at the height of gaiety and fun, that something inside me says that IT is coming. Warnings like, “You’re so UP right now, you need to make sure you’re getting enough sleep, that you are eating enough, and getting plenty of exercise,” are as useless as telling someone to be careful, when they leave the house. It changes nothing. No one is going to be more careful just because you reminded them to be, any more than he can change anything about his UPness. But, to not say it, seems like you are jinxing yourself and your loved one.

And then DOWN comes, like a violent summer storm disrupting your outdoor plans, bringing with it anger and sadness, accusations and guilt; a fierce Mr. Hyde, to his sweet Dr. Jekyll. It is a difficult time, and sometimes makes me wonder if it’s worth it, but what holds me still, is hope and faith that NORMAL will come again, a brief place of refreshment and rest before UP comes knocking, and it starts all over again.

Two weeks ago, my husband and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful Maine summer weather by hiking a coastal mountain about an hour away from us. The trip there was jovial and fun. We sang songs, joked with each other and pulled over to explore a place we spotted that we’d never seen before. We snapped pictures and decided to check it out fully when we had more time. We started the hike in good shape too. The roots and rocks were wet on the trail and at times slippery pine needles blanketed the ground. And although the trajectory was up, there are times when you’re hiking that switchbacks cause you to have sections that you must go down. In these spots, my husband always warned me to be careful, and reached back to offer a hand, as I’m not as surefooted a hiker as he is. Although stronger and faster than I, he solicitously kept my pace. And so we made our way to the top.

Glorious views of the Atlantic ocean, blanketed by pockets of morning mist covering parts of the coastal towns nestled in the harbors, greeted us at the top. Wanting a better look, I inched closer to the edges. “Be careful!” he warned, as concerned about my safety as a father would be with a toddler. He needn’t worry, I’m neither careless, nor without caution, particularly when heights are involved. He knows that, but warns me anyway, just as I warn him when the whirlwind of UP threatens to carry us all away.

At some point, the tides turned; the mood tide, not the Atlantic Ocean’s tides. Something was said that triggered a host of negative feelings and words and culminated in a sullen silence as we headed back down the mountain. Suddenly DOWN, he no longer turned around, hand outstretched to help me navigate the slippery rocks and his pace had quickened so that I didn’t bother to try and keep up. Angry tears blurred my vision and having foolishly packed no tissues for my oft runny nose, I used a suspiciously cheerful green leaf instead. He would have slowed down if I’d asked him, helped me if I’d pointed out that he now wasn’t, but I didn’t want the help and I was glad he was ahead of me. It gave me time to think.

I thought about how although I do not have Bipolar disorder, in a way I do have it. I’ve been the recipient of its fun, joy, creativity, spontaneity, tireless energy and reckless, extravagant love. And although I would be lying if I said I didn’t love these things, UP comes with the foreboding of DOWN, surely to follow. Just as Christmas Eve is more exciting for me than Christmas Day, and spring better than fall, It’s the thought of what is next that keeps me from fully enjoying the day, or the season. Much better for me, is the delicious anticipation of something good, rather than the knowledge that it will soon be over.

And that is the thing for a bipolar wife. You KNOW what is coming, you can read the signs as surely as a meteorologist can predict a storm. For some reason, My husband, and perhaps all who suffer with bipolar, cannot read the writing on the wall, as he lives so fully in the moment. When he is UP, DOWN is a thing of the past and cannot be spotted, even on the horizon. It must seem so far away, and as hard to fathom as it is to imagine yourself bundled up in January, when you’re currently sweating out a heatwave in July. By the same token, when he is DOWN, it seems to him as if there is no other feeling, no escape, and that the barrenness and frigidity of winter is the only temperature he has ever known, or will ever know.

Strangely, this is one of the things that I love about him; the ability to live so fully in the moment. It is childlike in its innocence and has helped me relish the good moments in life, just as I have helped him to look beyond pain when life is difficult to see that joy will come again. That is how we help each other, that is how we fit together, that is how our two imperfect halves make one perfect whole.

Afterword: Although it may seem as if we are passive riders on a manic depressive roller coaster ride, this is not entirely true. Medication helps, as does a routine of exercise, sleep, and eating as he often forgets to eat when he is UP or DOWN (I cant even imagine having this “problem!”). We have identified triggers over the years such as exposure to aluminum (soda out of a can makes him weirdly angry the next day. Strange, but true!), summer (which makes him not want to sleep, causing all sorts of UPS and DOWNS), and lack of exercise (which causes depression and pain). We manage it as best we can, and yet….

 

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Step into the light

Posted on by Susannah Warner

It’s you…

You robber of joy, you stealer of laughter. You’ve taken our peace, that’s what you’re after.

You’ve stolen my love, taken him away again, and replaced his smile, with anger and pain.

You took our hope, you’ve stolen his light, you made him believe that life isn’t worth the fight.

You inject us with strife, what slick lies you weave, you seek to destroy, hoping one of us leaves.

But, oh… once again, you’ve overplayed your hand! Through the havoc you wreak I understand…

That’s it’s you…the accuser, the liar, the thief; not my husband, not our lives, it’s not even me.

For those who’ve felt the crush of bipolar, and for the loved ones still standing when the heaviness takes over,

only you can know, how isolating it feels, when the blanket of oppression so stealthily steals.

But, take heart my love, and for all those who suffer, you will stand again, and fight the blackness that hovers.

For it IS a battle, we who fight illness know, how tenacious it is,  it doesn’t easily go.

Yet, the Light is coming, hold on a little more…See? here He comes, through the open door.

He bares our weariness, heartbreak and stress, beckons us to Him, so we may finally rest.

So, don’t worry, my sweet, it will be alright, take my hand and together, we’ll step into the Light.

 
The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
Matthew 4:16

 

 

 

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In Sickness and in Health

Posted on by Susannah Warner

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“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.”

 

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The Heartache of Bipolar (take 2)

Posted on by Susannah Warner

I wrote this piece about bipolar disorder last year, after watching an episode of Shameless on Netflix. I could identify so strongly with the family, and also with the character, that I had to write about it. My husband is bipolar. I know that there are some people who prefer the term to be “has bipolar,” rather than IS, but this is who he is, the good and bad. It is not like a head cold, or the flu, and you can’t shake it off like a stifling hot coat, or wrap yourself in it when you are chilly. It is who he is, and it is who we are. Courage and tenacity are the requirements to survive, but love, acceptance, and understanding are needed to thrive. Bipolar can be beautiful, and exciting when experiencing the “up” side. There is creativity, and generosity, and fun there; but also risk and danger.  I wanted to write from his point of view as well as mine. I wasn’t sure if I captured what it’s like from his side, but he assured me that I did. I want the reader to know that a person with bipolar, or any mental illness, does not choose this life, and they suffer so greatly when they can’t be who they think their loved ones want them to be. But that is not the end of the story. There is help. There is no cure, but there is relief. If you love a person with bipolar, or you are that person, know that you are brave, you are strong, and you are not alone.

 

What if you felt dead inside, although you were still breathing? What if you felt so dry that you thought that your bones could wither and die? What if your child’s laugh felt like nails on a chalk board? What if the sounds of breakfast, and of your family preparing to face the world, melted the small amount of courage that you had left? What if the sound of the birds chirping was an assault to your ears, and the sun seemed to mock the darkness of your spirit? After all, the sun is up and you should be too, both your body and your mood. Everyone else is; it has been a cold, snowy winter, and a rainy spring. But now, summer is here, people are happy, why can’t you be one of them? They come out to wash their cars, walk their dogs, and barbecue with friends. But not you. The pain in your body joins the pain in your mind, crippling you. Your bed is safe, and the world is not. The weight of responsibility sits on you like a ton of bricks, it overpowers you. You can’t breathe out there. The air is too fresh, and the light too bright. Darkness is the place to hide; where for you, wrapped in your blanket cocoon, in your darkened room, solitude is the only safe place in this world. But the price of security is shame. You wallow in your guilt, you wear it like a chain draped over your shoulders, crushing but reassuringly familiar.

 

I see you there, in bed, wrapped up, nothing sticking out but your head which faces the wall. I know that this is a “down day.” I know that you will not get up today. I know that you will not take the kids to the playground and to get ice cream, and play outside all day like you promised yesterday, because that was yesterday, an “up day.” I hear the kids downstairs, letting the refrigerator door bang open, and the bowls clunk together as they get cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. The sun is out, and they are ready for their day of fun. They argue about what they will do with you first. I know what will happen when I go down. “Where’s Dad?” they will say, disappointed to see boring Mom instead of fun Dad. “He’s not feeling well,” I’ll say. “Probably it will just be us today,” My voice will be light, and bright, but they will not be fooled. “OK” they will say, turning their faces back to the TV, no longer questioning why. I will turn the emotional barometer up to “extra happy” to combat the rapidly declining moods, sun or no sun. But. before I face them and spend the day making it up to them, I go to your side of the bed. You have tears in your eyes, you have the saddest face I have ever seen, at least since last time. “I’m sorry, I just can’t” you mumble. “It’s ok” I say, “you will feel better tomorrow.” You nod, even though you don’t believe that this is true. But, you trust what I say, even if it seems impossible today. You know, that I know, what you cannot know today. I will know it for you, and I will carry us through until then.

I know that you are grateful for the steadiness of my moods, neither high highs, or low lows. I know that you will wrap yourself in sadness and guilt all day, It would be cruel to say the obvious; that this is not fair, and that I never planned on being at the park all day, and that I have tons of laundry to catch up on, and would it be too much to ask to give me a freaking hour alone to read a book or take a nap for God’s sake? My only consolation is that I know that you would never choose this. You have told me more than once that at least I can get away from you when you are like this; that you can’t get away from yourself. I also know that if there was a choice between you and me having this disease, you would choose it a thousand times, so that I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of darkness. I give you a kiss, and tell you to rest even though I know a hundred days would not make your exhausted soul feel rested. But, we are a team. We are one. When you are down I am the half that is up and when the buoyancy of your mood threatens to carry us all away, I will be an anchor and bring us back to earth. I do this because I love you, and because I promised to be there in sickness and in health and because I know that joy comes in the morning. Tomorrow you will probably be “up” even though it will rain. You will roll around, and wrestle with the kids on the floor. You will play games, and make omelets, and clean the whole house. You will not feel the pain that just yesterday, made you feel like you had been “run over by a truck.” You will be fun, and exciting, and everyone will forget the darkness of this day. Just as it is impossible to remember the chill of winter while basking in summers warmth, so it is with Bipolar. The lows make the highs even sweeter. But today is not that day, today you are down, so I will be up. I put on my sneakers and my happiest face and off I go.

Thankfully, our life together is not as labile as depicted here, but it was just like this for many years, before a diagnosis and the trial of many medications. It took a long time before we found the right combination, and the side effects were sometimes harsh. In addition to medication, we have found that sleep, a healthy diet, and copious amounts of exercise, especially exercising outside in nature helps immensely. Still, there is no cure, and there are highs and lows. Suicide is an ever present danger, and approximatly 20% of bipolar sufferers do take their own lives. My husband’s dad killed himself a few years ago, so it is a very real, and present danger. We don’t take it lightly. Bipolar is something we will live with forever; riding out the lows and making the most of the highs, together.

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Up and Down

Posted on by Susannah Warner

My husband is a good father. Let me just say that right off the bat. He loves his children, has supported and protected them, played with them, and comforted them throughout our 26 year journey together as parents. Even after his diagnosis of bipolar, with its 20% mortality rate, and 90% divorce rate, he’s managed to never let our kids doubt that he has their backs and loves them unconditionally.

Bipolar, with its classic ups and downs, one would think, must be even more bewildering and frustrating to children than it is to the spouse. Before his diagnosis, and even for years after, as we struggled to find the right combination of meds, there were nights full of giddy plans and days spent in bed. Promises made to go to the playground, ride bikes, and go swimming in the throes of hypomania, often dissolved overnight into excuses, lethargy and a blanket of depression. My kids grew up with this though, they didn’t know anything different. They knew his moods so well, that my daughter could tell in one word if he was “up or down.” He called her “apple-blossom” when he was up, and “chick” when he was down. His tone too, would give it away, lilting and quick when up, gloomy and slow when down, so that even “Hi” on the phone gave it away. Our own Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or the kid friendly version of Tigger/Eeyore.

This is not to say that he never did anything with them. Many, many times, he fought off the demon of anxiety and depression’s oppression, to fulfill his promises to them. He took them to the circus, parades, and amusement parks, many times without me as I have worked every other weekend since I was 16. These public outings for him left him riddled with anxiety, but he did it anyway. More calming to him, and just as fun for the kids, were the days spent outside; hiking, camping, fourwheeling, exploring the woods and getting dirty and tired. He did these things when he could, and the kids loved it, especially because of the life and energy that swirls around a “Tigger.”

Who can’t help but be drawn to the frenetic spark that hypomania brings?  The sky is bluer, the grass is greener, the clouds have interesting shapes, and the whole world is a playground. There are few worries in the world of Up, and boundless energy. No request need be denied, no financial concerns, even physical ailments, such as bad shoulders or aching back from years of carpentry, cease to be a consideration. It must be like a tiny slice of heaven on Earth.

But, Up’s evil twin, Down is never far away.  He also goes by the name of Eeyore, depression, hopelessness or shame. He is as heavy and gray as Up is light and sunny. Every task seems monumental, worrying turns to anxiety, and every ache and pain pile on the top of the sufferer, weighing him down and threatening to bring down the whole household, if you let it. It’s as if the brilliant sun is suddenly dimmed by storm clouds. A deluge of negativity and pain threatens to wash us all away, carrying everyone down a river of despair. A tiny slice of Hell on earth. But hold on, because summer is right around the corner. Melancholy will move and joy will return.

I liken my experiences with Bipolar to life in the Pine Tree State.  It is not uncommon in Maine to have the heat on in the car in the morning, and the AC on in the afternoon, snow might fall one day, and the next day, it is so warm, winter jackets are shucked off like snake skin. A gorgeous sunrise, the sky streaked with orange, crimson and promise, slowly fades to billows of gun metal gloom that overshadow the whole day. Life in Maine is not for the feint of heart, and neither is life with a person who suffers from a mood disorder. But, Maine is called Vacationland for a reason. It is beautiful and rugged and teaches perseverance and strength, and how to cheerfully navigate the hard times while looking forward to the good times. My kids have learned these things, and I’m thankful that they are strong, determined adults, with no signs of the infirmity their father bears. Just as Maine could never be called bland or boring; no endless flat cornfield, or boundless sunshine here, growing up with a bipolar parent has never been dull for my children. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t trade their father or their home state, so full of color and vigor, for an anemic, yet sensible landscape. Both predictable in their unpredictableness, and more precious for it.

 

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The Heartache of Bipolar

Posted on by Susannah Warner

I wrote this piece about bipolar disorder after watching an episode of Shameless on Netflix. I could identify so strongly with the family and also with the character, that I had to write about it. My husband is bipolar. I know that there are some people who prefer the term to be “has bipolar” rather than is, but this is who he is, the good and bad. You can’t shake it off like a stifling hot coat or wrap yourself in it when you are cold. It is who he is and it is who we are. Courage and tenacity are the requirements to survive, love and acceptance are needed to thrive. Bipolar can be beautiful and exciting when experiencing the “up” side. There is creativity and generosity and fun there, but also risk and danger.  I wanted to write from his point of view as well as mine. I wasn’t sure if I captured his side of it and asked him to read it and then I went to bed, When I got up, I saw that he had added two paragraphs at the end. It is honest and real. It is written from the low side but I don’t want this to be depressing. I want the reader to know that a person with bipolar does not choose this life, and they suffer so greatly when they can’t be who their loved ones want them to be. But that is not the end of the story. There is help. There is no cure, but there is relief. If you love a person with bipolar, or you are that person, you are brave, you are strong and you are not alone.

 

What if you felt dead inside, although you were still breathing? What if you felt so dry that you thought that your bones could wither and die? What if your child’s laugh felt like nails on a chalk board? What if the sounds of breakfast and of your family preparing to face the world, melted the small amount of courage that you had left. What if the sound of the birds chirping was an assault to your ears and the sun seemed to mock the darkness of your spirit? After all, the sun is up and you should be too, both your body and your mood. Everyone else is, it has been a cold, snowy winter and a rainy spring. But now, summer is here, people are happy, why can’t you be one of them? They come out to wash their cars, walk their dogs and barbecue with friends. But not you. The pain in your body joins the pain in your mind, crippling you. Your bed is safe and the world is not. The weight of responsibility sits on you like a ton of bricks, it overpowers you. You can’t breathe out there. The air is too fresh and the light too bright. Darkness is the place to hide, where for you, wrapped in your blanket cocoon, in your darkened room, solitude is the only safe place in this world. But the price of security is shame. You wallow in your guilt, you wear it like a chain draped over your shoulders, crushing but reassuringly familiar.

 

I see you there, in bed, wrapped up, nothing sticking out but your head which faces the wall. I know that this is a “down day.” I know that you will not get up today. I know that you will not take the kids to the playground and to get ice cream and to play outside all day like you promised yesterday, because that was yesterday, an “up day.” I hear the kids downstairs, letting the refrigerator door bang open and the bowls clunk together as they get cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. The sun is out, and they are ready for their day of fun. They argue about what they will do with you first. I know what will happen when I go down. “Where’s Dad?” they will say, disappointed to see boring Mom instead of fun Dad. “He’s not feeling well,” I’ll say. “Probably it will just be us today,” my voice will be light and bright but they will not be fooled. “OK” they will say, turning their faces back to the TV, no longer questioning why. I will turn up the emotional barometer to extra happy to combat the rapidly declining moods, sun or no sun. But. before I face them and spend the day making it up to them, I go to your side of the bed. You have tears in your eyes, you have the saddest face I have ever seen, at least since last time. “I’m sorry, I just can’t” you mumble. “It’s ok” I say, “you will feel better tomorrow.” You nod because you know that this is true. I know that you are grateful for the steadiness of my moods, neither high highs or low lows. I know that you will wrap yourself in sadness and guilt all day, It would be cruel to say the obvious; that this is not fair and that I never planned on being at the park all day and that I have tons of laundry to catch up on and would it be too much to ask to give me a freaking hour alone to read a book or take a nap for God’s sake? My only consolation is that I know that you would never choose this. You have told me more than once that at least I can get away from you when you are like this, that you can’t get away from yourself. I also know that if there was a choice between you and me having this disease, you would choose it a thousand times so that I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of darkness. I give you a kiss and tell you to rest even though I know a hundred days would not make your exhausted soul feel rested. But, we are a team. We are one. When you are down I am the half that is up and when the buoyancy of your mood threatens to carry us all away, I will be an anchor and bring us back to earth. I do this because I love you and because I promised to be there in sickness and in health and because I know that joy comes in the morning. Tomorrow you will probably be “up” even though it will rain. You will roll around and wrestle with the kids on the floor. You will play games and make omelets and clean the whole house. You will not feel the pain that yesterday, made you feel like you had been “run over by a truck.” You will be fun and exciting and everyone will forget the darkness of yesterday. Just as it is impossible to remember the chill of winter while basking in summers warmth, so it is with Bipolar. The lows make the highs even sweeter. But today is not that day, today you are down, so I will be up. I put on my sneakers and my happiest face and off I go.

Last night my husband added this….

This is the life of someone who has to deal with a bipolar person. It isn’t pretty and it is such a burden. I am bipolar, and I pray for a good day. I am alone but aware of my surroundings. I want to be accepted even though I can’t accept myself. I fail at most things, in my eyes. I am never proud of myself. I see wrongs and try to help others, even though I can’t help myself. If you need anything, I’ll try. When I’m up it’s because I’m trying my best to put on a good act, even though my mind is a battlefield. The woods seem quiet but the sounds are loud. I know what is true, but never seem to find the truth. I feel that the bad things that happened to me, even as a child, are my own doing. I want to mature but feel that is a pipe dream. I love my family, and know they love me too. We have some fun times, and have created good memories, along with the bad. I will clean your feet with humility. I will jump off a building for you. Even though I can’t comfort you, I cry in sorrow when I can’t do what’s right. I long for acceptance, but never earn it. I feel the pain I cause, to my core, and I am riddled with guilt. I want to give up but feel loved. This is my battle and I have drafted people in my life, to this war. It seems so easy to give up, until I see the love around me, but I will never be free of guilt, it has haunted me since I was a child. I have a battalion of guilt, that will never leave my mind.

The good things in life, for me? My wife. She is beautiful in every way imaginable! She is there in my lows, and picks me up. She loves me unconditionally, totally unwarranted, in my view. My children and grands, are my lifeblood. Without any of them, I am dead. It’s hard for me to see any positives, of who I am. I know they must be there somewhere, but I can’t seem to find them. I wander in the dark woods, even though I have a light to show me the way. This is bipolar; anguish, pain, guilt, worthlessness, self-destruction, and a trail of tears because of my selfishness. You’re welcome to join, but beware, it’s no fun. I love my wife and regret all the bad I have caused. My attempts are minimal and despicable, to make her happy. I can never repair the past, and can’t guarantee the future. I don’t think I’ll ever be who she wants me to be. I couldn’t do it for my Mom, or my children, so it is a dream she will probably never see. That’s probably true, but I hope not the truth. That is all I have.