The Heartache of Bipolar

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.