Staying busy hides the sadness

When I met my husband at 21, my eyes sparkled with love!  Such a glorious of all human experiences it is to fall in love. The smile never left my face, even when I kissed him.  He would be forced to kiss my teeth and then laugh and tease it me for it.

We dated for 3 and a half years before getting married, and we get married it was because we both were so madly in love we couldn't possibly imagine life without the other in it.  We didn't marry because I got pregnant or some other excuse.  No I married him at 24 and him to me at 25 and we stayed that way for a blissful nine months. 

In nine months, my hopes of the fairy tale ending came crashing down.  After just a short nine months, my husband experienced a severe psychotic episode...the first I had ever seen in our entire 4 year relationship and I was told he has schizophrenia and from there, life would never be the same.

I remember the pole in the hospital I leaned against whilst sobbing  I remember his dad's uncomfortable touch upon my back trying to comfort me but not really knowing me.  I remember feeling so utterly alone. 

Somehow three years later events had drastically changed for the better.  The medication was working, he had a new desire and drive to become and engineer and he enrolled in school to complete his electrical engineering degree.  I had finished graduate school and I was excited to move onto the next stage of life. My husband graduated college, found full time steady employment, and I had our two babies and was able to stay home with them part time. 

Life is hard as a mom.  I didn't want it any other way and I'm so grateful I was there, but it was hard.  Days would go by where I didn't shower and I wore the same hoodie or alternated hoodies that were easy to zip so I could nurse.  I felt unattractive and unattracted to anything or anyone.  My husband was providing for us but I felt ugly and unfullfilled. 

My daughter was dx with severe speech disorder and I was devastated.  Here I was a speech therapist and my daughter had a severe disorder I wasn't equipped to fix.  I started attending conferences, workshops, and training and was focusing on my career again under the guise of helping my daughter. My purpose and passion were born.  I new treating kids with apraxia was to be my life. I worked at the schools, dabbled in a fledgling private practice, and busted my butt to be a good mom.

I started to butt heads with my husband.  Whose career is more important?  He accused me of always taking priority, I accused him of not being supportive. 

Seven years after the birth of my daughter he landed in a psychiatric ward for the second time and life was never to be the same again.  It started a series of hospitalizations occurring each subsequent year.  Turns out we were lucky for my job because no one else could have afforded his attorney fees and hospital bills from his psychotic episodes.

My career was thriving but my heart was hurting.  I missed being mom to my kids.  I hated I was the parent always working.  To make it worse, when he was sick, he would tell me I was choosing money over my kids.  I would become incensed.  If it wasn't for me we would all be in a homeless shelter!  I was the one supporting all of us.  Such is Mania though.  Mania is mean and a jerk.

Tonight March 26th, 2019,  a short 3 months after my husband's last psychotic episode, I write to put things in perspective.  He is currently unemployed and has been for over a year now aside from some odd jobs. There is a season to everything and we can either look at the negatives or focus on the positives.  Life is always going to be hard in some capacity.  That might be part of the definition of living. There is NEVER a perfect season and there will always be something to complain about. 

An involved dad

 It's quite remarkable, even to me sometimes, how bipolar disorder can completely change a person and make them a shell of who they are.  At the height of mania, bipolar takes my children's dad away usually physically, as he doesn't sleep, has energy for days, and so he spends time away from the house busy with projects and  socializing with friends.  At the low of depression, bipolar takes him away emotionally where he doesn't leave the house but he also doesn't  even seem to hear them talking to him or feel their affections.

Either way bipolar takes away their dad's "presence" in their lives; which is so cruel and unfair because his one goal as a father was to always be present.  We would talk about parenting and he would confide he never wanted to be the dad who wasn't there because a job or money was more important.  He always wanted to make sure they felt they were the priority. 

If Cody is not sick, he lives this philosophy.  He willingly takes less pay to ensure he won't be away.  He turned down jobs that involved more money but included traveling to make sure he was with his family instead.   

My kids are his priority when he is well.  

However, bipolar steals that from him.  From us.  

Today is St. Patrick's day in 2021.  We are in the mountains on a spring break snow boarding trip. Cody is well, and has been well since November when he was released from the hospital after missing my daughter's 10th birthday and Halloween with the kids and put on Lithium.  The COVID 19 pandemic hit the world in 2020, and despite it being a time of increased mental illness issues in others, Cody was unaffected.  I love lithium.  I'm not exaggerating.  It's like a miracle drug that keeps Cody here and bipolar away. We love it when Cody is here.  He is fun.  He is present.  He is engaged.  He is everything he set out to be when he agreed to become a father.

Tonight I'm sitting in hotel room with some much needed peace and alone time while he has the kids down at the pool. He blew up their floaties even to play with in the water.  For a brief moment, I feel a tinge of guilt I'm not with them, but I don't actually like swimming and I remember there were times, months even, where Cody couldn't bring himself to even plan to go on vacation. Such is depression. The few times I planned trips when he was depressed I was miserable.  Not only did I plan the whole trip but all the responsibility was on me.  Meals, entertainment, tickets, pool whatever.  It was exhausting and left me feeling depleted and irreparably sad, grieving the Cody that seemed to have left us for good.

Fortunately I educated myself enough about depression to keep forging ahead knowing everything has a season and nothing lasts forever.  So tonight, as the kids swim with their dad and I sit here in the hotel room, I give thanks and have gratitude for this moment.  

I reflect on how had I not educated myself on bipolar we likely wouldn't be hear on this amazing trip in a mountain resort.  Had I never learned to separate Cody from his bipolar and to set up boundaries when he is sick to protect myself and my children during those hard times, it is unlikely we would be here today.

I think about the other families suffering in silence.  Confused family members baffled by their bipolar loved one.  

I want to help those families by sharing our experiences.  I want to destigmatize mental illness - especially serious mental illness like bipolar one with psychotic episodes.  That shit sounds scary and it is scary.  But it's also scary for the person afflicted. 

I want individuals with bipolar disorder to be better understood, because with this understanding and awareness comes actual solutions and help for the individual and his/her family.

A person with bipolar disorder can live a productive and happy life.  It's possible.  I look at Cody as proof.  However, it didn't come easy.  He had to claw his way out of his mental illness and want to be well more than he wanted to stay sick.  And I had to educate myself as well. I literally feel like I hit the breaking point but overcame it, and I want other families to have support and know how to do that as well.  Because on the other side of the breaking point, was my Cody again.  He was standing on the other side fighting too but I couldn't see it at the time through all the stress, hurt, and fear.  However, had I succumbed to the breaking point, I would have never experienced our happy family the way I remembered it ever again.

Will he stay well?  Honestly, part of my healing was realizing I don't need to worry about that anymore. I stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop a long time ago.  After his fifth episode I realized I have the tools and the strength to get past any other episode.  More importantly I have faith.  I know no matter what happens, we are going to be ok.  The Universe has a way of providing as long as I'm willing to receive when I need help and give when I don't. 

It's exhausting...going rounds

It's partly my fault.  You're feeling up and you want to drink.  I'm always down to drink so I'll take an extra shot, or two or three with you.  When you're cycling up though, it's ALWAYS a mistake.  I know better.  I guess I want to pretend everything is normal...you know..until it's not.

I asked you once to stop talking about business.  It's 9:15 at night.  Please, just let it go.  You kept on.  I emphasized again I had no problem discussing it but not now when we had both been drinking, yet you kept on.  I finally just had to disengage.  I turned back to my computer and began typing, which made you angry.  I reminded you, or should I say bipolar, how I had asked politely in numerous different ways to stop talking about the business but you had not so my only recourse was to disengage.

A perfect holiday

The secret life of bipolar is a life of extremes. It took therapy and a lot of personal development to learn how not to jump on the extreme train with my husband.  Bipolar will always be a part of our life.  It is there whether we want it to be there or not.  It is there, whether we wish it away or not. 

Eight months ago my daughter turned 10 and my husband was in a psych ward at a hospital in a neighboring state.  He was in mental anguish as he battled a mind that had been hijacked.  Eight months ago I found myself a single parent gathering all the birthday supplies, decorating the house, cooking the food, ensuring the traditions, and hosting a party on my own.  In the midst of the obvious absence, I stuffed my own feelings to be strong and joyful for my sweet daughter with special needs who had been waiting for months now to be 10! 

I made it as normal as possible.  There was a balloon run in the hallway, she had a candle in her pancake, she opened the gifts from us first. Before his hospitalization my husband managed to buy her an ipad mini.  To this day it's her most prized gift.  The loss of him not being able to see her open it was enormous.  I took a video that to this day I don't think he's watched.  The pain of what he missed too much to bear.

I was told by hospital staff that the knowledge that he had missed his daughter's 10th birthday set him back days from getting better.  He was completely distraught - yet his brain was still so sick and in out of lucidity.

Today was Father's Day - eight months later.  I hosted and smiled the entire morning.  I cleaned as usual, but he set up the canopy, the patio furniture, cleaned the kitchen and lent a hand wherever he could.  He also cooked all the hamburgers.  He laughed and he told jokes, and everyone commented quietly to me at various points how he seemed so "normal" and back to his old self.

A brief surge of panic welled in me.  Oh no.  He's feeling good and people think he's normal.  That means he's on his way to mania, my brain would worry.  But he's also sleeping through the night and sleeping in and finally taking Lithium, my other brain would say.  It's okay Laura.  It's okay. 

I once had a wife of a bipolar 1 spouse tell me, "Laura enjoy the good.  Enjoy the happy.  This illness robs so much, don't let it rob the good times too."  I think about that often and try and change my thought patterns to that of gratitude and happiness in the present moment. 

So yes.  Today was a perfect day, in a perfect way in our life with bipolar.

To the tribe whose member was suicidal

I'm part of a tribe I never thought I'd be in.

When my daughter was diagnosed with a speech disability, my world was turned upside down.  Struggling through the diagnosis and fight for services was demoralizing and exhausting.  Not to mention the emotional, financial, and marital strain that no one ever talks about. 

Having a child brings challenges, but having a child with special needs magnifies challenges. I remember feeling so alone.  I remember feeling like no one understood my life but me and it was an emotionally torturing place to be in. 

I found a tribe I never knew existed. 

I easily connected via a social media platform with others who had children who shared my same diagnosis.  Through these connections I was inspired to coordinate a walk for my child and others who shared her same diagnosis.  A team was formed of parents who shared the same vision, and a network....or tribe....was formed that was strong and unbreakable. 

I found a tribe I never knew we needed.

The purpose of the tribe was to spread awareness and celebrate our children who shared the same diagnosis.  Organized fundraising events and happy hours were scheduled and bonds were made.  There is an immediate and indescribable connection when a human meets another human going through the same thing and as C.S. Lewis describes it, "You too? I thought I was the only one." 

After some time a member of the tribe was afflicted with mental illness in the form of anxiety and depression..  The tribe I knew was there to support her son, suddenly rose up and supported HER. 

Find your tribe and love them hard.

A mom in our tribe had anxiety and depression.  It was something some of us knew, but never actually experienced.  This year, anxiety and depression came back knocking on this mom's door, and her tribe, her son's disability tribe rallied around her.  Cards and gift cards were sent.  Phone calls and texts were made since we now know that people in the throws of depression won't reach out. More texts were sent.  Support was poured out.  Love enveloped her son with special needs and a beauty and kindness many people fail to see in the world was uncovered.  Uncovered, right here in a tribe that was formed outside of mental illness.

Mental illness needs a tribe. 

Mental illness is as real as cancer.  It can be sneaky, it can be stealth, and IT IS DEADLY. Mental illness kills.  The brain lies to a person with mental illness.  Mental illness inflicts pain and ill information on the afflicted.  A tribe can counteract that lie.  A tribe can rally and save the person suffering from themselves. Stigma is the enemy of mental illness. Acceptance, understanding, and a TRIBE of loved ones is the cure.

A life was saved this month.  A life who was valued by an entire tribe who reached out. 

Reach out.  

Don't judge.

Just love. 

Save a life.

I miss you

"Why do you love me and what can I do to keep this?" my husband asked one day when I was feeling enraptured and in love.  Not knowing how to respond, I responded simply, "you're you and I love YOU."

Your face got a serious tone and you commented that you are always you but these days I seemed to be particulary in love and you wanted to know why so you could replicate them.  I really didn't have an answer except to say,

"I love you.  I don't love depression or mania.  I'm not in love with them.  But I have an always will be in love with the real Cody.

"That doesn't make me feel better," was your reply.

I didn't know what else to say.  I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, but at the same time depressed Cody is apathetic and manic Cody is mean......why would  like them?

Mania, book dedication, and true love

About a month and a half after a brief marital spat, my hsuband with bipolar 1 ended up in the hospital.  Ironically, a month and a half ago I did not think he was sick, but my daughter was beside herself with anxiety.  I wrote about explaining to her that he was just mad and not sick, but turns out she was right, and I was wrong.

My daughter has special needs arising from a genetic mutation called BCL11A.  She may struggle with socially accepted forms of learning, but emotional intelligence is her superpower. She knew before all of us.

Around this time, I published a book I wrote.  It was the story of my daughter overcoming her speech disability, a disability in which I happen to now specialize.  My husband encouraged me to write a book, and I did during depressive episodes of his spanning the course of 3 years. In those three years, he also suffered 4 manic/psychotic episodes.  Signs of mania can include anger and irritability.  I know this because I've been to counseling and read books.  My daughter, who has no training knew it before all of us.

"He yelled at you, his brain is sick!" she told me frantically.  I assured her he was just mad at me and not to worry.  People get mad and it's okay.  It doesn't mean he's sick.  She wouldn't have it.  "He yells at you when he's sick mommy!" she would press.  I validated that he does yell at me when he's sick, but that he's not sick and he was just mad.  Turns out she was right and I was wrong.

During this particular episode he set off on a Friday afternoon.  He had been at Denny's since 2 AM that morning and then went to work early.  We were on Fall break, but usually Fridays were his day to get the kids to school since I work early.  He had me drop them off at work and then he took them to my parents house. They reported he was overly talkative and my mom shared he had stared at her but was staring through her.  I know now, he was likely experiencing hallucinations.

From there he left and returned to work but left at lunch to "work from home" and ended up at a Dodge dealership where he was contemplating buying a new truck. The salesman, my friend, reported he was cool and calm and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except that he was talking about my new book and how proud he was.

That night he was gone.  He had driven up to Wyoming, ditched my parent's loaner car on the side of the road and was walking to only God knows where.  He lost the car keys, his debit card, and anything else on his person.......except my book.

I only found that out when he was about 11 days into an inpatient stay.  "I'm reading your book and I can hear your voice in the words," he said to me. Incredulous I exclaimed, "You have my book???"  How?? You lost everything on your person but you have my book??"

"I'm so proud of you, Laura," was his reply.  I wept because not even my own parents or family members bought or read the book yet.  I texted a friend who knew the situation and her reply was, "Wow, you really did dedicate it to the right person."

Hope for the future and more hurt feelings

"I've had enough.  Get a big boy job by the time the kids go to school or I'm out."

Those are fighting words, but I wasn't interested in a fight.  They were truthful words.  I truly had had ENOUGH.

Enough of being the sole provider.

Enough of being the only worried where money was going to come from.

Enough of feeling completely overwhelmed.

Enough of his sickness ruling our household.

ENOUGH

I truly meant it too.

Right before schools started in August 2019, he got an engineering job.

I thought I could literally feel a ton of bricks sliding off of my shoulders.

It feels different this time too. It feels like the time before he enjoyed 10 years of stability free from  hospitalizations.  It feels like that is on the horizon again.  I can literally see the glimmer of dawn. I haven't see that in at least three years.  We have had "seasons" of wellness, but sadly they never felt built to last.

This time may be different.  Only tell though will tell.

Tonight  we were fighting over his 40th birthday.  I brought up he should do something special, but was disappointed to learn his "something special" had no plans with us in it. I was sad, but if it's what he wanted I still wanted him to do it.  So many people celebrate having no kids around.  I love my alone time don't get me wrong....but I don't need or want an entire vacation away from my kids.  He says I misunderstood. He was only talking about a day trip with some guys in the backcountry snowboarding.  I could have misunderstood.  Maybe he did want a trip with his family.  Either way....

Ashlynn started crying.  Both kids were watching.  There they were, standing in the middle looking at Cody while we were fighting.  When he went outside, Jace retreated to his room to make cards for us, and Ashlynn started crying.  She started talking about when daddy's brain gets sick.  I told her he wasn't sick, just angry, but she kept going about how he yells when he's sick.

I was struck in that moment how acutely aware they are too of signs.  Are they waiting for the other shoe to drop?  Do they live with anxiety?  I told her daddy does yell when he's sick but right now he's not mad.  She insisted about hospital stays and doctors until I told her,

"Ashlynn, do you trust me?"

She shook her head yes, so I pressed on.

"I have never lied to you.  If daddy is sick, I tell you he's sick.  Right now I am telling you that he is just mad.  He's not sick ok, but if he were sick, I promise I would tell you."

She seemed okay with this answer and hugged me.

Bipolar is a family affair.

Edited to add - Ashlynn was right.  She predicted his impending episode only a short month later on October 18th of 2019.  https://lovingageniusmind.blogspot.com/2019/10/mania-book-dedication-and-true-love.html

What goes up, must come down.

"Was Cody okay today?  I'm only asking because Dennis was wondering," said my sister on Father's Day.

I always laugh and internal, incredulous laugh.  "No," I answered.  "He's not okay.  He has bipolar disorder, remember?"

"Well, but is he OK?" she pressed.

This Mother's Day, 2018, was probably the worst Mother's day to date.  I feel like I take on a lot of responsibility and I'm happy to do it and try my best not to complain for 364 days a year.  I work 12 hour days and then come home, eat dinner, and do the dishes that were left in the sink I guess for me to clean.   On my days off I clean the house, do the laundry, and try my best to make it so we don't live in a pig sty. To be honest, my house makes me sick.  I was fine with having this old ranch style house when we first were married; but now I work my butt off for people who all have bigger and nicer houses than me.  It's stupid really.  Eckhard Tolle would tell us it's "Identification with Form," so in my pity-party moments, I remind myself of that.  Then I think of Oprah.  She once said she knew she had made it when she would open a linen closet that was full of linens from top to bottom.

A three-story house is my linen closet.  Isn't that silly?

Anyway, this Mother's Day found Cody so manic he was probably almost hospitalized.  I was blamed for not planning enough for having people over (even though I told him two weeks in advance AND what the menu was).  I was yelled at for not sending a text of menu items (that I sent).  I was yelled at for his lack of time to plan (when I was at work all day).  When Mother's Day Eve fell on my house, I actually told Cody what I wanted for Mother's Day was for him just not to be there.  I meant it sincerely.  It's one thing to not feel appreciated.  It's quite the other to be verbally and emotionally abused on that day.

All in all, Cody did manage to pull of a decent Mother's Day.  Despite being manic as shit, he was super remorseful and did his best to grill and make me feel appreciated.  He was a great host, talkative, funny, and full of energy.  He entertained the guests, and though I appreciated the effort,  bipolar won this Mother's Day.  I know Cody didn't want bipolar to win either, but it did and that's just the way life goes.  He didn't ask for bipolar either.  It wasn't his fault.

Fast forward a little over a month to Father's Day and I found it hard to imagine that it was only ONE month ago I thought Cody had a one way ticket to the hospital.  He crashed hard from his mania and was now sleeping in, taking naps, and finding it hard to function.  He was clearly now in a depressive cycle.  On Father's Day he was aloof and withdrawn.  Tied to his phone or isolating away from people and sitting in the backyard, he was completely opposite of the Cody who was present for Mother's Day.  It was no wonder my sister asked if he was okay, but honestly the answer is Cody is never really okay.

I told my sister it was nothing more of "What goes up, must come down."  There is only so long any human can sustain little sleep and superhuman energy.  Bipolar or not, everyone is still a person and so Cody crashed into depression.

So far, it hasn't been the total apathetic and lack of awareness depression that last summer brought. Though he seems to have awareness, motivating himself still seems hard and he loses focus and motivation easily.  He sits in the basement in the dark playing video games or watching movies.  Quite the change from the entire Spring where he never touched the basement and spent every moment talking my ear off and networking with clients.

My mom came over today and asked me how I was.  I told her Cody was approved for disability and it would kick in starting in July.  I have never been happier.  I remember once someone telling me their youngish husband was on disability and I looked at the with pity because I thought it was so sad someone so young had given up.  I don't see Cody as giving up, but he simply cannot function as a 40 hour work horse, so I weeped tears of joy when I was alone.  Finally some respite.  Being the sole provider and bill payer is extremely stressful.  I repeat a mantra to myself daily that I can do hard things.  I am strong, but MAN I hope this helps even a little.

Mother's Day was happy because of YOU TWO, my whole heart.

Family is everything.  The strength of strong women is deep in this family

Ringing in 2018

It is New Year's Day and the year is 2018.  As I toasted Cody last night, I asked him what is resolution was, and his only reply was to "stay healthy."

Bipolar disorder sucks.  I would be lying to say it wasn't my prayer every night and morning.  I write it in church on the prayer dedications, and ask my family to do the same.  The health of my husband, my children's dad, is my top priority.  It is the element in our lives that affects our lives the most; and that is considering we have a child with a significant developmental delay/disability.

There is no doubt in my mind we would not be here without faith in God.  Cody's faith has been shaky, but mind has never been.  I also know we have an army praying for us.  Cody's family is Mormon and mine is Catholic, and all the people who pray for us are in my mind, the sole reason our marriage has made it in spite of a daughter with special needs and my husband with a severe mental disability.

After 2 manic/pyschotic episodes in the past two years, I want to try and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I just want to enjoy the present moment.  Love my husband while he is well.  Enjoy this moment for what it is.  Tomorrow is never guaranteed.  I want to be the best mom to my kids.  I want them to grow up in a home where their parents were together.

This 2018, I pray for a year of wellness. We take for granted so much our  health until we don't have it, and regardless of wealth, career, or social status, our lives our nothing without our health.

Dear Lord I pray that 2018 be a year of health for my family.  For my husband, my daughter, my son, and for myself.  This I pray,

The season of wellness

Today is December 9th, 2017.  What seems like an eternal 7 months ago, you were taken from me and the kids. Bipolar clinched it's grip on you and just like that, you were gone.

First in the hospital and then a medication induced zombie, you have been lost to us.  I told many people I lived and traveled with a cardboard cutout of you.  Physically present but emotionally absent, we would try to engage you but would be met with apathy.

Finally we found a psychiatrist who adjusted your medication and within days that cardboard cutout of you started to come alive again.  Today you are back.

Looking at you tonight I marveled that you were talking to me, listening to me, responding to me...and laughing! I stared incredulously that the man I married was back.  My mind started to wander.  I started to feel anxious.  I began to pray silently in my head,
"Please stay for awhile.  Don't leave again.  Please, please, please let him stay well and achieve stability again.  Please God, please.

"Why are you acting so weird?” he said and interrupted my train of thought.

Even if I tried to explain it, you'’ll never understand. You’ll never understand how you go away, and you'll never understand that in these moments, or these seasons of wellness, I’m so grateful and so scared at the same time that we will lose you again.

Why am i acting so weird? I don't know how to tell you  I’m so happy I could cry, and so scared this won’t last, and I’m just trying to drink in this moment of wellness and pray to God it doesn't go away again anytime soon.

Thankful, Grateful, Blessed

This Thanksgiving, 2017, I added a frame to my facebook profile picture that said "Thankful,   Grateful, Blessed.

No truer words were EVER spoken. My husband with Bipolar 1 disorder has been depressed/apathetic since his last manic/pyschotic episode last Spring.  To say I have been lonely isa an understatement.  I only remark that I have lived with a card board cutout throughout the entirety of the summer.  My fun loving, life of the party, adventurous husband was nothing but a shell throughout the entire past 5 months.

About a month ago, we went to a new psychiatrist who switched his meds.  Within a week I started to see glimmers of my husband.  A full month out and I can report I have my husband back.  My kids have their father back.  The amount of gratitude coursing through my veins can never be contained within the confines of the written word.  

This Thanksgiving, I cannot help but be grateful for anything other than having my husband back. Mental illness is a terrible disease.  It has the ability to hijack a person you love and keep them hostage, and you have NO control or say.

This Thanksgiving, the picture frame, "Thankful, Grateful, Blessed," meant more than just a nice sentiment. I truly and deeply felt that despite all the difficulties, God was still in our corner. This Thanksgiving, I truly feel thankful, grateful and blessed to live in a time when mental illness can no longer steal the person I love away from me for good. I am grateful and blessed that because of modern medicine, the man I love, the man who is the father to my children, and the man I want to navigate life with can still be here because of modern medicine.  

Happy Thanksgiving!

A reason to stay

Sometimes, is it as though time stands still.  Never a fan of birthdays, it’s ironic I can remember so many of them with you.  I have so many memories of our 20 year friendship.  If I close my eyes, I remember you standing tall and proud in our high-school demanding attention with a tie wrapped around your forehead for spirit week.  In a world where everyone, including myself, just wanted to fit in; you ensured you stood out.  Always pushing on, moving forward and finding

a reason to stay.

We had AP classes together our senior year of high-school.  I was your match when it came to English and writing, but you were my cheat sheet when it came to chemistry and science.  Because of you, high school was fun and full of laughs and adventures; although I didn’t always realize deep inside you were some days searching for

a reason to stay.

We decided to go to the same college and earn our bachelor degrees.  We drove the metropolitan train line and impressed ourselves with our newly found independence and our success at adulthood.  Boyfriends, heartbreaks, clubs and shoulders to cry on, I’m so thankful you always were there and found

a reason to stay.

From college graduates, to newlyweds, to mothers; we shared the joys life had to offer.  Faithfully taking pictures and documenting it for each other, we had moved onto the next stage of life and easily found

a reason to stay.

You had kids before me and I remember being annoyed and maybe slightly jealous of your instant enamor with all things baby and kids.  You would proudly boast and post pictures of your precious and precocious babe, living, seeing, and experiencing life again through new wonderful, true, curious, and wander lust eyes. Once I had my first born, I joined in on the fun and was ever so thankful I could share this time of life of you and that you continued to find

a reason to stay.

Dark days had always come through this 20 year timeline.  Not privy to them all, I think you at times, got better at hiding the intrusive thoughts that would threaten to hijack your mind.  However, I only became more fooled that everything was fine.  A long, two years brought changes and actions I didn’t recognize.  Though I tried to reach out I didn’t know how; and when I did, I was met with venom and backlash.  Confused, I would reach one hand out only to have two slapped back.  I didn’t want to make it worse, but I also didn’t know you were struggling to find

a reason to stay.

After taking you to the hospital and calling your sisters; my concern was met with outrage and I started to feel I was causing you more pain.  Had I known then what I know today about depression, I would have not left you alone because I thought it was what you wanted.  I would have kept annoyingly reaching out because I would have known you were losing yourself and losing sight of

reasons to stay. 

You died by suicide almost a year later. I still remember the exact chair and the exact room I was sitting in, when your sister called me.  You articulate sister, gifted in words as brilliantly as you; was wailing on the other end that you had died.    It was not a human cry.  It was the sound of grief itself manifested in human voice. 

My dear friend, my 6’3’’ Amazonian goddess of a best friend; I wish I would have known the extent of your struggle.  I had no idea you were fighting a battle every day in which you were trying to find

a reason to stay.  

Had I known then all I have learned now, things might have been different.  Save me a seat on the other side. Love you.

 

 

Love you, Love you a lot, Love you Forever

Love you.  Love you a lot.  Love you forever.

It's a phrase that just started one day in my house, and was bestowed upon my children by their father, my husband. Despite my daughter having one of the severest speech disorders (apraxia) and struggling her first 4 years of life to even repeat "I love you," the phrase had become common place and well rehearsed at bedtime.  The kids, MY kids, MY heart, enjoyed saying it to their dad and giggled in glee when he would repeat it back or complete the phrase.  I would smile at their secret dialogue.  I was never included.  This was something special between them and their dad and I was 100% totally okay and happy with it. 

I love words.  I'm a writer.  Words have always made sense, and sometimes, certain words are only saved for someone special.  Words MEAN something and I knew these words symbolized a unique and special bond between my children and their father.

That is, until Depression hit.  Depression.  Such an unwelcome, unwanted, uncontrollable cloud that comes to visit.  Depression is not welcome by anyone, including the one it decides to reside in.  Depression chose my husband as its home this past year.  My husband reminded me the other day no one would "choose this," meaning no one would ever invite depression in.

My husband's eyes went blank and his body merely a shell.  My kids, not understanding depression tried for a couple weeks in vain.  On auto-pilot my husband would say "I love you" and they would eagerly respond,
"Love you a lot" and wait with baited breath for him to finish and say, "love you forever," but Depression stole their dad away. Depression didn't know the secret words.  Those words were lost in a foggy cloud as he would stare right through them or play games on his phone.

Soon after the words were forgotten.  I love you was ever barely spoken.  Hugs stopped being given.  Have you ever hugged a shell?  There isn't much satisfaction or connection.  At times, you may press it to your ears and imagine words and sounds, but in the end; you are left with a hard case and only your imagination.

We found a new doctor for my husband.  He changed the meds.  I waited for two weeks determined not to get my hopes up.  I couldn't handle them being crushed again.  I started to hear something peculiar.  I started to hear a phrase I just slightly remembered.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

I think my mind dismissed it at first.  I can't hear that.  It's too painful.  I must be hoping so hard to have him back I am imagining my kids saying it again.  They had long forgotten it. 
But then, again.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

There was this moment, as sure as the moment when I knew I had lost him......I realized I had found him again.  He had found a way to send depression packing and the sweetest words I think I have ever and will ever heard, came from the smiles of my children as they told him goodnight.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

Goodbye depression. Oh, and I hope that door hits you on the way out.

Two's company, three is lonely: Go away bipolar depression

Depression is not something we have usually dealt with, my husband and I.  Manic bipolar I had all figured out.  This though, is new.

I am lonely.  I am so lonely at times.  He is a shell.  Depression for him is not sadness. 
It is indifference. 
It is apathy. 
It is....

Despondent.

I need to learn more about depression, but I'm not there yet.  Life is busy.  After working all day, the frustration I feel coming home to a house that's destroyed, dishes in the sink, and depression lying on the couch makes every ounce of patience and compassion in me boil over.

Sometimes it feels like I'm a single mom with three kids, one of which is depression. To say it's overwhelming is an understatement.  To say I feel lonely grossly misidentifies the feelings inside of me.  I once heard a song that said the opposite of love is not hate, it's apathy. 

Apathy is absolutely crushing.  Hate can make you cry, but apathy leaves you feeling empty too. 

I remember when my husband was first diagnosed, I read all this advice to not "jump on the bipolar train."  To set boundaries and make sure I don't get sucked into the constant roller coaster of mania and then depression and then back up to mania again.

I'm here to tell you that's impossible.

Boundaries can ensure you don't physically sit down on the roller coaster, but they very rarely work to inhibit all the emotions that come with loving someone who is manic or depressed.

When my husband is manic, my already anxious spirit is in overdrive and I experience panic attacks, heart palpitations, adrenaline rushes from panic at night, and a racing heart beat.

When my husband is depressed, as he is now, I experience intense loneliness.  No one asks me about my day anymore, and worse yet, no one seems to care.  I live in a house with another adult, but the only sounds are kids playing, fighting, or crying.  I crave adult conversation.  When I reach out and ask a question, it's met with a gesture of indifference for depression has no desire to talk.

Sometimes my husband comes out for a brief visit.  My hopes get as high and come as fast as a rocket shooting to space. Depression always has the last laugh though and the rocket explodes mid flight and I'm the only one left picking up the pieces.

Please, please, please go away depression.

Two is company and three is just....lonely.

The ransom I found after bipolar depression kidnapped my husband.

It's Fall of 2017 in Colorado.  The state has been under a fog for about a week or more due to smoke from nearby wildfires.  It's been hazy.  The sun is always a weird color and we can't see the mountains like usual.

Today, my husband with bipolar 1 disorder finally had an appointment with a private psychiatrist (hard to find), who is taking new patients (harder to find), works 5 days a week (impossible to find), and actually seems to look at psychiatry as more than a paycheck (I didn't think this existed).

I went with my husband to this appointment.  In the 11 years of his bipolar dx, I have never once been to an outside appointment.  I've had plenty with the inpatient staff, but no, this was a first.

My kids' normally fun, boisterous, larger than life dad has been kidnapped by bipolar depression. As much as I have good boundaries, and as much as I keep myself healthy and make sure not to jump on the bipolar roller coaster, my heart has been broken.  I miss my husband.  I miss my kids' real dad.  I miss my partner.  I miss my friend.  I miss the guy who quite literally might be the funnest person on the planet.

Bipolar has truly kidnapped him.

I have spent months trying to figure out the ransom. Date nights? Jet skiing?  Camping? Sleeping all weekend?  Break from the kids?  Break from the family? Break from life?  Vacation?

The kidnapper rejected all the offers.

At times, I thought I had enticed the kidnapper, even just a little; but in the end the price was too high, and worse yet, I didn't know the terms.

Who knew then, that today, the ransom would come in the form of a middle aged man, with brown leather suede shoes, and big white smile, salt and pepper hair, and a thoughtful demeanor.  My instincts instantly knew he was the ransom.  He was the key that would unlock depression's grip on my husband. 

He.....is a psychiatrist.

Were you expecting something fancier?  We have a new medication plan, a new follow up plan, a plan that involves teamwork, and a hope that it won't fail this time.  We have someone who is available, consistent, and seemed genuinely interested in running our kidnapper off for good.

Tonight after I picked up my kids, my son looked to the sky.  Our usually smoky, hazy sky was clear tonight for once; and my five year old son said, "Look mommy!  The sunset!"

Tears welled into my eyes as I smiled and said, "Yes.  There it is again Jace.  The sunset, and tomorrow will be indeed, a new day. 

To the Spouse of Someone Just Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

Hello.  You don't know me, but I know you.  I see myself in you, all those years ago now when I cried heavy tears and always seemed to be lost, confused, and feeling crazy.

I know the intense love you feel from and for your partner.  It's a love that is so deep it cannot possibly be described but only felt.  It is all encompassing and it is true, blue, glorious, love.  It is a crazy, passionate, euphoric, and sometimes painful to the depths of despair kind of love.  It is what is written and sang about it.  In its glory, it is the very BEST of what life has to offer and you feel lucky that you have found it.

I know your confusion then when it turns.  A switch and everything turns dark. Delusions, disassociation, and anger are suddenly thrust at you. It is incredibly confusing.  Where did your lover go? Do they not remember the affection they felt only what seems like yesterday?  Do they not remember how they cried big tears watching a movie with you because they felt love for you too that deeply?  Why are you now the source of their anger when what seems like just minutes ago you were their muse?  Why now are they so unpredictable when they have been so steady?

Yes I see you.

I need you to listen closely.  Not the nod your head, take it in, then move on about your day compliance either.  I need what I say to SINK in. I say this, because it is literally the difference between staying married and getting divorced. When my husband was dx, a nurse on the unit told me the divorce rate for a couple when one spouse has bipolar disorder is greater than 90%. 

GREATER THAN 90%?????

There is reason for that my friends, but the reason, I don't believe, is because people with bipolar suck.  The reason I believe, is that their spouses, and society in general does not understand the disorder at all.  It's hard.  Don't get me wrong, I get it.  The disorder affects a person's brain, and it is difficult to tease out who is the person and who is bipolar....but I'm here to tell you, it's possible.
It is difficult to understand, if you don't know, that stressors such as major life changes including: jobs, moving, deaths, and births can send a person with bipolar into an episode. 

If you know this though,  you can arm yourself with ways to prevent it, or manage it.  However, if you don't, you will live a perpetual cycle of not understanding why your spouse is acting a certain way, and you will have no tools to help them and consequently you, work through it.

In therapy, I learned that things I did and said were "triggers."  That does not mean anything was "my fault" either.  It just meant I was unknowingly contributing to my husband's illness. Let's compare it to diabetes.  What if you knew nothing about diabetes and you continued to serve meals and eat at places loaded with sugar.  Your spouse got progressively worse, but you didn't know why so you continued to serve these foods.  Had you knows these foods were "triggering" diabetes and making it worse, would you continue to serve them and eat at places you knew would make them sicker?  I'm willing to bet not.  The SAME is true for bipolar disorder.

Take the time to learn about it.  I promise you won't regret it.  I don't.

Sincerely,
A Happy Wife of 12 years to a husband with Bipolar Disorder

Words matter when it comes to suicide prevention

September is suicide prevention month. I find it remarkable that just 2 years ago I barely noticed it was suicide prevention month. In fact, I don't think I noticed at all. September was Labor Day camping, back to school, Fall leaves, pumpkin spice and everything nice.

On January 18th 2016, my dear friend of 20 years died by suicide. Since that time, I became acutely aware of not only needing a suicide prevention month like September, but the desperate need we have for this country to take mental health seriously. Mental health disorders kill people. It seems the prevailing dogma has been to blame the victim of a suicide. We say things like they "committed" suicide. We talk about how they fought "demons."

No

These words may seem harmless, but words matter, just like my friend Sarah mattered; and I refuse to be quiet. Let's take a person battling cancer. If they are to die from it, we don't say they committed death. We blame cancer. Cancer killed them. If they are lucky enough to live, we (rightfully) talk about how strong they were for winning the battle. Why do we refuse then to do the same with mental illness? Mental illness affects a person's BRAIN. It affects thought processes and mood. It can distort reality. If you are a person with a mental illness, I believe you would categorize it as a "battle" you fight every day, but instead of being called strong, society says you are weak.

No

There's a lot of work to be done as we all know it regard to mental health care, but it starts here. 

With words. 

Imagine how perspective might change and the urgency people would feel when instead of blaming the victim and saying they "committed suicide" we say something even bolder. 

Depression killed them. 

Bipolar killed them.

 Do these statements shock you?  If they do, ask yourself why?

What if, instead of saying they couldn't fight their "demons" any longer, we call it what it is and say they lost their battle with mental illness.  What if, instead of implying these people are weak, we celebrate them for being STRONG. We encourage them to go on because we recognize they find an inner strength every day.

Imagine then, when we hear when loved and celebrated people like Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, and Chris Cornell die, the world will not respond with "how could they do it?" or "why did they do it?" and instead respond like they would if it were ANY other illness or tragedy that caused death.  If this happens, perspective will shift.  Suicide will no longer be blamed on the victim and mental illness will be treated like any other illness that has the ability to cause death.

Yes.

Words matter.
Mental Health matters.
People matter.
Sarah mattered.
You matter.

September is suicide awareness month.

Book Recommendation: Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder

In the early stages of my husband's diagnosis, I was lost.  Actually, I think we both were lost.  I didn't understand what it meant.  I didn't understand why he loved me and could be so hurtful at the same time, and I didn't know how to love him back.  It always seemed like we were fighting.  That was before I learned the terms like triggered, what works list, and boundaries, to name a few. 

The book "Loving Someone with Bipolar Disorder" by Julie Fast and John Preston was INSTRUMENTAL in helping me not only maintain, but make better the relationship with my husband.  The book is designed for both partners to read; however, I read it alone and still found it to be substantially helpful. 

I am happy to answer any questions about the book if you want to contact me, or to even do a book review if there is much interest.  Long story short, if you love someone with bipolar disorder, read this book.  It's fantastic. 

You didn't choose bipolar, but I still choose you.

Dear Husband,
I never knew when I married you 12 years ago that you were bipolar and neither did you.  We were young and in love, and our love story was turbulent but beautiful.  I figured no one else was as passionate as us, so when we were in love we were REALLY in love; and when we hated each other, we REALLY hated each other. In the end though, my heart always knew, and so,

I still chose you. 

Nine months after we were married and you started hearing things and seeing things that weren't there, I didn't understand what you were going through and didn't know it was because of bipolar. I tried to respect your delusions and listen with seriousness, until the night it was all too much and we found you surrounded by police, barefoot and afraid.  They misdiagnosed you that night as having schizophrenia and I sobbed tears that I thought would never end; but they did, and through it all,

I still chose you. 

We figured out you had bipolar disorder and you started medication and gained weight because you refused to get them adjusted and to see a psychiatrist, but you got better.  A lot better.  In fact, so much better you went back to college; something you couldn't sit through or do before.  You graduated with a bachelor of science, we had our first child, we bought a house, life was normal.  I stopped worrying the other shoe would drop.  During this time my dreams were coming true and

It was easy to choose you.

Before our first born's third birthday, we learned she had a severe developmental delay.  Those tears that seemed to come without end came again and I was lost and devastated.  Where I was weak, you were strong.  Where I was sad,  you had hope.  Where I felt the weight of the world, you let me share it on your shoulders and eased the burden.  You were my rock and as I would close my tired weary eyes bloodshot from searching the internet, I would fall onto your chest and

Choose you.

A decade, a fifth wheel, a jetski, and two kids later you decided to go off of your meds.  I was anxious and you listened to all of my concerns.  We had a plan, and a safe word.  Three months later after the summer of our lives you had your second manic episode, a felony, and a wake up call.  I knew I could get you back and every day I visited you in the hospital, sometimes twice a day and I would leave a sticky note for you that you would put on your room wall to remind you that

I still choose you.

I knew being back on medication would fix everything; but then a dark cloud floated above our home and left you sad and empty.  Nothing I could do or say could bring you back to me, and even though you were physically there, your eyes were empty.  After the long winter, the medication that once kept you stable for 10 years stopped working. Mania came back and shooed the dark cloud away, but also brought with it delusions and hallucinations.  Another hospitalization and I thought I would do what I did before, but you didn't want to see me this time.  I would visit and you would send me home.  I didn't know what to do, but

I still chose you.

You still chose me too, but once the mania faded the dark cloud came back to visit.  I don't know how long it will stay.  Sometimes I pray so hard that I see the sun find its way to us again and I think everything will the same, but the cloud is thick and covers it up again.  I see you try day after day, and I want you to know, I'll never give up on you because you're worth it.  You are always there for me, even with bipolar, and I promise I will always be there for you.  And even though you feel I would be better off with someone else, I want you to know that will never be true because I will never, ever stop fighting and

choosing YOU.