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. 

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.

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."

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

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

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.

The Visit

Countdown to the hour I get to

See you

Feel you

Touch you

15 years familiar and I still

Get nervous

Feel anxious

Feel insecure

Once inside you tell me you

Cursed me

Love me

Watched me

Watched me from the window above, so when I left, instead of looking down, I looked up and I saw

Your shape

Your shirt

Your sadness

Back out I rolled down my window and 

Waved

You waved

We looked away

It will always be you

Oh boy Ydoc.  Here we go again.  I knew that fateful night you told me you were going off meds this day would come.  I knew because I respected you too much to fight you on something I knew I would do myself.

You've been stable for the last 10 years.  An entire decade really.  After your first manic/psychotic episode you vowed to never stop taking medication again.

Until that night.  I rung my hands and peeled paper off of my beer bottle.

"Why are you nervous?" you asked with genuine concern.

"I"m scared.  We need you."  I replied.

You were so understanding.  This was important to you.  You knew you had it figured out.  You needed sleep.  That was the secret formula.  You were compassionate and understanding of my worry.  What could you do to make me feel better?

We agreed on a "safe word."  A word I could say that would make you go in and get treatment.

Oklahoma

That was the word.

I vowed to never use that word unless I meant it.  You challenged me many times.  When you were mad and raging you dared me to use it.  You demanded I use it.  Rage and anger weren't why I needed the safe word.  I never uttered it between my lips.

This summer, the summer of 2016 was the best yet.  Will you write an album someday?  The summer of 2016?  It would be killer.  It starts with fun, fun, and more fun.  Camping, jetskiing, camping, sand, water, jetskiing, blue sky, warm breeze, tan skin, cold drinks, happy kids, fun friends, new bike....best...summer...ever.

Until

A switch.  Not of the seasons.  Not of a light.  Not of anything I can put into words.  Without warning in 48 hours, I went from having my hot, fun yet responsible and loving husband and father.....to having a manic, psychotic felon, sitting in jail.

How did we get here?

What the fuck happened?

Oh yeah.  You're still bipolar.
Oh yeah.  You still have one of the most severe types of bipolar.
Oh yeah.  Your brain still fights you.

Oh.....yeah.

Sigh

You went off of meds right before school ended in May.  I told a co-worker I was scared and to my surprise I started crying.  I told her though, that if something happened to you, actually, if THIS happened to you and I for some reason, never got you back, I would still consider myself lucky because for 10 years I had THE love of my life.  I had THE time of my life.

Ydoc, you have and always have been my soul mate.  From the moment I saw you it was like a lightening bolt between us.  I tried to deny it at first where you took it and ran, but in the end, how lucky were we?

You are my Cash and I'm your June.

You have bipolar but bipolar is NOT you.

I miss you. I know you think you are broken, and I know you wonder how I can feel safe with you, but that's because I know bipolar is NOT you.

I saw you begin to come undone again.  The second time in 9 months.  I know you tried your very best to hang on.  I know you fought it off as long as you could.  I know my anxiety made you worse. I know I have anxiety, but I also love you so much, and you're so important to this family that I cannot imagine it without you as the head and so I can't help but work myself up into a frenzy.  I'm sorry.

Don't shake your head.  Don't tell me you're not the strong one.  Don't let bipolar define you.  You amaze me everyday.  You're determination through the midst of such a difficult disorder makes you the strongest person I know.  Somehow, even with the weight of depression you get up and go to work each day.  Somehow, even when you're manic and your fuse is short, you manage to take a step back and come back even better.  When you had to go back to work after a hospitalization, you bravely woke up that morning and marched into work.  You never once complained.

That is strength.  That is brave.

You know what else is brave?  You were in the midst of a manic episode, and when almost every doctor and informational text about mania says the individual in the midst of an episode lacks insight, you got in the car and voluntarily went to the hospital.  I saw you fight back tears.  I saw you fight back the demons overtaking your brain.  What's more, is I know you were able to do it, you were able to defy those odds, those text book descriptions, because of your love for me and our children.

I hope you're not mad at me.  If you are though, I have to accept that consequence, because honestly it's better than what the alternative would have been....which was jail for you and my kids not seeing their dad (their AWESOME AWESOME dad) for a year.  Don't be mad at me. Please.  There is no manual and I'm doing the best I can.  All I know is I love you and miss you and didn't want you to go the hospital either, but I'd rather you be there than in jail.  You don't belong in jail.  You're the victim. The victim of a brain that turns against you.

I will always love you.  It will always be you.  I will always miss you when you're gone and feel happy and safe when you are home.

The house is empty without you.  I leave a light on......

When you know better you DO better... A Post about Blue Monday

Have you seen the popular facebook re-post this month? There are variations, but for the most part it reads, “My door is always open, the coffee pot is always on (well, I’ll make some!) and my sofa is always warm and a place of peace and non judgement. Any of my family and friends who need to chat are welcome anytime . It’s no good suffering in silence. I have cold drinks in the fridge…tea & coffee in the cupboard and I will always be here. …You are never not welcome!! Blue Monday is a name given to a day in January (typically the third Monday of the month) reported to be the most depressing day of the year and January the worst month for suicides, it’s always good to talk but even better to listen. This hits closer to home than we think. I’ll always lend an ear and a shoulder…….and my heart. Post if you are an advocate too. This is a re-post, and I mean it!”

I had never heard of “blue Monday” before. You would think I would have been acutely aware of its existence, last year, January 18th, 2016. It was in fact the third Monday in January, and it was also the day my friend of 22 years died by suicide.

I was tempted to re-post the sentiment. Shared undoubtedly with the best of intentions, something in it felt empty to me. See, I’ve learned a lot in this past year. I wrote a piece on my friend’s death that was shared by various news outlets and I read, or did my best to read, every single comment. I learned a lot from the comments. Some of them were very hard to read. In the end though, this is about starting a conversation and erasing the stigma; so if I were to shy away from comments that are difficult to hear, I too just become part of the problem.

The most important piece of advice I took away, was that a person in despair or a person with suicidal thoughts will in fact NOT reach out to you. This was echoed in multiple comments across multiple outlets by those who have been there themselves. Many scoffed at my assertion that had my friend called or texted I would have ran to her side. Some were kinder and tried to gently point out that is not how depression works.

The bottom line though is this: Re-posting a generic facebook status update regarding mental health, depression and suicide is certainly better than nothing, but it’s still not going to save any lives. I’m not saying this to sound callous, cruel or judgmental. I say this as someone that wishes I had known this one year ago. I say this as someone who didn’t even think suicide was an option for my friend until it happened, I say this to maybe be a voice to those who are suffering right now and who took the time to comment and try and educate me on the condition.

The facebook sentiment is a start, but please, please, PLEASE do more if you think someone is struggling. Even if you don’t think suicide is an end result like I did, reach out. Reach out! Reach out in a personal message, a card, a call, really anything more than a generic facebook post.

I can’t bring Sarah back. One suicide is completed there are no second chances. Maya Angelou was a poet Sarah and I loved. She once said, “When you know better, you do better.” I wish knowing better hadn’t been at the expense of Sarah’s life, but since it is, there is only one thing left to do in her honor:

Do better. We have to do better. I love you Sarah.

She's Alive Because He Lived

The other day, my niece posted a status update/question on facebook, tagging those she particularly wanted to respond. Her question regarded our idea of eternity, and how we all keep from getting scared by it.

I smiled when I read it, but my smile was twofold. The first, was that I love how she put herself out there. The second, was that it immediately made me think of Sarah. We had these conversations a lot. I’m not sure who coined the term (it was probably Sarah) that we used all the time, but we would call each other and say we were having an “existential crisis.” We might have liked to be dramatic! haha

I answered my niece’s question, and then went on about my day. I was in my car and couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She was my niece’s facebook friend too, and she would have LOVED that question. She would have responded to that question. She would have loved even US having a conversation about that question.

Sigh

I started wondering what she would have said. It had been awhile since we had had any such conversation. What would she say today?

A tear welled in my eye. I thought out loud, “Sarah, my niece is having an existential crisis and I want you to weigh in,” and I laughed a solemn laugh.

Stupid. Not like Sarah can hear me. What is the point in crying and asking a question to the air??

I started thinking though, when Sarah was here on this Earth, it always seemed to happen more than not that when one was thinking of the other, we would quickly discover the other was thinking about the one. Why wouldn’t it still work that way?

I turned on my radio. I thought to myself, “okay, Sarah. Tell me something.”

I scrolled through my pre-sets.

Nothing.

“Come on Sarah! Please?” I said out loud to my steering wheel.

I decided to push scan instead. I listened attentively to the seconds the radio would stay on one station before scrolling to the next.

Nothing.

Until.....

“I was dead in the grave. I was covered.....(scan)

What was that?? I scrolled back.

“Amen, Amen, I’m alive, I’m alive because He lives.”

I listened to the rest of the song. It was on a Christian station. I don’t typically listen to Christian music. I reached my destination and googled the lyrics. I then listened to the entire song.

The song is entitled “Because He Lives” by Matt Maher. I won’t bore you with the entire song, but the rest of that stanza read this:

“ I was dead in the grave I was covered in sin and shame I heard mercy call my name He rolled the stone away Amen, Amen I’m alive, I’m alive Because He lives Amen, Amen Let my song join the one that never ends”

I smiled. Holy shit (excuse my profanity as I discuss these matters). There she is. She answered that question through a song. I knew she couldn’t resist an “existential crisis” talk afterall. ;)

I immediately downloaded the song on iTunes.

A few days later I had another dream. A very, very, very short dream it was kinda disappointing. Sarah was working at a restaurant. I went to see her and we snuck into a hallway by the kitchen and were giggling like teenagers again. I became really serious and showed her a mosquito bite on my hand. She looked at it and took out her cell phone and pointed it at my mosquito bite, and then the phone started vibrating.

The dream ended.

Sarah loved dreams. I couldn’t resist looking this one up. It made me happy and nostalgic and I felt connected somehow.

Mosquito bite - bitten - indicates something “gnawing at you.”

Cell phone - indicates the

desire to communicate

Vibration - suggests the need to pay more attention to your intuition

Ha!

I may sound crazy and I don’t care. The desire to communicate with Sarah has been gnawing at me, and she was urging me to pay more attention to my intuition.

I thought of the song earlier in the week. That was her. I don’t care if I sound crazy.

I have peace. She’s alive because He lived.

Love you Sarah. I pray you have

peace as well.

All my love,

Kay 

Her Parting Words

Perhaps the most paradoxical truth to Sarah’s death, is how she lived her life finding beauty, only to end up in a place of complete darkness. Sarah, even in her darkest last days, posted pictures of beauty around her. Sunflowers in a field on the way to her mom’s house, a sunset smoldering over the Denver city lights, frost clinging to tree branches.

Sarah’s sister read a poem of Sarah’s at her eulogy. Written before the age of 21, it still captures Sarah’s brilliance, artistry, beauty, and depth, even at such a young age. She truly was an “old soul,” timeless, beautiful and brilliant.

“Life is to be lived, to appreciate its smells, sweet and bitter, its bright colors… don’t just see black white and gray. Know innocence. Believe. Talk to your ancestors. Talk to your angels. When you look, look at faces and bodies. Appreciate them. Appreciate your own. Know you. You may be controversial, but be you because you always have you. Believe in something bigger than you so, you are not the center of the universe. Recognize the good and bad, sweet and sour, all opposites, because one does not exist without the other. All opposites except one Love. Love exists without hate. Love and be loved. Live for each sunrise and sunset. Remember, Love is unconditional.”

A Visit in My Dreams

I remember one time calling Sarah after I had a dream about her. “I dreamed about you last night” might seem a weird conversation starter, but it was never weird to Sarah.

On a few occasions she would excitedly tell me she dreamed of me too! On others, she would smile thoughtfully and say ,”How cute you visited me in your dreams.”

Sarah was very interested in dreams. I even have a dream dictionary because I was so fascinated about how she would look up and interpret her dreams, that I started wanting to know what my dreams meant too. Being part Native American from the Chickasaw Nation, Sarah also loved dream catchers and had them around her house, even to her passing. Dream catchers are supposed to catch the bad dreams, leaving only good dreams behind.

If we had a dream about each other, we always called. In our younger days, if we had a perplexing dream, we would both consult our dream dictionaries and philosophize on what it had meant.

I haven’t dreamed about Sarah since her passing, until last night. I was in a blue pickup truck near my parent’s house. Inside the cab were two large original paintings that I was (pitifully) attempting to analyze. When I looked up, Sarah was standing on the street corner. Her hair was brown and shiny, her eyes were sparkling green, and she was waving at me happily.

I stared back at her with no reaction. My eyes were dead. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Sarah’s happiness turned to sadness. Her lips turned downward and she mouthed to me, “I’m sorry.”

I continued to look back, seemingly indifferent. Inside though I was crying. As the pick-up truck kept moving forward, she was quickly moving out of sight. Looking through the window, I managed to pull myself together and take my two hands and blow her kisses goodbye with tears running down my cheeks. She blew back.....

the dream was over.

I’m too sad to analyze the dream. I know if I had called her, every detail would have been important and she would come up with some amazing theory on what it all meant. I just wanted to tell her today though, “how cute you visited me in my dream. Thank you.”

Lessons I learned after sharing the story of my friend's suicide

I lost my friend of 21 years to suicide on January 18th, 2016. In September of the same year, I decided to write an article on it for Suicide Prevention Week. I felt like I was educating others on what I wanted them to know about suicide, specifically, that my friend died by suicide and didn’t “commit” it.

Many took my article as I intended. They related with regret and guilt, and many were enlightened to look at suicide as a result of a mental illness. For reasons I’m still quite unclear, my article struck a note with readers. Many family members praised me and my vulnerability. What I was most affected by were the comments from those who deal with suicidal tendencies on a daily basis.

Many comments were harsh and difficult to read. Many others were kind but enlightening. Either way, the article opened up a dialogue, and this is what is important. This is what transcends any judgment. This is what transcends any misunderstanding. This is what transcends stigma and what helps people.

I wrote that article hoping to change the dialogue around suicide. Paradoxically, I realized I had only started the dialogue. How egocentric of me to think I, a person who has never experienced suicide or suicidal tendencies, could have changed the dialogue simply because I deeply loved a human who has passed because of it.

No. What changes the dialogue is hearing from those who are actually struggling, These are the top five lessons I’ve learned from opening up a dialogue, quoted directly from reader comments.

1. Many people who are struggling do not reach out.

“She needed someone to reach out to her. Sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help.”

2. Name the disease, not the method.

“I appreciate that you don’t say she “committed” suicide, but I still feel like it’s just not right. The cause of death was depression.”

3. People can relate.

“Thank you for sharing your story. Your words brought a rare sense of comfort over me.”

4. People shouldn’t wait until someone asks for help.

“It’s often too late, but nobody just knows that. Most people have no idea what to do.”

5. Continue to share your story.

“If suicide wasn’t such a taboo or there wasn’t such a stigma attached to it, then I would write volumes.”

That last one says so much. If there wasn’t so much stigma, then she would write volumes. Sarah and I loved Maya Angelou. She once said, “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”

I don’t like that there is stigma. I don’t like the fact it’s taboo. Maybe if it wasn’t, my friend would have received the help she needed and be alive today. I don’t know what else to do but write. So I’ll write because I sure as heck can’t change my attitude about something that literally means death.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.