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.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder Questionairre

I went to the doctor to discuss my anxiety.  "Everyone has anxiety" he reassured me.  He handed me a checklist and told me he would be back.

I fill out this brief, maybe 5 question checklist that rates me on a scale of 1-5, 5 being the most severe.  I read through the questions and marked every single solitary answer a 5.

I stared at it.  I scanned the top again that read "Generalized Anxiety Disorder Questionairre" and then I skimmed my answers again and started thinking one really does not need to be a doctor to diagnose me if they are looking at this checklist I am looking at.

Wow.

When he came back in he asked me how long I have felt like this.  I told him honestly, "My entire life." He immediately started writing the referral for behavioral health.  I find it so bizarre even still that I could have an anxiety disorder.  My entire family is like me.  If I have it, then all of them have one too.  He said it tends to run in families, so I clarified, "Okay, but then how much is taught and how much is genetic?"

Seemed like a good question. Without looking up from his paper he replied matter-of-factly it was genetic.  Case closed in his mind.

Wow.

So, here I am.  No official dx, but I think I know the direction this is headed.  Only time will tell.