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