Fanatic’s Friend

moniqueIt seems so unfair to be accused of being manic because I had a really good day. I was motivated, funny, responsive, alert, alive at work. Came home cleaned the house, folded laundry and had music up loud. Even did a little dancing (but he doesn’t know that). True, this is out of the ordinary. True it’s a big swing in mood considering I was suicidal on Saturday(he doesn’t know that either). But I’m not sure it qualifies me as being manic.
mischievous-smile-ajaytaoIn the span of 10 minutes my husband became concerned, worried, anxious about the state of my mood. He asked me 3 times if I was “okay”..not manic. Poor guy doesn’t know what to do with me. He stated he needs to know what he is in for so he can prepare. Not sure if he has a manic disaster preparation kit or something.  Perhaps he wants to prepare his own mind for an out of control fanatic he constantly has to redirect.
I often wonder why he has stayed with me over the years. He revealed to me over the weekend he asks himself this very same question. I mean he had first-swim-delpeoplesto have me placed on a 5150 hold very early into our relationship. He would come over around 4 and I would have the curtains closed, drinking vodka and eating popcorn. I was anorexic at this time but became bulimic and a practicing alcoholic. I was not yet diagnosed with bipolar. I was a handful to say the least, but he continued to hang in there.
I was also fun, up for a good time, and open to adventures. We met on the job. I did so many things with him I had never done before. We hit it off right away. We would play tennis after work and go to happy hour almost everyday.  We had good chemistry and enjoyed sarcastic banter. We laughed ALOT.  At least until I dove into depression again.
malva-joanna-kustraI started to hit the bottle hard, but was still a functioning alcoholic for about 2 years. The 3rd year of heavy, heavy drinking I was not functioning. I was blacking out most nights and could not remember what transpired, what was said or even what I did. I started changing my lingo to cover up the fact I couldn’t remember.  We got into fights every weekend because of my behavior in social situations. One particular night stands out where I drank before we went out with friends, you know pre-party to help with anxiety. Not eat dinner because I never knew if the alcohol would hit me hard enough, then drink while we were out. I was very drunk by the time the show started. I knew I needed food right away. I stumbled next door to order church-burg-hohenzollern-adina-buligafood. He of course followed me. I said out loud..get away from me..several times. The bartender asked me if he was bothering me. I said yes.  I said YES. He was asked to leave. We barely made it through that episode.
So, the mental health piece. He has watched me deteriorate into a lifeless, despondent, suicidal mess. He has witnessed rage, spewing angry and hateful words. He has seen me psychotic. He has talked me down from a bridge. He has reassured me the devil is not trying to kill me, God is not persecuting me, my psychiatric team is not conspiring against me and I do not work for the CIA. He brought me clean clothes in the psych hospital, lesbian-lovedriving up to 2 hours away.  He read an email that said I loved him but I have to split town, not knowing where I was. He took every single call on my manic spree as I yelled nonsense into the phone pacing the hotel floor.  And he held my hand in the emergency room when I overdosed on pills.
When I put it all into perspective he is a saint. I really have no right to blame him for checking to see if I’m manic. He goes through hell just as I do. He is tired, as I am. I try to be conscious of this, but truthfully I can be selfishly immersed in my bipolar disorder.  He loves me so damn much. Least I can do is honor his fears and desire to know where I’m at w my moods. I’ve said this before and failed. I hope to change that.



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