I had always been the odd one out. Periods of isolation,
enthusiasm, obsession, and short-lived friendships were normal for me. I
thought it was just girl-drama – that nobody was really as close as those best friends that they portray on
television. I didn’t realize or understand that my clique-jumping and inability
to really get close to someone (without becoming obsessive, envious, or
eventually angry) was really the early stages of my Borderline Personality
Disorder rearing its head. I also didn’t realize that my hobby-jumping, sports
switching, club shifting – followed by periods of doing nothing – were indications
of Bipolar Disorder. To me, I was normal - I didn't understand why I wasn't like everyone else.
He’s been with me for seventeen years now. We have survived
through the emotional roller-coaster – the turmoil, the ups, the downs, and the
chaos; and some days I truly wonder how we made it.
It’s on these days when I sit and think about it, that I don’t
really understand it at all. Don’t get me wrong – I love my husband with all of
my heart, but I know that I am not an easy person to live with, and some days I
am definitely not an easy person to love.
You see, I didn’t just wake up one day at twenty five years
old, suddenly psychotic and breaking down – sick of life and unsure, and well, mentally
ill. Looking back through work that I am doing, I can see the traits as they
developed through my childhood and early adolescence. I can see peaks and
valleys, I can look back on the skewed thinking and my alternate view of the
world around me, and now that I know better, I can honestly say that that is
where it all began. As the years went by and life became busy and hectic and
stressful – triggers were found out and I came up and down and to the edge of
the cliff mentally, several times before it all became too much, before I was
finally unable to handle it myself, and before I finally began to get help.
Sometimes I was mean and angry – I yelled and I pushed my
husband (and others I love) away. I didn’t know how to process things and it
was the only defense that I knew and that I trusted. Other times, I was
energetic and ambitious – my dreams were infinite and I could tackle the world
around me… I was obsessive and perfect, my life looked like a happily ever
after to those outside our little bubble. And then, then I would fall –
depression would engulf me and our happy family was miserable. I would become
isolated, disinterested, hateful, and self-loathing. Everything appeared blackened
and I dragged my husband and a few select people through my darkened world as I
contemplated life – but more often death. As I threatened suicide, ran from my
home, slept in my car, placed myself in dangerous situations, and scared the
hell out of people that I desperately wished could help me, but who didn’t know
what to do.
And yet, they still loved me. They showed me kindness,
forgiveness, patience, and overall love. Even on the days where I believed I
couldn’t be loved, and that I didn’t deserve any of it – they stayed. They put
up boundaries for their own safety. They stayed awake and stopped me from
leaving the house. They called the police. They let me sleep on their couch.
They talked to me. They didn’t doubt my heightened feelings. They tried
everything that they could, and they kept me safe.
I know that some days were harder than others. I know that
at times I drove my husband to the brink with worry for me. I know that some
days, he (and others) had no idea what to do. I know that on days where I would
disappear and they worried for my safety, they did what they had to – they continued
on. They cared for the kids. They cared for my husband. They prayed for me.
They confronted me. They took my anger and they made decisions in my best
interest, sometimes against my own judgement.
I wish I could say that now that I am stable and on the
right track, that things were easier. But that would be a lie. Because when the
disease is in your head, in the way you think, react, and control situations,
you can’t just turn it off. The work that I am doing helps. It has made a
dramatic change in me and I can honestly say that I can handle more of my
triggers, better than I ever have before. But there are still days and moments when I
know that I am difficult to say the least. I know that there are days when my
husband wishes that I were ‘better’, and
that I could just ‘stop’, the way
that my brain works. I know that there are times when I do or say or fight for
something and he wants to blame my mental health, because sometimes that is
easier. I know that there are some days when he wishes there was no mental
illness to blame. In other relationships, I know that others do not understand
and I know that I still hurt others when I isolate myself or react badly to a
trigger or situation.
Trust me. I know.
And I’m grateful. I am so very grateful that they try. I am
grateful that they don’t give up, and that I don’t scare them away. I am
grateful that they worry and that they check in on me. I am grateful that I am
even a thought in their day.
And I am grateful to my husband. It isn’t easy to be married
to someone with a mental illness, and we have definitely gone through some very
rough times in our marriage, but we’re together… we’re struggling through the
murky days and coming out to brighter ones… more often, longer lasting, and
more vivid than we’ve ever known.
So on those days that you wonder if what you’re doing helps or if it's worth it, remember - we see it, we feel it… we just can’t always say thank you in the
moment.
Keep reaching out to those you love. Keep the conversation
going – when your loved one is doing well, ask how you can help when they’re
not. Take time to make sure you are grounded, but know that your presence in
their life is invaluable when they are struggling. They know it. They’re
grateful.
I’m grateful.
