In an effort of full disclosure, I will not lie to make myself look better than I am. This blog is for me a self reflection tool for therapeutic intervention of myself. My last post painted my wife in a fairly negative light, but that wasn’t the intent at all. People make mistakes. It happens. Its up to us to forgive or not. Some can, some can’t, and some just won’t.
Lets face it, I’m a dumpster fire. I’m not very nice a lot of the time. Though I care very deeply about people, I don’t much like most of them. I’m sarcastic and pessimistic. I’m all the opposite things that anyone in their right mind would ever look for in a significant other. I’ve lied and kept secrets. Regardless of whether or not this is because I suffer from bipolar disorder, those are unacceptable behaviors. So, the fact that I found someone that put up with that bullshit at all, let alone, for thirteen years is amazing and shows just how truly amazing my wife is.
The past two months have been horrendous on my psyche. Its stress after stress that sends me into either a manic and angry state or a debilitating state of depression. There has been no in between. Fuck, even as I write this, I’m having to fight back tears. Very few people know what its like to lose control of themselves and be powerless to stop it. That’s why I have to hold no ill will towards my wife, who can’t seem to wrap her head around the situation. Being bipolar and suffering the symptoms of it can create horrible trust issues, even though, the person that you no longer trust is the same person that you can trust. What I mean by that is this: Even though the person did something that is a violation of trust (and has no excuse for said behavior), it wasn’t necessarily a person in their right mind. Bipolar Disorder is a personality disorder, that can take the most faithful and loving person and for a brief (to extended) amount of time, turn them into the most untrustworthy human being on the planet.
Its no real secret that its a hard thing to diagnose. I’ve gone three years after my suicide attempt, being told that it is simple depression. I always felt that there was something more to it and became disillusioned at the doctors that forced me to wait for hours in their waiting room only to spend five minutes with a doctor that nods as you speak and just fills out the same prescription that you’ve been on, not listening to a word that you said or the obvious cries for help. This is what happened with me. I got tired of it. I stopped going.
The worst part of all of that, is that I started to spiral out of control. I was losing it, man. Game over. Due to not wanting to look like a failure in the eyes of the person that I love more than life, I continued to act as if everything was fine. It most certainly was not. I got so depressed that I could barely muster the motivation to go to work. I put on fake smiles. I cried when no one was around. Many times as I was driving to work, I hoped something horrific would happen, like a semi truck running a red light and pinning me between a telephone pole and a truck until it squeezed the last breath out of me. The world would be better off, right?
After a year of this, the depression finally broke. I felt good. I was motivated. I felt invincible. I was also manic as fuck. I did stupid shit. I was drinking more to keep that feeling alive. I was cordial and friendly. I was outgoing. I was also a sham of a person. That wasn’t me. Though I tend to try and fall back on humor a lot, I’ve always been more of a misanthrope. Regardless of what certain people believe, I hate attention, to the point where I am uncomfortable accepting gifts from people on Christmas day.
As earlier stated, this month has been a cluster fuck of emotional ups and downs. I feel like I’m drowning. I’m watching my entire life flash in front of my eyes everyday. I’m barely sleeping because nightmares keep me awake. I haven’t had nightmares since I was little and dreaming about the blockhead characters from Gumby kidnapping me out of my bed and throwing me in a fire that was burning underneath my house. Granted, these are a different type of nightmare recently, but I argue that they are far more frightening.
Its hard to see the person that you know you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with, leave and go to the arms of someone that you know could never be good enough to deserve them. Even worse, is when you also know that you never deserved them either. These are the dreams that I keep having. In them I see my wife with someone new, and she is miserable. I try to save her and realize that I am not strong or good enough to help her. Yeah, its super fucked up.
She wants to leave. I don’t blame her, and part of me wants to get her as far away from me as I can, so that I can save her from me. But, every road feels like the wrong one, because as I want to save her from me, I also don’t want to let her go, because she is the only person to ever inspire strength in me. On my own, I’m scared. The task at hand seems insurmountable. Yet every time I try to hold onto it, I fuck it up even further.
I don’t like not being able to solve a problem. I can’t stand not being able to fix something, whether for myself or someone else. It tears me apart inside. So, I become overbearing. Annoying and detrimental to my own case, even. It wasn’t but two weekends ago something broke in me yet again. We were having an argument about the whole thing, I was getting frustrated because for some reason, I couldn’t get her to see who I really am and who I really want to be again, and to prove the the opposite of what I was trying to, I tried to keep her from leaving. I followed her every step and just couldn’t drop it.
I yelled. I kept her from even being able to walk out the door without me right there manically trying to convince her that I would never act the way that I was actually acting at that moment. The shitty part is that I didn’t even realize that I was being that way when it happened. It didn’t dawn on me until she called her dad to come get her. When he finally got there to pick her up it snapped me out of it. I realized the terror that I was being. It destroyed me. All I could do is cry and walk away as she left for the day.
From the moment I got released from the hospital, this has been happening. Every conversation turns into an argument. Every word I choose just happens to be the wrong one.