Tag Archives: bipolar marriage

Crash and Burn

I find myself crashing more on this new 3/day Adderall script.  I also find I’m more tired in the morning taking Lamictal 2/day.  I hate med changes.  The Adderall boost in the afternoon helps, but the mid day crashes leave me exhausted and drained.

On the plus side, the extra Lamictal seems to be helping and I feel less depressed.  Not sunshine and daisies or anything, but better.

Haven’t posted much because there hasn’t been much to say.  I’ve been busy with work and school but generally feeling unmotivated and doing as little as possible to get by with those things.  Where I was making 30 calls a day for work, I now make 10 on a good day.  I was spending 3+ hours a day on school and now if I spend one I’m lucky.  I’m just too tired or something.  I can’t muster the energy or ambition to do anything.

Ambition.  That’s it.  I’m usually such a go getter.  It’s like I just don’t care now.  I’m unhappy with mediocre results, but want to put in mediocre effort.  Clearly a mismatch there.  Something needs to give.  At some point my grades or income will drop and I’ll be in deep you know what.

Hubby and I are going out next weekend.  That should be a nice change of pace.  It’s something we really needed.  Our anniversary is coming up so it’ll be good to reflect on what went well and what didn’t this year.  It’s also a chance to start clean for our next year together.

Look at that.  Some optimism.  Courtesy of Lamictal.  Thank goodness for drug induced happiness.

Hopefully this coming week will bring with it some much needed energy and some serious motivation before things start to go to hell in a hand basket, as my grandmother would have said.


The Circle Never Breaks…

So Sallie Mae declined my student loan application based on the fact that I’ve only been at my current job position for 8 months, even though I’ve been with the company for four years.  That and the fact that I work on commission.  Now I’m in the fun position of having literally no money to go to school next semester.  FML.

I mean, really?  They said I need a cosigner.  I can’t get a cosigner.  My husband has shit for credit from a car repo before we got married.  My mom refuses to cosign because she said she tried to help me go to college when I was 18 and I dropped out.

Yeah, I dropped out because I had no goals at the time and had a bit of a nervous breakdown.  I told her I wasn’t on meds at the time and this time was different, even my therapist says so.  She says I did it for the first two years okay, why did I have issues the last two?  Hell if I know.  Why does my brain ever do anything?  Why did I get depressed or manic or whatever the hell I was that I can’t even remember?  I’m pretty sure I was depressed because I recall sleeping a lot and not being able to get up to go to class.  Most of it is a blur at this point.  I’m sure there was a manic episode or two that cause some of those A semesters.  Lots of energy to burn?  Try college!  But the F semesters were more likely depression.  When I got my transcript I could actually see the mood swings in my grades.  Semester one – A, B, A, A.  Semester Two – A, B, C, A.  Semester Three – C, D, F, F.  Semester Four – F, D, W, W.  Not exactly like that, but you get the idea.

She says me going back to school isn’t her problem.  I get it.  It’s not.  But since I got free tuition when I went the first time and she just paid for books I don’t see why she can’t at least cosign for me.  She then went on to say she might be willing to give me some money.  She confuses me so much.  You’ll give me money but won’t sign your name so that I’ll pay it myself?  No, she says, because if I can’t pay it her name will be on it.  Yes, I say, but whenever I don’t have money you help me out anyway so what difference does it make?  Apparently not the right thing to say.  What do I know?

So now I wonder what the fuck is the point of me continuing this semester if I just have to drop after it?  If I don’t have the money to keep on going, why waste all this time now?  I’m giving up time with my family, time sleeping, time relaxing, time working, time doing any number of things that would likely be more enjoyable than studying.  If I’m not going to get a degree out of said time, then why the hell should I be wasting it on school?  Yes, I like to learn, but at my own pace and about things I’m interested in not things that the deities of the school system think I should know.

But alas, the degree is important for my job.  My job was actually supposed to help pay half, but the declined me too.  They couldn’t even be bothered to tell me why.  I wasn’t special enough or something.  I really don’t know what to do at this point.  I need to go, but funds are limited and I’ve spent us in a total hole the last eight months.

I can’t tell my mom this of course.  She knows.  She tells me I spend too much.  Now that I’m mildly depressed I spend in budget, but coming off the high of a manic phase I just couldn’t curb it.  It wasn’t the panicked spending in the thousands of dollars a day I was doing in the manic phase, but it was $50 here, $20 there, $100 there and it all added up.  I just kept needing things.  Don’t know why.  Just had to have them.  Would die without them.  Skincare first.  Then makeup.  Then skincare agin.  Then purses and wallets.  All always one thing I would obsess over and spend on that one thing.  When I’m manic I do that, but also buy loads of other random crap just to spend money.  Coming off the mania, it was like obsessions with categories.  I must have every eyeshadow color this brand has ever made.  I must have every Coach Poppy bag.  My wallets must all mach and I need three.  Does this sound like some type of OCD?  Hoarding?  Something.  It’s not manic spending.  It feels different.  But it’s bad.  Maybe just a shopping addiction.  I always have to be addicted to something.  Better than the drugs, I suppose.  More expensive though.

I saw my pDoc today.  She upped my Lamictal to 300mg to help the mild depression.  We also switched from 30mg XR Adderall am and 15mg regular Adderall pm to 15mg regular Adderall 3/day.  That was my suggestion because I find that the XR lasts less time than the regular.  I take the XR around 6am and by noon I can’t even focus long enough to read a book or listen to a phone call with a client.  When I take my regular dose at 5pm I can focus until around 1am if I really needed to.  So about the same amount of time actually.  But with the current setup I can’t focus from 12pm-5pm.  That’s five hours of me being totally unproductive and generally surfing the internet because I can change the page every five seconds when I get distracted or bored.  Or napping.  Whatever.

I hate these long posts.  I’m sure no one reads them.  They look too long and formidable to get through.  Ultimately I post to vent to myself, but my vanity wants to think that someone somewhere gives a shit about my crazy.  My family can’t stand my crazy though, so why would anyone else voluntarily subject themselves to it?

My husband says he hates himself all the time.  I dislike me a lot right now and I hate my life.  I love my son though and my husband, so I plow on for them.  If not for them, I’d curl up in a ball and wallow.  If it gets bad enough I still might.  I wonder if other people hate themselves often.  I wonder if other people wake up and go “what happened to me” or “what happened to my life.”  I must think that 100 times a day.

I used to be so fun, such a party girl.  I had gotten out of a deep depression and was self medicating, so of course I was fun.  Everyone loved me.  Or hated me.  Not a lot of grey area.  Most people loved me though.  I lit up a room.  I was out ’till four in the morning and staggering into work the next day with stories about having sex in front of four people or dancing on table tops or whatever other crazy shit I had come up with.  The reality check is that I was in a very unhealthy place.  The ideal version I have in my head is that people actually liked me for once.  Plus I was having fun.  I liked me.  I liked my life like that.  I liked numbing the crazy and self medicating.  It’s much more fun than the real medication.

I look back…and part of me really misses that time in my life.  As absolutely fucked up as my life was then, I kinda liked it.  I had no money.  I was destroying my future.  I was destroying relationships with my family.  I was making reckless decisions left and right.  I was filled with wild abandon.  I was let loose and crazy and manic but not in the hallucinogenic type of way.  In the fun way where you destroy your life and think it’s awesome.

Then I realized what I was doing and I got really depressed.  Like, tried to kill myself depressed.  Tried to go to a doctor who turned me away.  Got worse.  Cried all day for months.  I tried to pick up the pieces of my life and I did.  I got a good job, I got married, I had a kid.  All things I had decided to do while manic and messed up, but I held through with my crazy promises to myself.

I stabilized after a while.  Had some episodes here and there.  Had one long episode of depression the whole time I was pregnant and about three months after.  I try to forget how bad I was then because I know I made my husband miserable.  The fact that he didn’t leave still surprises me.

Stabilized for a while again, and had another break about nine months ago.  Screwed more stuff up.  Got to a good doctor.  Got on the right meds.

And now, here I am left with this normal, ordinary life.  And it’s just not enough for crazy, extreme me.  My life is filled with the highest highs and the lowest lows and middle periods?  They get kinda boring after a while.  Right now I’m holding on to “right below the middle” for dear life though.  Not the biggest fan of the depressive side of the illness.

But this normal life, it’s making me itch.  Normal job.  Normal family.  Normal employee.  Normal wife.  Normal mother.  Who is this person?  I don’t like her.  She’s too vanilla.  I want that fun, crazy, party girl back.  But to get that back, I’d have to give up my son and husband.  My son I tried so hard to have.  My husband I’ve worked so hard to keep.  I wouldn’t give them up for anything – not all the parties and self medication in the world.  So why do I still feel like I miss that life?  If I wouldn’t change what I have, why do I ache for what I don’t?  I guess somehow I think I could have both.  I can be nomal!Kira until 8pm and party!Kira when the sun goes down.  History tells me normal and manic don’t go well together, but I sure wish I could have the good things that come with mania normally.  The energy.  The lively personality.  The lack of fear.

Now I’m just here, with my vanilla life, hating myself for wanting something different than my wonderful family.  Well, I don’t but I do.  I don’t know.  I know I hate thinking I might want something different.  I know I hate missing the party life.  Then my paranoia kicks in and I think, what if I can think these things into reality?  What if by the mere passing thought of wanting to be that girl again that somehow my son and husband will be taken from me by some greater act of nature.  A car wreck or a fire or something that takes what’s most important to me away because I wasn’t grateful enough for what I had.  Then I’d forever be missing what I have right this second and I’m here too stupid to enjoy it.  That’s my greatest fear of all – losing them because I didn’t love them well enough.

I’m such a shit wife and mother.

And now I’m officially wallowing.

Things That Suck

I just got the information on our new medical plan at work.  The “low deductible” options has a $3000 deductible.  $3000!!  That’s ridiculous!  It covers 100% of well visits to primary care so it’s supposed to be cheaper for most people, but for me…well, I’m screwed.  I see my therapist twice a month and my doctor at least once every three months, more if I’m having issues.  I go to the ER sometimes in really bad situations, which will now only be covered at 80%.  To top it off, neither of my crazy doctors will be in network, so even after the insane deductible is met they will only cover 60% of the cost.  WTF am I gonna do?  My medical costs are already astronomical.  I really can’t afford another huge hit to my wallet just because I’m ill.  Then I have my son’s medical care to worry about as well.  He takes a few trips to the ER each year for serious illness etc.  I have a health spending account, but that won’t really help.  I put in $2400 this year and was out of money in less than six months.  I can’t even deal with this right now.

Onto relationship issues.  Today is the day that my husband and I send each other weekly emails.  This was a suggestion of my therapist after the Craigslist fall out.  We decided that since he was obviously more comfortable sending emails than actually coming to me saying there was a problem that we would try to fix our communication problems via email.  So now once a week we write to each other saying how we feel, how the other did that week, and what could have been improved.  So far it’s working okay, but my husband’s emails are always just a few sentences while mine are like a book so I get a little frustrated.  The ultimate goal is to make it a habit of being open about our feelings and discovering problems in a timely fashion so they don’t spiral out of control like they have in the past.  I’m hoping that even if it’s not Thursday that if there is a mjor problem we will email each other to disucss it.  This also helps because you can’t really yell or walk out one someone via email so it keeps tensions lower.  Plus you generally think before you type but not so much before you speak, so it makes you say less hurtful things.  That’s the intention anyhow.  We’ll see how it works long term.

I’m not sure exactly what I want to say this week.  Things have been good between us, but I’m still feeling mildly depressed.  I feel generally crappy and like my life blows.  I’m not wallowing in it too much.  I’m getting on with my days.  But around 3:00 I exhaust out and can’t do much of anything until around 6:00 when I get a second wind (usually thanks to my new second dose of Adderall).  I’m stressed that even though things are okay now that we’ll just get back in our regular pattern of fighting and misery.  I love my husband dearly and wouldn’t want anyone else, but we both have short fuses and don’t bend so easily and it makes for explosive situations sometimes.  I hope we can work through these things and have a lasting, somewhat healthy relationship.

I guess I’m depressed because I remember when we first got together and never fought.  I remember how nice it was to feel loved and wanted.  I remember nighst up late talking to talk.  Then I see us barely speaking in our bad times and fighting in our worst times.  But then we have upswings and things are great and we talk all night again and love each other.  My marriage is like my mood – great or awful with hardly any in between.  Is it my lot in life to have only extremes?  Can I not have a middle ground in any aspect of my crazy life?

Back From a Break

So I haven’t posted in a long time. I didn’t die or anything. I guess I just felt like I was spending too much time living in my illness and I needed a break from it. I needed some time to enjoy the fact that my meds were working and to just enjoy feeling somewhat normal. Then I thought that I wasn’t keeping up with my mood as well as I should be and was getting out of touch with myself, so I decided maybe I needed to come back to doing this as a journal.

I’ve been really busy lately. I decided to go back to school to further my career a bit. I’m on my second semester and things are going well. I’m sure that a full time job, full time school, and parenthood is probably more than what I should be taking on, but things have to get done in spite of my illness, so onward I press.

I’ve been going to therapy regularly. It’s been a huge help in my life. I feel like I’m over a lot of the huge fears that were taking over my life and making it hard to do little things that other people can do with ease. It’s also helped me learn to think through things more before they do them and have someone to have a sense of accountability to in terms of my mood and keeping up with my meds.

On the bad side of things, I found out that shortly after my breakdown (when my husband and I weren’t really on speaking terms) that he had been talking to girls on Craigslist. He said nothing more than talking ever happened, which I believe. That doesn’t stop it from hurting though. The sad thing is that we had been doing really well before I found this out. We were getting along and hardly fighting at all.

I found out about two weeks ago. I’m still hurt, like, brain splitting, mind numbing, heart crushing hurt. I’m depressed, but not so much so that I’m unable to function and get through the day. The odd thing is that while I’m depressed, I’m able to have moments of happiness in between the depression. He’ll do something sweet or comfort me when I’m feeling really down, and I get a warmth and happiness inside. It’s odd for me because that’s never happened before. Usually when I’m depressed that’s all I can be. Like there isn’t room inside me for more than one strong emotion at a time. I talked to my therapist about it and she said this is how normal people feel when they have a mild depression. It doesn’t take over their whole being. Huh. So I’m feeling something normal for once. A little glimpse into the life of a regular person.

Thing is, it keeps sending off alarms for me. I don’t know what I’m afraid might happen, but something about having a depression with a light at the end of the tunnel feels scary to me. I guess maybe simply because it’s not what I’m used to or what I know. Depression? Got it. Mania? Check. Depression with a side of happy? Now my brain hurts.

I’m also spending a lot of time thinking about what our life was when we first got together. We had a lot of freedom those days. We could go out if we wanted when we felt like it. We could get home and have sex and fall asleep in each other’s arms. We could do what we wanted when we felt like it. Marriage, serious jobs, and a kid have changed all that. And I wonder…would our relationship have gotten so bad if we still had that kind of freedom? If we could still do whatever we wanted with only job constrains, would we have separated once and been on the verge this last time? I think probably not.

Then that thought, wishing that we still had the life we had in our younger years together, makes me feel like a bad mom. Like somehow thinking this is the same thing as thinking that I wish I wouldn’t have had a kid. Which of course, it’s not. I love my son more than anything. He brings me so much joy and a sense of purpose I never knew without him. He gives me a reason to keep trying to get better and not destroy my life with every move I make. But somehow, missing my old life makes me feel like Worst Mother of the Year. It’s just some days I wish my husband and I had more time to be us. More time to spend together, not exhausted from a full day of work and childrearing. Some time that wasn’t spent thwarting terrible twos.

Maybe it’s just the depression. I’m sure that’s what it is. But can’t stop feeling like a really crappy mom.

Anyway, back to my regular routine. I’m going to try to get back in the habit of posting regularly on here again. It seemed to help when I did. I just needed a break from my mind for a while. i can’t promise a post a day what with school and work and my son and trying to re-fix my marriage, but I will do the best I can. Not like oh so many people read this or anything…

Boring day, boring night, boring me

I have absolutely nothing interesting to say today.  My son is at my mom’s house and my husband and I have no work tomorrow.  We planned to go out and have some fun…but instead I’m blogging.

Why you ask?  Because we are boring, unsociable people once we leave work.  My husband and I are both the type that sit in corners and look miserable at a party if we go by ourselves.  If we go with someone social, I tend to pick up on their vibe and then my husband follows suit and we have a good time (mostly).  If we go with just us, we both sourpuss the whole time.

We tried to get some people together, but to no avail.  So, like so many toddler free nights, we are sitting at home drinking by ourselves being bored.

Back when we were younger we preferred this.  Going out with others meant less time together.  Less time for substance abuse, talking, and sex.  Now, five years later, we want to spend time with people other than just us.  We see each other every day and we talk every day about work, life, and what’s going on with our son.  There’s no updates to give if we go out together.  We just talk about the same stuff we did when we got home.  Unless new things have happened, we’ve kinda said it all.

Don’t read that the wrong way.  I’m happy we know each other so well that the only things we don’t know are the things that happened in the last 24 hours.  Any story I tell is a repeat.  So are his.  It’s a safe place to be, knowing each other.  We know each other’s issues and faults.  There’s no surprises when my mood swings or he acts emotionless.  We’re both hard to deal with to other people, but not as much to each other.  It’s nice, really.

It’s just also boring when we go places.  So we sit at home.  Going places just isn’t fun without a group.  Too bad we ran that group away that first year or two when we didn’t want anything to do with anyone that wasn’t us or didn’t supply drinks or pills.

In other news, I’m trying to make a Caramel Frappe and failing miserably.

My son also is unofficially kicked out of the speech therapy.  He had his annual test today and is no longer speech delayed, so no more speech therapy for him.  It’s good and bad.  I’m thrilled that he’s come so far and is doing so well.  On the other side of the coin, I’m worried without the speech therapy that he might backslide.  His therapy was done from the state (federal?) sponsored program that pays for all kids (under 5 I think) that have a physical or speaking delay.  No income maximum or anything.  Just to make sure kids get the help they need.  It’s a good program so long as you get one of the good therapists.

I guess my concern is that I’m not a speech therapist so I don’t know the best way to help him learn.  I tell him what things are and try to get him to say it back to me, but beyond that I’m clueless.  The ever present mommy worry – somehow, I’ll screw him up.

He’s not officially kicked out yet because they haven’t scored his test, but the lady that did it pretty much told me not to hold my breath.

Time to get speech therapy books I guess.

All work and no play makes Kira a bad blogger

I’m not dead, I’m just busy with work and my mood is normal aka boring.  It’s hard to post when I feel uninteresting.  Pressured speech is replaced with not knowing what the heck to talk to people about.  Before I talked too much and now I can’t think of anything to say.  Not so good in sales.

My husband and I got in a fight over the weekend.  Just like old times and still just as awful.  He made some stupid comment about a girl and I lost my shit and hit him with a pillow.  I was having a low self esteem kinda day and my lack of sex drive makes me constantly fearful that he’ll cheat or leave me.  Thus, comments about other females are not acceptable.  It may be childish, but I really don’t care.

So I hit him with the pillow.  When I get mad, sometimes I lose it and hit.  Not hard enough to hurt…or really hard at all, but the intention of hitting is there and my husband is fed up with it (understandably).  I’ve gotten better about it (I used to hit harder and more often), but I’m not there yet.  I’d like to think it’s not abusive because I can’t hit hard, but that’s just me trying to make it sound better.  I mean, how abusive is a pillow?

Anyway, I had a migraine at the time and he hit me back with the pillow twice as hard or at least it felt like it.  My brain felt like it was bleeding because of the migraine, I got pissed.  He lost his cool and started screaming that if I hit him again he was going to hit back for real.  Told me I was being stupid.  Told me he hoped my head hurt so bad that I cried (it did and I did for the record).  He ranted on some more, got up, walked out.

Now see, a few years back when we were having problems I would at this point get up, follow him, and bitch until I turned blue in the face.  This would piss him off more and our fights would go for hours.  So I sat, said nothing, let him go, and thought to myself “we can talk later” in mantra form to avoid calling him every three seconds or following him out the door.

I texted him about ten minutes later and said “I’m sorry…you don’t have to reply.  We can talk later.  I just wanted to apologize.”  He apparently wanted to talk because he responded “Oh you’re sorry so that makes it okay” or something like that.  Well, no, but I was sorry.

He came home, left again to complete the tasks he had to do for the day, I took some pills and went to sleep.

He woke me up when he got home, still pissed.  WTF?  Apparently he purposely stayed mad because he thinks that I think I can hit him with no consequence.  Not true.  Him yelling is a consequence.  If you knew my husband, you’d know why.  He’s mean and scary when he’s mad.  I cried, started packing my stuff because my head hurt and I wasn’t dealing with fighting, and he said “all shit aside you have to stop and you can’t just do these things and expect me to be okay with it.”  Which was a fair thing to say and after that we talked civilly although I cried my way through it.

I’m sad about it because we haven’t been fighting in a long time so when we slip it’s upsetting.  I always wonder if one fight can lead us back to where we were two years ago.  At this point, we’ve spent more years not fighting than the other way around, but the memory of our bad year is a scary one.  I don’t want us to ever end up there again.

For the most part, we discuss things now and talk like adults and work things out.  Every now and again my temper or his flares up and bad fights happen.  I try my best not to escalate them and keep my son far away when they do happen.  Sometimes I can kinda keep my cool, others not so much.

In other news, work is great.  My new position is all I dreamed it would be, which means I’m at work a lot.  Workaholic Kira in full swing.  Many nights past closing, every Saturday.  Work related stuff when I get home.  I’ll burn out in the near future I’m sure.  But for now I’m enjoying not hating life every second I’m at work and being excited about going again the next day.  It’s been a long time since I felt that way.

This week has kinda sucked in numbers though so I’m basically working for free this week.  I’ve helped some people out along the way which is fulfilling but also doesn’t pay bills.  Need to find the right mix of charity and actual sales.  I’m far from a hard closer (I think in the end that bites you in the ass in my industry…if not all sales fields), so my numbers take a while to build up sometimes.  After a while, people start calling me for everything and trusting me because I didn’t just sell them something.  Which leads to sales.  My process is just a bit longer.  I used to hard close when I started in sales but I felt like shit about myself and at some point people will complain.  I didn’t like it so I came up with my own methods.  I’ll probably never beat the hard closers in the short term, or even long term if they change locations a lot, but I do get good results and (added bonus!) I don’t hate myself.

Sorry for not posting in a while.  I’ll try to be better.  Work and toddler are taking up all of my day and without mania to help, I’m exhausted.

I magically have a medical degree, but not really (aka: Diagnosing my husband)

In my boredom and hypomania, I decided I was once and for all going to “diagnose” my husband’s crazy properly.  He has issues.  Serious issues.  I got him to a therapist once with horrible results and I’d have to have a gun to his head to get him there again, and even then he might rather just die.  He doesn’t care.  His issues don’t really bother him, like mine do me.  His issues bother me though.  I deal better with things if I can call them something.  When we went to the doctor, I was convinced he was Bipolar, though he’s pretty clearly not.  I think I just wanted someone else to be Bipolar along with me.  They have the questions, which I helped him fill out, basically put my own answers on, and got back my own diagnoses.  Big shock.  I had talked up the symptoms he had that were similar to mine so that was probably in his head, too.  The meds made him  thousand time worse.  All of them except Lamictal, I believe.  He didn’t care for any of them, and since the issues don’t bother him…well, it’s a hard argument to make for them.

Today, after asking him five thousand questions and letting him answer (except if the question was “are you hard to work with” because then other people can answer better than you), I think I’ve decided upon some stuff.  With my fancy internet fake degree from Wikipedia and such.  Yes, you shouldn’t diagnose with Wikipedia.  I am aware.  I’m also hypomanic and smarter than Wikipedia.  Something.  Whatever, I’m able to do this at this moment.  Plus, it’s the best I’m ever gonna get.

They have “impulsive borderline personality disorder” I found out today, which is the impulsive of BPD without the “borderline.”  See here.  The rejection borderline stuff he is not, but every one of the “impulse personality disorder” requirements are met.  Not just some, but all.  There’s also something called Schizoid that never gets diagnosed, but if you combine it with the other, fits him perfect.

Here’s the thing with my husband…he has two emotional levels.  They are nothing, or pissed.  There’s nothing else.  If happy things happen, he’s usually not happy.  If sad things happen, he’s usually not sad.  Emotions don’t work for him.  It’s like a long time ago he found the off switch on everything but “angry” and flipped them.  I wish I knew how, cause I have an overabundance of all emotions.  Together, we even out to normal I guess.  At one point our therapist said she thought he was kinda…well, lost.  Just stuck the way he was because he won’t open up in therapy, or to almost anyone other than me (on rare occasion).  She said if he wouldn’t have been able to name one person that treated him with love when he was younger, she’d have declared him “lost cause.”  He doesn’t “avoid” people, but if you give him a choice he wants to be alone.  Usually meaning just him.  When I say “alone” sometimes I mean “with close friends/family only.”  Alone “with my husband.”  He just wants to be alone.  He’s better around our son for whatever reason, but I still get the short end of the stick a lot.

He’s very self sufficient.  He could have done the Cast Away thing and not been bothered by it.  He creates his own solitary confinement in life.  One question I found was if he could basically be a crazy wood person and his only question was if he got electricity or not, not if he got to see his wife or son.  Just could he watch TV and play video games to occupy himself.  So long as he’s not bored, he’d rather be entertained and alone.

It’s depressing for me sometimes, but his lack of emotion sometimes slows my overflow.  Sometimes it makes it worse though when I try to explain being sad and I can see it just doesn’t compute.  He glosses over and pretends to listen or understand, but he’s really confused by the whole thing.  Sometimes he just flat out tells me I’m being silly and crying doesn’t change things, emotions are useless, ect.  It’s like he has a hatred for all things feeling.

He has a lot of people who know who he is, that he can have a shallow conversation with, but aside from me, I don’t think he talks about feelings.  Ever.  I force the conversations from him when we have them, and usually he’s annoyed with them.  He’ll never say “I’m sad” or “I’m happy” without me asking 20 questions first, and then I think he says it because it shuts me up or something.  I don’t know that he’s felt either in a long time, perhaps since he was a kid.

Problem is, meds don’t work on either of these issues, and I won’t be getting him in therapy ever.  He’d rather be divorced and alone.  I know that.  We make it work.  If we need marriage counseling, I might be able to talk him into that, but those therapists are in over their heads with our combination and we both know it, so we find our own weird ways of making things work.  He tries to feel the big stuff that’s important to me and be empathetic about my twenty emotions a second and I try not to pester him about his lack of them on a regular basis.

The impulsive issues…well, those get something said about them because he’d be dead or in jail if I didn’t, and he can sit there and be numb, but he better not be dead because he thought he could jump off his motorcycle on the interstate and survive or something.  We’d have no retirement, because if the money can’t be spent rightthissecond, he doesn’t see the point in it.  I get like that in hypomania, he lives like that.  I hide money from both of us so we can retire.  Our bookkeeping is pretty elaborate.  It’s a big scheme to keep money away from him all the time, and far enough away from me where I can’t get at it quickly on an upswing.  We have multiple accounts at multiple banks for this.  Credit cards aside from the charge card are locked in safe deposit boxes at banks for emergency only purposes.  It’s exhausting to keep up with.  If I die, my estate will take years not because of size, but because of number of accounts and the fact that he has no idea where they are or how much we have.  I try to forget myself so I can’t go nuts on an upswing and bankrupt us overnight.

How accurate is my Wikipedia internet doctor diagnoses?  No clue, but I’m going with it because it makes me feel better.  It makes me not want to harass him about trying more meds, too, because I know they end badly for him in almost all cases.  He’s happy to die alone in the woods, so I’m not getting him to do any therapy in this lifetime, so just let me have what I can.

In other news, a lot of people seem to be committing suicide lately.  My husband informed me that someone at work shot himself the other night, which has been the case in the now three suicides I’ve been made aware of in the last four months or so.  Most of these people were older (40+).   My views on the subject are apparently odd, because we were discussing it and my husband said almost no one agrees with me.  The way I feel is, at 40 or 50, if you’ve suffered your whole life and don’t want to do it anymore, I don’t think anyone should be able to force you not to do it.  Should you?  Probably not, because help is out there and maybe something will work.  It hurts the people that love you and even though you might be unaware, hurts the potential future you.  That being said, I don’t think you should be able to force someone not to do it.  If it happens, family can feel however they feel because people are allowed to react in whatever way they see emotionally fit.  If you’re angry, be angry.  If you’re sad, be sad.  But some people get this “we should force people to live in agony so we can have them here” thing that bugs me.  For younger people, I kinda agree because things seem really hopeless at a young age and there isn’t years of experience to tell you there’s not something out there.  But if someone suffered through cancer from age 18-60 and nothing was working, I think we’d all agree to let them go if it’s really what they wanted.  You can’t kill people, but I don’t think you should be able to force life upon them anymore than death.  If my husband or mom or son killed themselves, I’m sure I’d have a nervous breakdown.  I’d be pissed that they would leave me to fend for myself when I can’t and sad to lose them and probably lots of other things in between.  But I wouldn’t pass a law or lock them in a room if it was really what they wanted and they had enough years behind the suffering to back them up.  Now, if my son is 18, he’s going in the room where he can’t kill himself.  If you’re depressed and it’s something you’ve only been dealing with a year, you go in the room even if you’re 80.  You have to at least give treatments a try.  If they all fail you, I won’t force suffering on someone.  You do have to try though, for you and those that love you.

Don’t mistake that as pro-suicide, because generally I think it’s an awful idea.  I think 99.999999% of the time, it’s the wrong choice.  No one should suffer that much and no one should die by their own hand.  It shouldn’t have to get that bad.  But I know it does for some people, and as much as I get that it’s easy to just force people to live, I can’t get behind it.  When my grandfather was old and sick and dying, he wanted to go and everyone kept him around on treatments for their own benefit.  That’s more selfish than suicide to me.  But he had tried the treatments, they weren’t working, they were probably never going to work, and he was just going to suffer.

Mental illness is different, because there’s a bigger margin of error on if treatment will ever work, thus the years you have to try things are greater than for a physical illness where they can be pretty sure if anything is going to fix you.  I think at some point though, forcing people to live in suffering is akin to torture and really a cruel thing to do.

Bottom line, if you know anyone at that level, you should be helping them get help, not trying to force them to live miserably for your own benefit.  Provide hope that something might work, because it might.  If I didn’t think so, I’d probably be dead myself.  I have to hope that one day, something will keep me leveled out.  I’d like to think others would be able to instill this hope in people they may know, but generally most people don’t handle suicidal well.  More often than not, people who tried to help me in that state made me want to kill myself even more.  It’s a tough thing to handle.

Again, not pro-suicide.  Please don’t kill yourself.  I’m not suicidal, so no one worry.  Just the conversation went there and it got me thinking and I guess I’m wondering if anyone else agrees or if I’m weird.  Also noticed my “tag reader” on here seems to have lots of people who are suicidal.  So it keeps getting put in front of me and I wanted to re-evaluate my position on it, which has changed a bit from before, where I thought if you wanted to you should be able to even if you’re 17.  That was a depressed 17 year old talking.  Maybe this is a manic 26 year old.  My ideas change as I grow older.  I don’t think I’ll ever want to force someone to suffer though.  Maybe because I’ve felt the depths it can get to, I’m willing to forgive those that can no longer sustain it.  I’m not sure.

I can’t get on board the whole “it’s always selfish” train still and don’t think I’ll ever get on with that.  I am more on the “hope exists” train than I once was, even though I’m all over the place and my meds are placebos.  I don’t know where I’m finding the hope, maybe in my son.  I’m glad it’s there.  I actually got “hope” tattooed on me (though in a different language) when I was trying to get pregnant and couldn’t because I needed it so much then.  Hope is something I look up to.  It’s an overlooked value.  It’s an amazing feat to have hope when things are dark.  I’m glad I’m able to do it for once in my life, as usually “hopeless” would describe how I feel when meds don’t work right or I swing all over the place.  It is possible.  Give it a try.  I have a fake medical degree, I know what I’m talking about, right??

Again, not pro-suicide.  Don’t kill yourself.  I’ll try to do the same, which will be harder on the downswing, and is a little easier from my hypomania.  But don’t let that discount the sentiment, because I said the same thing on the last downswing.

Hope is a beautiful thing.  The more I think, the more I know it’s my son that gives it to me.  But don’t run out and have kids either unless you want them, because they are a handful!

EDIT: Even in my subscriptions there is talk of suicide. It’s just one of those days. Since I really like Natasha’s stuff and she has better resources than I do and it’s a similar topic, I’m linking.  It sounds better than what I wrote anyway, and probably might help someone, which my rantings probably won’t.  I kinda like the bipolar blog space.  It’s nice to see people thinking about the same topics at the same time as me, even if it’s depressing topics.