Yet another funeral..

Husband's aunt passed away this week. I can't determine whether he really feels that he doesn't want to be at the funeral or if he's convinced himself of that because it's so far away. Burial is going to be in another week or so, and much closer, so we'll go to that. I really hope this doesn't end up being a trigger for some sort of episode. There has been a lot of stress lately, between my work travel, two funerals, tax time, and trying to figure out how to juggle the finances right now. I'm glad I'll be returning home tomorrow for a while. It's easier to do damage control when proximity isn't a factor.

EDITED TO ADD:

Well... talked to him. Heard about how I'm not there to hold him, and was informed he'll be drinking tonight. Told him I'd try to make it up to him when I see him tomorrow, and he said, "if I pick you up." Brilliant. I want to be supportive, but it's a lot easier to do when I'm not angry.

By the Numbers...

An estimated 90% of marriages involving a person with bipolar disorder end in divorce.

Never imagined I would be entertaining the idea, personally... but I never imagined what life could be like when mental illness is a third party to the marriage. I've spent a great deal of time ignoring the thought over the last few years, for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, I made a commitment, and I take it seriously. I didn't want to just turn tail and flee at the first sign that things were unstable. I told myself that if it eventually did come to that, I wanted at the very least to know that I did everything I could do to make things work... that I had exhausted all my options. Believe me, I'm exhausted now. I don't know what's left. I don't know how to rebuild trust when it's constantly being violated. When Husband lies to me about small simple things (for example, "what were you pounding on the door for, it was unlocked. I didn't lock you out."), how do I trust that he's being honest with me about anything? He's shared just enough of his contact with an ex-girlfriend with me to make me uncomfortable. I know he's been in touch with her since we've been married, and I know that he had a conversation in which he told her about a dream in which he was having sex with her. How do I trust that it hasn't gone beyond that? I know he's cheated on nearly everyone he's been in a relationship with. Infidelity is common with bipolar disorder. He's lied to me about cocaine use. He's lied to me about drinking. I understand that he has a mental illness, but that doesn't absolve him of responsibility for his behavior. I've been angry with his illness for a long time... but sometimes it seems like the lines blur between his illness and his choices.

Relationships involve a lot of work. Sometimes they involve making choices. Sometimes they involve sacrifice. For the last several months, and more intensely over the last several weeks, I can't shake off the nagging feeling that I've sacrificed things... hopes, dreams, opportunities... for someone who can't be an equal partner.

I've also realized the conclusions I would reach if I were an outsider looking in. If someone I knew and cared about were in my position, I would wonder what the hell they were doing staying in this relationship. I know for a fact that it's been a topic of speculation among my friends and acquaintances. Frankly, I would tell someone else in my position to run like their ass is on fire.

And I'm full of unanswered questions... many of which may not really have answers. Did my husband decide to marry me as part of a manic episode? Is he putting god-knows-what up his nose? Is he cheating? Are things likely to ever look better? Does "better or worse" really apply when it's THIS BAD? Am I going to look back at my life someday and regret the things I didn't do as a result of the marriage I'm in? How much more emotional pummeling can I take?

It's a lot to think about, a lot to sort.

My, how things change...

I've now been married for almost three years, Husband and I have been together nearly four years if I'm recalling and adding correctly. We became engaged relatively quickly, which many people saw as a "red flag." We always countered it by telling people that "when you know, you know." And we knew.

Yet, there was so much I didn't know.

Our relationship was relatively normal. (Really, what is normal?) We had our quirks, neither of us were particularly traditional folk by any means, but we didn't have any big issues, and I didn't see any red flags waving. Believe me, before becoming engaged, I was scouting for them. I'd been in a few rather unhealthy relationships, some of which had included threats of physical harm and shows of physical force, one of which included sexual violence. I'd been through the counseling, I knew what I was looking for, I knew I deserved to be treated well and to be happy... and Husband passed the exam with flying colors.

Things continued to go well for a while after we got married. I knew that Husband was on antidepressants, but I was unconcerned. Things seemed well-managed.

Our first major fight as a married couple occurred several months in. I don't recall at this point how it started, but I'm certain it was something minor. He became very worked up, and no matter what I said or did, it wasn't right. He kept lashing out at me, one verbal assault after the next, until I couldn't take it anymore. I was in tears, and packed an overnight bag. I did the classic, stereotypical thing and went to spend the night at my parents' house. I returned home the next morning, and we smoothed things over and worked things out.

It was smooth sailing again for a short time, but we began fighting far more frequently. Every time we fought, I would end up sobbing in frustration, because I couldn't make heads or tails of anything. I couldn't decipher what he was upset about, because one thing led to the next and the next and the next, and no matter what I said or did, we couldn't resolve one issue before he had mentally "hopped trains" into something else. No matter what I said or did, I couldn't provide any sort of resolution or feedback, and I began to feel entirely insane. One minute he was verbally attacking me, the next he was telling me very calmly that he wasn't mad at me, wasn't upset with me... but his behavior never lined up with his words.

That was in the winter.

Spring rolled around, and I chalked the fighting up to cabin fever/winter blues/etc. Spring was relatively uneventful, if memory serves me correctly. Our first anniversary came and went. That summer, I started to realize something really wasn't right. In what I now suspect was a manic episode, Husband took several hundred dollars he won playing Keno and bought a bunch of random stuff. A shelf, a clock, a book, a bottle of wine... and then declared that we were going out for a nice dinner with the remainder. We had dinner, but he was fixated on having shrimp, and the place we chose didn't have shrimp cocktail on the menu. And when I say fixated, I mean FIXATED. We had a few glasses of wine, then he demanded we leave. So we did.

We went to a nearby restaurant... a very expensive nearby restaurant. It was the beginning of my discomfort in being around other people with my husband, feeling like I couldn't predict what he would say or do, and worrying that his behavior would reflect on me and that people would make assumptions about me, or that I would appear as someone who couldn't be socially appropriate, merely by association. My husband ordered a drink, and a shrimp cocktail, and proceeded to tell everyone at the surrounding tables at this upscale establishment that we were white trash and we were only there because he won money gambling.

I was mortified, and could not get us out of there fast enough. We are not "white trash." We're not billionaires, but I can handle myself in public, and have a sense of decorum. I was humiliated. My husband then became fixated on the fact that he was never able to swim in the pool in a particular nearby hotel. He practically dragged me there, insisting that he was going to find out how much it cost to swim in the pool there. I pleaded with him to just go home, as I was becoming increasingly embarrassed and beyond that, terrified, at his irrational behavior. I finally managed to convince him that there would be no one at the pool to ask at that particular time, and that we should just go home and look into it later.

I felt like Dorothy, having been caught up by the tornado and dropped into a world where nothing makes sense.

That was the most extreme episode for a while, but other things came to light in the meantime. Other things that, I am now aware, are not entirely uncommon with bipolar disorder. Other things like Husband's cocaine use, of which I was NOT aware prior to our marriage.

This surprise occurred because he left various accoutrements out in the house, and I stumbled upon them. I was floored. I felt like I had just been thrown a live grenade, and I didn't know what to do with it. I felt so incredibly violated. This was the man I had married, agreed to share my life with, placed all my trust in... and here was this major part of him that I knew nothing about.

I did nothing at first. I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think that this could be happening to me. Eventually I "confronted" him. I was gentle in my approach. I didn't want to make him defensive, I wasn't even angry anymore, I was just hurt. I wanted to know the truth. So we sat together on the couch. I asked him if I could ask him a question and get an honest answer. He agreed, so I asked him if he had been using cocaine. He got very quiet, and then he told me yes. I asked when the last time he used it was. He assured me that he hadn't used since before the wedding. He was using because at the time he had been very ill and it was the only way he was able to muster up the energy to go to work. Deep down I didn't believe he was being honest with me about the time frame, but I let it go. I accepted it. I didn't truly believe it, but I wanted to believe it.

After that, I didn't see any paraphernalia for a while, but I did find a stash of empty liquor bottles. This prompted me to dig further, and I found more paraphernalia. I did nothing.

That fall, he disclosed to me that his boss was using cocaine at work. We were at the place he works late one evening. His boss wasn't there, but the boss's wife was. He disclosed to her, in front of me, that her husband had been using cocaine, and that he had been giving it to Husband as well to keep him quiet. My suspicions were confirmed. I instantly burst into tears. The wound was reopened. I felt the violation, the anger, the hurt, all over again. He couldn't understand why I felt my trust had been violated. I tried to explain to him that not only had he not told me about this, but that I had flat-out asked him if he had been using, given him every opportunity for honesty, had never overreacted (hell, I had barely reacted at all), and yet he had flat-out lied to me. I insisted he go to counseling, and he agreed.

He began seeing a counselor soon after that. I was not a huge fan of the counselor he chose from the get-go, but I said nothing because I didn't want to discourage him from going. I figured counseling with someone I didn't like was better than no counseling at all. After his very first session, he stated that he and Counselor had talked about me. Counselor came to some rather harsh, hurtful, and inaccurate conclusions about me. Counselor decided right off the bat that I was spoiled, that I was used to having other people do things for me, and that I essentially expected Husband to take care of things and wait on me. I was flabbergasted. I have a chronic illness that sometimes prevents me from doing all the things I want to do. It means that sometimes the laundry has to pile up a little, that sometimes the dishes pile up a little, that sometimes I can't run the vacuum when I would like to or when I see that it needs to be done. It didn't mean that I'm lazy or entitled, or that I come from a background of having things done for me and being waited on hand and foot. But like I said... I didn't want to give Husband license to stop counseling, so I said nothing.

Eventually Counselor suggested that we seek couples counseling. I was thrilled that Husband brought it up, and jumped on the chance to be part of mending things. I found a counselor (we'll say Counselor 2 for the sake of eliminating confusion), and scheduled an appointment.

Things seemed to go fairly well at couples counseling, though Husband often remarked that Counselor 2 was taking my side all the time. I felt Counselor 2 was pretty fair and unbiased, and that Counselor 2 called me out when there was something I needed to take ownership of or take responsibility for.

The next spring is the next major event that I recall at the moment.

We were preparing to go on a vacation. In order to help prepare to leave, since I had the day off and Husband had to work, I agreed to throw some things in the suitcase for him. As I was doing so, I found in one of his dresser drawers a broken pen (just the hollow tube portion) along with a couple tablets of a stimulant I had been prescribed for a sleep disorder. Not only had husband been hiding his cocaine use and hiding his drinking, now he was stealing my medication, crushing it, snorting it, and hiding that from me as well. I was so angry, so hurt, and again I felt frightened that my whole life was becoming beyond my control. I said nothing at that point. I just wanted to go on vacation and enjoy the trip, and I didn't feel that I could enjoy the time away if we started the trip with a fight.

The week we were gone, he was the Husband that I fell in love with. He was wonderful. He was caring. I got a sense of what I was holding on for. But I was also keenly aware that what I was holding on for, that what I was getting a taste of that week, was illusory, and that something entirely different was very real and hanging over my head.

When we went back to counseling upon our return, I confronted him about what I found. I told him how upset and hurt I was. He told me he was done with it, that things would get better. I agreed I would keep my medication somewhere out of sight and not tell him where it was. Things were supposed to be improving.

Later in the year, everything fell apart entirely.

He felt the antidepressant he was on was no longer working for him, so his doctor switched him to a different medication. Today I'm still not sure how I survived this period, let alone how our marriage did.

He was behaving increasingly erratically... and drinking too much. One night, he said he was going to go out for a little while. We had been fighting, and I figured he was going to do the standard thing where he goes and drives around for a little while, then comes home when he's cooled off. Generally when this happens, he calls me within an hour or so. At around midnight, I realized I hadn't heard from him yet, and it had been at least 3 hours since he left. I swallowed my pride and called his cell phone. The police answered. They told me that they really didn't want to take Husband to jail, but if I couldn't come pick him up, that's what they would have to do. I found a neighbor to drive me to where he was at so I could pick up Husband and his car and bring them home. When I arrived, the police informed me that they were called because someone had seen him sleeping on the hood of his car. The windshield was broken. I could see three different points of impact, but couldn't tell how it had happened exactly. Husband kept trying to tell me that someone was shooting at him, but it was very clear to me that the impact was from something much larger than a bullet. I couldn't get a coherent story out of him. The neighbor and I caravaned home, and we got out of our cars. Husband then proceeded to walk down the street. Neighbor helped me get him corralled and inside. I sat on the porch with the neighbor who drove me and another neighbor who arrived as we were returning. Husband kept coming down and getting increasingly belligerent with me. Neighbors were saints that night, getting him to return inside each time. Finally, he opened the window and shouted to me, "Do you think this is the last time you're going to be dealing with me and the cops??" I shouted back to him that I KNEW it was the last time I would deal with it. He finally fell asleep, I showered, grabbed the stuff I would need for work in the morning, and stayed that night with one of the neighbors.

The next morning, I talked to him on the phone while on my break. I told him that he absolutely needed to call his doctor, and he needed to get an appointment as soon as humanly possible. Father-in-law came into town and went with Husband to the doctor, took him to get something to eat, and arranged for the windshield to be repaired. Husband received a referral to a psychiatrist. I felt slight relief... or at least sensed that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

I didn't sleep more than 1 or 2 hours a night all that week. That Saturday, he told me he was going to go in to work to finish some things up. I put a movie on and crawled in to bed. I had just begun to fall asleep when my phone rang. It was Husband. He told me that he was going away, and that I should just start over and do whatever I needed to do to make it as though we had never been together. I asked where he was, but he wouldn't tell me. He hung up the phone. I have never been so terrified in my life. I was convinced he was going to kill himself. I called Father-in-law, and we agreed to get in cars and start searching. I called one of the neighbors and asked her to call me right away if she saw Husband return home. Shortly after that, my phone rang again. Husband came up on the caller ID. I answered, and was greeted by one of the owners of a bar Husband frequented. She told me that Husband was there and had given her his keys and asked her to call me. I thanked her and told her I was on my way. I called Father-in-law back and told him that I was picking up Husband, that the car would be there, and I was taking Husband straight to the emergency room. He arranged to meet me there.

When we arrived at the emergency room, I discovered that Husband was over three times the legal limit for alcohol. I was trying to express that we needed help, that drinking wasn't the main issue, that husband's behavior had been increasingly bizarre, and that he was awaiting an appointment with a psychiatrist, but I was concerned for his safety and well-being in the meantime. The nurse asked me why I didn't feel that I needed to bring Husband in during any of the episodes I relayed to her. I was too shocked at being the recipient of blame to think to tell her that I was doing the best I could, and that she should probably get the hell out of the room right then before I completely lost my mind too. We sat around waiting for Husband to sober up enough for the social worker to meet with him. Getting him into the hospital gown, I discovered he had gone out and gotten a tattoo that morning while I was out (another thing the nurse criticized... leaving my husband alone. As though I could have exercised one iota of control over his actions.). They diagnosed Husband with Acute Intoxication and sent us out the door with a list of AA meetings in the area, and suggested that he stop taking the antidepressant that he started before everything went out of control.

Fast forward a week or two, Husband finally gets in to the psychiatrist. Psychiatrist diagnoses Husband with bipolar disorder. I can't remember ever experiencing such relief, before or since. Finally, someone sees the problem. Finally, there are things we can do to get our lives back under control. Finally he can be properly medicated.

While things have been far more stable since the correct medication regimen, things are far from perfect. I suspect at this point that Husband has been using cocaine again (or still?). While I travel for business, I don't know if he's taking his medication. I don't know what it will take to restore my trust. And above all, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Where to begin...?

Generally, I would begin at the beginning, but sometimes it's difficult to distinguish exactly where the beginning is. What are the relevant parts? How do I share the events that have taken place over the last 3 years in a way that makes sense to the casual reader, when the events don't entirely make sense to me yet? But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm currently traveling on business, and figured now is as good a time as any (since I have some peace and quiet) to reflect on the last few years, try to make some sense of things, and try to navigate the choppy waters and whipping winds.

I titled this blog "The Other Shoe," because for quite some time now, I feel as though I've lived constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't want to go as far as to label my life as traumatic, though there have certainly been periods of overwhelming stress and even fear. However, the best way I've come up with to explain the feeling I've been living with is by likening it to the experiences of someone who has been through a traumatic event... constantly looking over one's shoulder, constantly in a hyperalert state.

I don't entirely know yet what I'm hoping to accomplish with this blog. My intention is to share my experiences as the spouse of someone who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Maybe in the long run, I'll be better able to understand myself as well, and perhaps eventually someone in a similar situation will stumble upon my tiny little corner of the internet and realize they aren't the only one out there, despite the fact that it can be an isolating, lonely experience.