The Destiny Manifest

Uphill... both ways

The days get better and then they get worse, and then better again... waxing and waning with the cycles of my bipolar and his schizophrenia.

I'm put in the awkward position of attempting to "force" him into seeking mental health treatment, which is exactly what I have rebelled against all these long months and years. I find myself advocating for psychologists and psychiatrists and talk therapy and psychotropic drugs. It's all just a little uncomfortable for me.

See, I'm a person who does "just fine" most of the time without the drugs and therapy... and he is not this type of person. Problem is, he thinks he is. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with him, which is actually one of the defining characteristics of being schizophrenic. "It's not me, it's everyone else." I can't convince him that he needs medication and treatment for an illness that he doesn't think he has. It's this uphill battle that I feel like I fail at every day... but still I try.

We sat outside the psychiatrist's office today for 20 minutes. He went in and came back out 10 minutes later with the same prescription he already had. Now granted, the Paxil helps... but not enough. It's not strong enough, not psychotropic enough, not "right" enough. I'm not his wife. I can't make him say what I think he needs to say to his doctors. I can't find the right words to make him want to say what needs to be said to the doctors, because again, he thinks that "it's not me, it's everyone else".

Some days I want to give up, walk out, be done. Some days are good and only partially schizo. Some days... some days are amazing and I'm reminded of how much I adore this man, and it's those days that make the bad ones worth getting through.

Myrtle Beach - December 2008

It's 3am, I must be lonely.

We went out to eat Friday night... had a really nice time for a change. It's been weeks of insanity and hurt since he had his breakdown 6 weeks ago, but this night was good. We ate and talked and held hands and came home, cuddled and went to bed without an argument... again, for a change.

My best friend's daughter turned 1 Saturday and Chris and I went to the party. It was sweet... tons of babies everywhere, a definite reminder to take one's birth control seriously... but fun and the cake was delicious. Chris seemed to have a good time even, when I didn't think he would and had planned not to stay long for his benefit.

But somewhere between leaving the party and arriving back at home, something shifted again, and most of today has been the same way. Everything I say is met with nonsense responses that have nothing at all to do with anything... and he randomly says things that make no sense about the government, money and how "they" are out to get him. I asked him to go outside with me to have a serious conversation about getting his teaching certification, an idea he's been batting around for months now.

"So seriously, what do you think about getting your teaching certification?"
-- "It costs too much money."
"But your granddad said he'd help you with the cost of it."
-- "It doesn't pay enough. I need to make at least $100,000 a minute to pay my bills."
"It pays more than Charter did and you always had extra money after your bills were paid when you worked there."
-- "Yeah well, it doesn't matter. The government is going to take it all anyway."
"Okay well anyway, so aside from the cost of the certification, do you think you'd like teaching?"
-- "They don't pay me enough to exist."
"Who doesn't?"
-- "The government. They owe me money."
"For what?"
-- "Experimenting on me."
"And when do they do that?"
-- "In the middle of the night, they probe my brain and take it all."

Yeah... what do you say to that? What exactly is the appropriate response to that line of thinking?

Or how about "the CIA knows everything you do because of Facebook and your blog" and "don't put my full name on the internet... well no, it's okay, they're already aware of everything I do because they are following me."

Or while driving down the road... "that car behind you looks suspicious. I think they're following us. They know what you've done."

Or when he comes up to me, takes my hand and looks like he's going to say something loving and great. "I think... <long pause while he looks deeply into my eyes and I anticipate something wonderful>... that the government is going to try and take me away, make me move to Nicaragua... I won't let them, but they might try to kill me."

Or in the middle of the night, when he suddenly clings to me while still in mid-night terror and says, "No, they're going to try and take me, don't let them! Don't let them! Make them leave me alone!"

And so on... all day long.

He sleeps for hours and long hours, a deep sleep only occasionally interrupted by night terrors that he recovers quickly from, going back to sleep while I lay awake, disturbed and restless. He wakes up and finally gets out of bed after much insisting by me that it's time to get up and do something... and then complains to everyone, including the therapists and doctors who see him, that he never sleeps... which in turn makes the doctors prescribe medications that make him want to sleep even more.

I feel like I walk through my days trying to bite my tongue, repeating to myself "it's an illness, he can't help it, he will get better, he will recover, this is not the way he's always been, I know he's in there somewhere". I can only do this for so long though and then I run out of patience and understanding... and we have another argument that ends with me sleeping on the couch or stalking out to smoke another cigarette at 4am.

Tonight, after 36 hours of random nonsense and paranoia interspersed with only a few moments of what passes for normal these days, I am utterly frustrated and ready to have him notice how upset I am and maybe try to make amends. I came back to the bedroom to attempt a conversation. He got into bed and... fell immediately asleep. Great... but I can't sleep when I feel like this, and I know that when I wake up tomorrow, it'll be more of the same, so here I am, wide awake and blogging at 3am while he snores peacefully.

I wish I knew how to make him shift back to that guy I went to dinner with on Friday night. I love that guy incredibly. This version of that guy though... I could really do without this version.

So bright we need shades

I'm mostly okay these days, but I have my moments. I'm in love, which should be the happiest of things, right? Except... it's not always. He's mentally ill, and of course so I am, so it makes for many extremes. We're either really happy or we're really not. I've almost walked out on several occasions, not for lack of love but to protect my own mental state. It may yet come to that, but I sincerely hope that it doesn't.

Every day is this complicated and convoluted adventure wherein we try to mesh my bipolar depression and mania with his paranoid schizophrenic depression. A day where we smile and kiss more than argue and cry is a successful one. I've been asked "is it worth all this?" and I think that yes, it is, so I continue to try.

I've never dealt with paranoia or schizophrenic behavior, and this is all pretty new to me. He was not like this when we first met... or at least it wasn't a presenting condition at that time. I'm reading symptoms and "how to cope" stories online and trying to take each day as it comes, but I won't lie... it's hard as hell and sometimes I feel like giving up.

But then... he has a better day and I have a better day. We smile at each other and hold hands, talk about our future and everything feels so bright and so right.

It's hard... but maybe it's the hard that makes it worth it.