Living with Mental Illness

My wife has bipolar, her bipolar does not define her, it is a small part of her make up.  For one second, I will not even pretend that I am the caretaker or caregiver in our relationship.  I am not expected to hold everything together when emotional hurricanes hit us.  We hang on as a couple, with everything that is flying around us and we just wait for the calm. 

To be honest, living with her is far from easy and harmonious sometimes, but believe me, I am no bloody angel, I can't make a decision no matter how basic - that would drive anyone to dispair after a few days let alone 17 years come January 2018.  

The stigma of mental illness isn’t just connected with those who are ill, like my wife,  but also to those of us on this journey with them.  Many people who know us as a couple and as individuals know that we are both strong and independent and we can both be heroically brave. Just like my wife, I have weaknesses and fears.

My family always worry about her well being and will constantly ask me how she really is.  I will often answer that she is fine, regardless.

Our relationship is strong, our relationship flourished long before my wife's bipolar was diagnosed.  Our relationship has endured the diagnosis of my wife's bipolar and my condition and it's drama.  We have stayed together because we are fully aware of each other, we share the condition because it is a team effort and we are fully committed to each other.  We have made every effort to learn about and understand bipolar together.  We have established limitations and boundaries that must be respected in order for our relationship to exist and prosper. Honesty and a willingness to be open about the issues involved with every part of bipolar is vital, but most of all, we can focus on the fact that we love each other enough to commit to the relationship.

In the very beginning, I found it very very hard, I felt every single up and down along with my wife but I felt totally and utterly useless.  I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't take care of her or save her and I struggled to hold our home together.  The first thing I had to learn, which took me a very very longtime and I readily admit that I am yet to fully master this one, is that the “enemy” (for want of a better word) is the illness, not my wife. When she is ill, she is precisely that, ill and not rude, obnoxious, nasty, stupid, deliberately hurting those around her stubborn, nor any of the numerous unpleasant things I feel like calling her at the time.

My wife, has and will always be my hero, Not just because she does heroic things but also because she shows me her weaknesses. We have cried together and she has shared her fears with me. It always amazes me that after all the hell we go through, she can always muster a smile and hold me tight in her arms. It feels good. It has always felt good, I have always felt safe in her arms and it also feels good to know that we are one in this big old mess of mental illness, not two alone in this freaky universe.

When my wife was first diagnosed, she was mentally poorly and I began to miss dearly the person I fell in love with, I knew in time that person would come back to me.  I was assured that she would get better and she would get through this massive episode.  I tried desperately to understand everything but felt so overwhelmed.  I was never confrontational, I never blamed her and always made her realise I was trying to help. 

In our darkest times, I always knew that we would have better times ahead. I tried to learn very quickly what we as a couple were battling against.  I tried to keep an eye on her medication, medication was the only real part I could truly understand, the medication was changing her and not in a good way but at the same time it was making her better.  

When I was alone, I would often cry because I felt helpless.  I often felt not strong enough.  Never once in those early days did I want to leave no matter how difficult it often felt.  A few times she was very unpleasant, I had learnt to not take it personally, she was emotional and at any point I knew she could blow, she was very irritated sometimes and I knew it was the illness and not her.  I quickly learnt not to argue or ask things of my wife during depression or periods of mania as it was of no use.  She couldn't see my point of view no matter how hard I tried, it just caused more stress and tension.  

I do not shout about my wife's condition from the rooftops, crikey, I don't tell people I am gay!  Her condition is no longer something I hide, and through her diagnosis, I can assure you I have well and truly found out who our real friends are, who’s going to be there for us and support us. 

Letting people closest to us, like family, know that my wife is ill not only slapped the issue openly on the table, but allowed us to ask for support when we needed it. 

I’ve also had to learn that my wife's illness, no matter how much I blame myself or how hard I try, it is not something that I can personally fix.  I would take it from her in a heartbeat, I wish often, that I could simply love this particular problem away.

Don't get me wrong, we really don't have a bad life, and we’re not the only people who go through this, we have fun and we laugh at the most ridiculous things together.  Lindo, my wife and I are a happy and content family, but to keep us on our toes we also have challenges and step by step, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time, we’re getting there, TOGETHER.