The days are getting better. The sunshine and warmth definitely do a bipolar depressive funk good.
There are still unbearable days that leave me in tears, literally. Words are spoken that rip at my heart. Silence dominates our days and nights. Neither one of us saying a word for fear of an explosion of grand proportions. He sits on one end of the couch and I on the other. There is an occasional ping on our cell phones as texting has become our way of saying what needs to be said, without actually verbalizing it.
These are the times thoughts enter my mind that I am ashamed of. Thoughts I hate to verbalize. I know deep within that this is the disease. These actions are not an intentional passive aggressive move on his part. These eggshell nights leave me wondering how I fit into his world.
This leads me to the terrible thoughts that I can’t shake sometimes. I love my husband dearly. I know he struggles everyday. I know that when he’s playing with our four year old or cheering at my older son’s baseball games, that often it’s a front and he’s had to force himself to make the effort.
The dark thoughts creep in before I can banish them. The thoughts of just how selfish can one man be. The thoughts that by allowing this selfish behavior I’m enabling it. The ultimate diss being some days I wish I could claim bipolar to get away with treating people second rate and not having a care in the world.
Then he pulls me in tight and begs for help. Begs me to pull him out before we have to commit him again. Then he tells me his fear of losing all of us because he can’t get his brain to stop. And I feel like the ultimate villain. I’ve never met someone so caring and intuitive(albeit a tad crazy). How could I even think the hurt and distance is an act of a selfish nature? He’s given me more than anyone ever has and I question his selfishness. Who is
truly the selfish one now?