My husband was upfront and honest with me concerning his disease. Not to say that it is an easy thing for him to accept, but he is very vocal about it. Sometimes, I find myself kicking him under the table or elbowing him in the ribs in the hopes that he will catch my eye and read the pleading within them.
Please stop telling them your brain is wired different. Please quit telling them you are on disability. Please. Just stop.
I’m not ashamed of my husband. He is wired different. I know it’s through no action other than being born that caused this. That’s not where the pleading comes from. I see the way you angle your body to the rear, gearing up for a quick retreat. I see the way you cross your arms, slowly shutting him out. I see the way your lips purse and I know you are holding in a snarky reply. I see the light dim in your eyes and know you have just written off having any sort of intellectual conversation. I see.
You are the ones that don’t see. You don’t see that you are missing out on the opportunity to make friends with one of the most loyal people you will ever meet. You don’t see that you are losing out on having someone that will have your back no matter what stage he’s cycling through. You don’t see the man that will stand by your side no matter the cost. You don’t see that you are denying yourself a lifetime of intellectual conversations that will often change your perspective on a few topics.
You don’t see that he is not his disease. He is a man with bipolar. He is my best friend. I can see. You should try it sometime.