It’s not until it is..

It’s not until you fall in love with someone with bipolar disorder that you learn what it truly is...

It’s a monster that robs you of your amazing husband in cycles, sometimes frequently, sometimes infrequently.

More frequently, days at a time, when he chooses not to take his medication as prescribed.

It’s anxiety and confusion and anger because you’re tired of being accused of doing and saying things that you don’t actually do or say...

Insinuations of cheating or lying, when you know you’ve been perfectly faithful and honest, but his paranoia doesn’t allow that rational.

It’s frustration when you try to talk to your husband, while he’s packing his bags to leave for the millionth time, that this is happening because he’s cycling and not taking his meds.

It’s trying to work through the bullshit it brings and the hurtful words to see that in the end, that’s not really the man I married, even tho it’s a part of him, it doesn’t define him.

It’s lost sleep.

It’s having to pick up all the pieces the next day, hang up his clothes that are strewn all over the bedroom after he calmed down and fell asleep, and allowed the argument to end.

It’s being asked by your mother in law who you’re graciously allowing to live with you for very little contribution “why did you guys even get married?”.

It’s the text to his sister, asking for support, that goes unanswered - and that leaves you feeling like she feels you’re just shitting on her brother and creating drama, when really, you’re hoping that the one person who might know him as well as you do, will offer some shred of support or understanding.

It’s isolation because no one else in your world understands, not your family, not your friend, not his family, not even your husband who suffers understands. If you talk to your family, they’ll hate him for the hurtful things he says, or that he doesn’t take his meds, that you’re under all this stress. People can’t support because they don’t understand... comments like “why did you even get married?” hurt the depths of your soul and make you realize just how alone in this, as a mentally ill persons life partner, you actually are.

It’s having to hear him talk negatively about himself, to see any disruption in his day become the end of the world.

It’s having to hear him talk about wanting to slit his throat, hang himself from a doorknob, put a piece of lead through his head, kill himself, commit suicide.

It’s feeling like his family has unloaded him onto me in a “he’s your problem now” kind of deal.

It’s being sick and fucking tired of all of this, losing your patience with him and those that don’t try to understand, because you’re patient as much as is humanly possible but can’t always keep it together, can’t always be shit on, can’t always be suspected of, can’t not defend yourself.

It’s continuing to love the man anyways.

It’s a feeling of vindication the next morning when he finally, after 3 days of cycling, fighting and no peace, admits that you’re right, he hasn’t been taking his meds, and has been lying when you ask if he did, but that he’s going to start taking them again because he needs to.

It’s doubt because you’ve seen and heard this all before.

It’s hope that he really means it this time.

It’s a sense of disappointment creeping in, knowing already that this will happen again.

It’s relief for confirmation that you aren’t actually the crazy one and you weren’t imagining this, even tho he fights you on it and makes you doubt it, when you know better because you’ve been thru this with him dozens of times before.

It’s falling apart and crying in your bedroom alone the next morning before work, ruining your makeup that you did a nice job on, posting to an online forum, hoping for people who might understand, but at the very least, it’s getting the racing thoughts out of my head..