As I start this post, I know there's a chance that my husband will read it, therefore causing more hurt than I intend. Since I started this blog, my husband has been respecting my privacy, consequently trusting me with the freedom of writing what I need to express here, allowing me to write personal words throughout its fruition. Is it difficult for me to write this? Absolutely.
Here I go.
The past few weeks have been difficult for our relationship, to the point that we have been fighting everyday as a result. I admit, it's been mostly on my part, not his, as I scream hurtful words towards him in hopes of a change. I realize that's not the right way to approach such a private affair, but at the time, it's what I know and how I feel to react. Even though I regret it immediately after, my stubborness disables me from apologizing, whence continuing the hurt.
Sometimes I don't know how to move forward with our marriage, and sometimes nothing would please me more. It changes on a daily basis and on occastion, I ask myself, is this what I want? Do I want to be married in hopes of being left alone? Or just fight through what seems like a rough patch? I know he is soon getting to the point of frustration, therefore about to walk away from it all. I don't blame him, I have put both he and my daughter through hell. It's not fair to them, nor is it fair to myself.
The love I feel for him is unquestionable, it's why I have been married for so long. But the resentment I feel is also undeniable. I resent that we are in this financial anguish with only hope to guide us. At the time that I am writing this, we have no food, and my dog hasn't been able to eat aside from scraps we have left over from the previous week's dinner. I look inside our bare refrigerator and ask myself, how did it get this bad? I know that my unemployment has caused a great deal of that, but how can we still not have the money to eat? Forget a xmas tree or lights, we can't even afford that. Our home looks unconventional during this holiday season and nothing displeases me more. I've always loved this time of year and always enjoyed the bright twinkly lights permeating throughout our home. Only to look at dullness instead.
I'm bitter, I'm very bitter.
I ran out of my Trileptal last night and since my "drug dealer" is out of samples, I don't know when I'll be able to refill my prescription. After days of withdrawals, I know that will only hinder my diagnosis, not get better like it's supposed to.
Everyday I look at my husband with disgust. I watch him work many hours a week just so we can have food on the table, only to see it empty instead. Here is an educated man working at a job he loathes just so we can have health insurance, and work for a company that has not given him a raise since he started 6 years ago. I plead with him everyday to look for another job in hopes of a better life, but I can't watch over his shoulder wondering if he's adhering to my advice. He's a grown man, and I know he only wants what's best for our family and regrets the position we are currently in.
In my eyes, we are living the life of poverty, only to not qualify for food stamps or the like. According to the state, my husband makes too much money to collect. Ironic. We're not big spenders, nor do we have a lot of debt (if any). It comes from bills and rent that must be paid every month, only to snowball with regular past due amounts and regular phone calls fighting after us.
I don't know what to do at this point with my marriage, he has been there with me every step of the way as I struggled with my bipolar disorder, but as I wake up everyday in a dark depressive state due to our finances, I sometimes think it would only be easier if I went off on my own. Leaving him with my daughter to raise her properly and not have to worry about me and my illness or an extra mouth to feed.
As we sat through my therapy session last week, letting out our frustrations and spewing the hurt, I know that what I decide to do will have to come to fruition quickly, or both of us will sink down into a state of sadness and unhappiness. But what do I decide? How can I move forward with my life with or without him? That is what I need to think about every single day.
But how?
Give me the courage, please.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Showing posts with label wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wife. Show all posts
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
The End of My Tunnel
It's official, today I feel as though I have reached my threshold—the end of my tunnel. I feel as though my life is wasted and I am no longer challenged. As if I am oppressed. How do I overcome this? How can I excel within my soul and my psyche to fight this constant emotion? Is it even possible at this point, from someone who is in their late 40's? To some of you, that may seem young, but to most, it's beyond a mid-life crisis. I have been experiencing this for over a year now and I can't seem to shake myself from it. I wish it was like a bad dream and I could just wake up, instead of living it every single day.
I sit here at my new job bored and unchallenged. I feel as though my life is being wasted and everything I worked so hard to achieve while in college and beyond graduation has escaped me and slipped through my fingers; it has become out of my grasp. Everything is out of my control, including my bipolar disorder. It's clear my medication isn't working as I had hoped, and only creating a constant depression that is beyond anything I had ever imagined. A deep decline within my soul.
I should be happy, I should be grateful and I should love my life. I have a loving, wonderful husband and a beautiful healthy daughter—so why can't I appreciate this and just accept it as being a part of my life? Why can't I just realize that the majority of the population is worse off than me and just move forward and try to make the best of it? To continue on as part of my personal life cycle.
'Why' seems to be the question of my life these days. It seems I am always asking 'why.'
I'm tired of asking this question, and instead, I want an answer. Nothing embellished, I just want to know that everything will be OK and my life will persevere regardless of what job I'm at or whether or not we're ever rich or even if we're poor, that life will still go on and I'll be happy. I'll be thankful for my life and appreciate and relish my family time everyday instead. But I can't. Alternately, I dwell on my life and it makes me even more depressed than I had ever imagined.
This slump that I'm in won't go away and it's making me exhausted; I am emotionally exhausted. I never thought in my wildest dreams that repeating that phrase would ever escape my lips or even an emotion that would ever be consummated in my life.
But it does. Every single day for the past year. Or, at least it feels that way.
Last night I had a long discussion with my husband about my job and how unhappy I was. He understands, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's trying to wrap his fingers around why I am like this, because I know for my husband, he too is emotionally exhausted just from living my personal hell along side me. It affects him too. He knows that in all the years we have been together, I have never reacted like this or have ever let a job affect me the way this job has, in this manner; I have never been this depressed.
He asks that I give the job some time, at least until he can accumulate a clientele from his new position as a personal trainer. I promised him I would, as I had no intentions of just easily giving up and walking away. I've always been responsible that way and I always seem to think logically, which I was told just the other day from my psychiatric nurse—who I like to refer to as my 'drug dealer'—that my logical thinking and planning is a "gift." Maybe an attribute I should grow to admire, instead of criticize.
I will try and honor my husband's wishes and trudge everyday at a job that I loathe and a job that I come home depressed from, I will do it and I will make my husband proud. For our finances, it's a necessity. It'll give us that one little freedom of paying our bills and our attempt to live like the rest of society in an honest manner.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I sit here at my new job bored and unchallenged. I feel as though my life is being wasted and everything I worked so hard to achieve while in college and beyond graduation has escaped me and slipped through my fingers; it has become out of my grasp. Everything is out of my control, including my bipolar disorder. It's clear my medication isn't working as I had hoped, and only creating a constant depression that is beyond anything I had ever imagined. A deep decline within my soul.
I should be happy, I should be grateful and I should love my life. I have a loving, wonderful husband and a beautiful healthy daughter—so why can't I appreciate this and just accept it as being a part of my life? Why can't I just realize that the majority of the population is worse off than me and just move forward and try to make the best of it? To continue on as part of my personal life cycle.
'Why' seems to be the question of my life these days. It seems I am always asking 'why.'
I'm tired of asking this question, and instead, I want an answer. Nothing embellished, I just want to know that everything will be OK and my life will persevere regardless of what job I'm at or whether or not we're ever rich or even if we're poor, that life will still go on and I'll be happy. I'll be thankful for my life and appreciate and relish my family time everyday instead. But I can't. Alternately, I dwell on my life and it makes me even more depressed than I had ever imagined.
This slump that I'm in won't go away and it's making me exhausted; I am emotionally exhausted. I never thought in my wildest dreams that repeating that phrase would ever escape my lips or even an emotion that would ever be consummated in my life.
But it does. Every single day for the past year. Or, at least it feels that way.
Last night I had a long discussion with my husband about my job and how unhappy I was. He understands, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's trying to wrap his fingers around why I am like this, because I know for my husband, he too is emotionally exhausted just from living my personal hell along side me. It affects him too. He knows that in all the years we have been together, I have never reacted like this or have ever let a job affect me the way this job has, in this manner; I have never been this depressed.
He asks that I give the job some time, at least until he can accumulate a clientele from his new position as a personal trainer. I promised him I would, as I had no intentions of just easily giving up and walking away. I've always been responsible that way and I always seem to think logically, which I was told just the other day from my psychiatric nurse—who I like to refer to as my 'drug dealer'—that my logical thinking and planning is a "gift." Maybe an attribute I should grow to admire, instead of criticize.
I will try and honor my husband's wishes and trudge everyday at a job that I loathe and a job that I come home depressed from, I will do it and I will make my husband proud. For our finances, it's a necessity. It'll give us that one little freedom of paying our bills and our attempt to live like the rest of society in an honest manner.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Anniversary Lost
This upcoming Friday, August 10, would have been my parents' 55th wedding anniversary. As I look back with idealistic memories of my parents and how they celebrated this joyous occasion, I look forward with true sadness and despair. I will still call my mother and wish her a happy anniversary, even though my father will not be there to answer the phone like he always did, I will call her to make sure she's OK regardless. I know it will be difficult for me because I will never hear his happy voice when he heard I was on the other end. I will never hear him call me that nickname he gave me since I was a baby ever again. I will never hear his voice at all ever again.
I'm sad and I'm truly heartbroken. I had hoped that I was able to visit and spend that time with my mother so she wouldn't have to be alone, or have her come here, but since I started my new job, that just wasn't possible. She chose to prolong her visit for another month or so instead. Why? I don't know, but it's her decision either way.
My mother is doing well. Surprisingly well. I admire her strength and I know as their anniversary approaches, I know it will affect her. How could it not? Perhaps that is why she is choosing to not visit at this time, because she probably wanted to be alone during this sad occasion. Instead, she will spend it with my father's spirit and celebrate their love and their many years of marriage, which would have been a colossal observance. It was special to her, and still is. She says she talks to him everyday as if he's still there in the same room with her. Perhaps it's possible he is, or maybe he isn't and her voice goes unheard. But for my mom, it makes her feel better, and that's all that matters. It's her way of dealing with this difficult time as she continues to grieve.
How she chooses to grieve is her choosing and I will not begrudge her for that. It is her choice, not mine. I know she loved him, and that's all that matters.
I will celebrate it in my heart, knowing that it would have been a monumental occasion for them, many years of marriage that has seen many downs, but mostly ups, where they finished each other's sentences and laughed at what most people would find ridiculous and silly. It was just their way. They were like two peas in a pod. A long marriage that unfortunately is atypical these days.
As anyone could surmise, I still miss my father very much and still continue to think about him every single day. It makes me sad as I reflect on what a wonderful father he was, but grateful at the same time. But mostly, I reminisce about him and how he had such strength and energy, and I remember what he stood for and how hard he worked as we were growing up to ensure we had everything we wanted, and of course, a roof over our heads and food on the table.
Yesterday afternoon during some down time at work, I was admiring some old photos that I took of my father last summer and this past December, and it saddened me greatly. I know it always will for a very long time, and as it still brought tears to my eyes, I realized while I was sitting at my desk, at my new job, I knew I had to put my phone away and look away until I was able to compose myself. It was difficult nonetheless.
The upcoming celebration of their anniversary will be a quiet one without my father's presence, but I know in our hearts, he will always be there and I know for my mother, his memory will never fade away, even on that celebratory occasion.
I miss you, daddy. I love you very much.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I'm sad and I'm truly heartbroken. I had hoped that I was able to visit and spend that time with my mother so she wouldn't have to be alone, or have her come here, but since I started my new job, that just wasn't possible. She chose to prolong her visit for another month or so instead. Why? I don't know, but it's her decision either way.
My mother is doing well. Surprisingly well. I admire her strength and I know as their anniversary approaches, I know it will affect her. How could it not? Perhaps that is why she is choosing to not visit at this time, because she probably wanted to be alone during this sad occasion. Instead, she will spend it with my father's spirit and celebrate their love and their many years of marriage, which would have been a colossal observance. It was special to her, and still is. She says she talks to him everyday as if he's still there in the same room with her. Perhaps it's possible he is, or maybe he isn't and her voice goes unheard. But for my mom, it makes her feel better, and that's all that matters. It's her way of dealing with this difficult time as she continues to grieve.
How she chooses to grieve is her choosing and I will not begrudge her for that. It is her choice, not mine. I know she loved him, and that's all that matters.
I will celebrate it in my heart, knowing that it would have been a monumental occasion for them, many years of marriage that has seen many downs, but mostly ups, where they finished each other's sentences and laughed at what most people would find ridiculous and silly. It was just their way. They were like two peas in a pod. A long marriage that unfortunately is atypical these days.
As anyone could surmise, I still miss my father very much and still continue to think about him every single day. It makes me sad as I reflect on what a wonderful father he was, but grateful at the same time. But mostly, I reminisce about him and how he had such strength and energy, and I remember what he stood for and how hard he worked as we were growing up to ensure we had everything we wanted, and of course, a roof over our heads and food on the table.
Yesterday afternoon during some down time at work, I was admiring some old photos that I took of my father last summer and this past December, and it saddened me greatly. I know it always will for a very long time, and as it still brought tears to my eyes, I realized while I was sitting at my desk, at my new job, I knew I had to put my phone away and look away until I was able to compose myself. It was difficult nonetheless.
The upcoming celebration of their anniversary will be a quiet one without my father's presence, but I know in our hearts, he will always be there and I know for my mother, his memory will never fade away, even on that celebratory occasion.
I miss you, daddy. I love you very much.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Bipolar Menopause
You got it—I found out last year that my blood levels were consistent with menopause.
Oh crap.
In the midst of my bipolar madness, I am also experiencing the "joys" of menopause. At first, I thought wow, maybe it's the menopause causing all of my depresson, sadness, crying and hitting? Nope. Although it does contribute to menopause, it's not the sole reason why I am suffering from my bipolar disorder. It definitely accentuates it, but not the cause of it.
Ugh. Damn.
As I continued to enjoy my period-free bliss, I quickly realized that menopause wouldn't be as easy as I had hoped. Aside from the occasional night sweats (at that point) I figured it would be a positive step for me as I embarked on 'womanhood.'
Yeah, right.
I hated it—hated every minute of it. I knew what going through menopause meant. It meant I was getting old; to the point that I had already reached middle-age. So to add to my lovely mid-life crisis, I was going through menopause as a constant reminder of my "old age." In my mind, I felt deprived and basically screwed.
It's tough, with the flowing of emotions circulating through my veins, it was a harsh reality for me. I wanted to embrace it, but I just couldn't. I wanted to wake up and know that I was 30 years old again, not late 40's. Why do I feel like my life has passed me by at a rapid pace? Why do I feel like it was wasted? I should be wallowing in this peaceful tranquillity of no longer suffering from menstrual cramps every month since the age of 15. I should be finally moving forward with my life instead of dreading it. But I just couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to drown in self pity and the dream and hopes of going back in time. Time machine anyone?
What was wrong with me?
As if my bipolar disorder wasn't bad enough, I had to deal with my flooding of hormones on a daily basis as well? I hate my life and I hate this disease. I hate how women are constantly reminded of growing 'old.' Tell me, what do men have to deal with? Baldness? A rounded gut to remind them of eating a bit healthier and working out until they're sweating profusely? Gray hair? Umm, we have to deal with that as well. No pass there. At least we don't look ridiculous when dyeing our hair to cover the gray—but I only attribute that to wearing makeup to mask our pale skin. Unlike men who think the comb over will only enhance their hair, instead of looking hysterical and foolhardy? Still, that's a personal choice, not something they can't avoid.
Is life contemptible? It only reminds us how cruel life can be to a woman. Aside from the joys of pregnancy (ha, not me) and creating a new life, it basically sucks. Oh, and let's not forget the sagging and heading 'south' of our breasts. Gotta love gravity!
Lovely.
All I know is this, I can't go back, regardless of how often I pray and wish, but I can move forward with my life. Or at least try to. Can I change my life? For the most part, yes. We are in control of our destiny and our dreams—well, to a certain extent of course. I'm hoping that someday soon I will climb out of this mid-life funk and move forward and embrace my aging instead of crying over it—ugh, that word again—instead of being depressed from it. It's a part of life that I can't wriggle out of, and I can't escape it.
I love my wrinkles.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Oh crap.
In the midst of my bipolar madness, I am also experiencing the "joys" of menopause. At first, I thought wow, maybe it's the menopause causing all of my depresson, sadness, crying and hitting? Nope. Although it does contribute to menopause, it's not the sole reason why I am suffering from my bipolar disorder. It definitely accentuates it, but not the cause of it.
Ugh. Damn.
As I continued to enjoy my period-free bliss, I quickly realized that menopause wouldn't be as easy as I had hoped. Aside from the occasional night sweats (at that point) I figured it would be a positive step for me as I embarked on 'womanhood.'
Yeah, right.
I hated it—hated every minute of it. I knew what going through menopause meant. It meant I was getting old; to the point that I had already reached middle-age. So to add to my lovely mid-life crisis, I was going through menopause as a constant reminder of my "old age." In my mind, I felt deprived and basically screwed.
It's tough, with the flowing of emotions circulating through my veins, it was a harsh reality for me. I wanted to embrace it, but I just couldn't. I wanted to wake up and know that I was 30 years old again, not late 40's. Why do I feel like my life has passed me by at a rapid pace? Why do I feel like it was wasted? I should be wallowing in this peaceful tranquillity of no longer suffering from menstrual cramps every month since the age of 15. I should be finally moving forward with my life instead of dreading it. But I just couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to drown in self pity and the dream and hopes of going back in time. Time machine anyone?
What was wrong with me?
As if my bipolar disorder wasn't bad enough, I had to deal with my flooding of hormones on a daily basis as well? I hate my life and I hate this disease. I hate how women are constantly reminded of growing 'old.' Tell me, what do men have to deal with? Baldness? A rounded gut to remind them of eating a bit healthier and working out until they're sweating profusely? Gray hair? Umm, we have to deal with that as well. No pass there. At least we don't look ridiculous when dyeing our hair to cover the gray—but I only attribute that to wearing makeup to mask our pale skin. Unlike men who think the comb over will only enhance their hair, instead of looking hysterical and foolhardy? Still, that's a personal choice, not something they can't avoid.
Is life contemptible? It only reminds us how cruel life can be to a woman. Aside from the joys of pregnancy (ha, not me) and creating a new life, it basically sucks. Oh, and let's not forget the sagging and heading 'south' of our breasts. Gotta love gravity!
Lovely.
All I know is this, I can't go back, regardless of how often I pray and wish, but I can move forward with my life. Or at least try to. Can I change my life? For the most part, yes. We are in control of our destiny and our dreams—well, to a certain extent of course. I'm hoping that someday soon I will climb out of this mid-life funk and move forward and embrace my aging instead of crying over it—ugh, that word again—instead of being depressed from it. It's a part of life that I can't wriggle out of, and I can't escape it.
I love my wrinkles.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Monday, June 25, 2012
Woes of Anniversary
My anniversary this past year was a tough one. We got married on November 5, so since it is around the holidays, this past anniversary turned into an unhappy one. Leading up to these months were tough for all of us, myself included. I had been through a lot, and knowing that our anniversary and the holidays were rapidly approaching, it was devastatingly scary for me. I knew I'd have to face it, and I knew I couldn't run away from it. It was right there in front of me like a shark at the depth of the ocean. I had nowhere to run and I couldn't escape.
For many years, I loved celebrating our anniversary. With the exception of my daughter's birthday, it was the one day of the year that was most special to us. Although we couldn't afford to travel or buy lavish gifts for each other, we still celebrated it with excitement and angst. Once we chose the restaurant we were both happy with and felt would be enjoyable for our celebratory evening, my husband was eager to call and make the reservation.
Throughout the years for our anniversary, we would get a babysitter and enjoy it on our own, but the last 2 or 3 years, we decided to bring our daughter with us. We realized that she was a big part of our lives and felt she was why we were here and why we were together. She always enjoyed it as much as we did and took pride in participating with us. It brought us happiness.
We decided to eat at a local oyster & seafood bar that had recently opened several months prior, and it was only a few blocks from our loft. So aside from convenience, we figured we'd enjoy the new surroundings and experience. Since I had been wanting to eat there when it opened, it was the perfect choice. But something always came up, whether it be money or just time, we could never go. It seemed like there was always something; always a deterrent to keep us from going.
We didn't know how expensive it would be, so we ended up being conservative and would ultimately choose a more modest restaurant instead. This time, for our special day, my husband knew it'd be the perfect locale to honor our anniversary. He wanted to make me happy and make it unforgettable.
I didn't want to be there and I didn't want to celebrate. I just wanted to curl up in a fetal position and cry. I wanted to be alone. But how? How could I be alone on a day that involved another person? It wasn't my birthday and it wasn't another frivolous holiday, it was OUR anniversary; it was our day.
Maybe on most occasions I could pull off the self-pitying fetal position, but this year was different. I really wanted to go, I really did. But with how I had been feeling the prior months, I knew it was a risk being there and bringing our daughter to go with us. But how could I say no? They were both trying so hard to make me happy and they wanted so badly to bring a smile to my face. So I did what any mother and wife would do during these circumstances—I sucked it up, and I went.
This time, willingly.
What I would give to have it end there, but it didn't end happily. Not this time. At that point, I hadn't started hitting myself, so going home was not a scare nor was it a concern. However, my unhappiness was. Nothing could please me by this time, and nothing was "good enough."
All I did was complain about everything—the service, the food, the prices, the drinks—all of it. I couldn't find anything good about anything. As we were waiting anxiously for the check, I was sitting there tapping my leg as if I had to make an emergency run to the bathroom. I look back on that evening today, and realize how much I crave for a nice quiet evening such as that fateful night on our anniversary, and it saddens me. It only makes me realize how much pain I was in at that time. It was out of my control; it wasn't me back there.
But is it too late to make amends with myself? Give myself some peace?
I don't know. I honestly don't. I realize that having bipolar disorder is out of my control; it's something I can't change. All I can do is continue my medication and realize that everyday will be a challenge, a challenge that I am ready and willing to embark on. A new day.
I now think to myself how lucky I was for having the luxury of spending a lovely evening at a delicious restaurant with my family, and how evenings like that are too few. After recently coming home from my father's funeral, I realize how he can no longer enjoy a delightful evening with his wife, or take advantage of a delicious meal at a sensational restaurant—these are things that he loved to do on many occasions, and can no longer do so.
That breaks my heart.
Is it a cliché to continually remind yourself of a common sentiment that "life is short?" Or should we actually take this advice and try and see the good in everything and everyone? Is it unrealistic to have such a positive attitude, or just absurd?
For me, the answer isn't that clear yet, but I hope it will be someday—soon! I am very anxious for that answer. I need clarity in my life. Especially now.
I desire nothing more than sitting in a restaurant with my family so we can enjoy the time we are spending there together, not look at what's going wrong, or what's right, just enjoy it; embrace it. Whether or not the food is crap, service is slow or if the drinks are overpriced, will be irrelevant. I will only enjoy the time that I'm there with my family and take advantage of the precious time we have now and will continue to enjoy for the future.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
For many years, I loved celebrating our anniversary. With the exception of my daughter's birthday, it was the one day of the year that was most special to us. Although we couldn't afford to travel or buy lavish gifts for each other, we still celebrated it with excitement and angst. Once we chose the restaurant we were both happy with and felt would be enjoyable for our celebratory evening, my husband was eager to call and make the reservation.
Throughout the years for our anniversary, we would get a babysitter and enjoy it on our own, but the last 2 or 3 years, we decided to bring our daughter with us. We realized that she was a big part of our lives and felt she was why we were here and why we were together. She always enjoyed it as much as we did and took pride in participating with us. It brought us happiness.
We decided to eat at a local oyster & seafood bar that had recently opened several months prior, and it was only a few blocks from our loft. So aside from convenience, we figured we'd enjoy the new surroundings and experience. Since I had been wanting to eat there when it opened, it was the perfect choice. But something always came up, whether it be money or just time, we could never go. It seemed like there was always something; always a deterrent to keep us from going.
We didn't know how expensive it would be, so we ended up being conservative and would ultimately choose a more modest restaurant instead. This time, for our special day, my husband knew it'd be the perfect locale to honor our anniversary. He wanted to make me happy and make it unforgettable.
But this last anniversary was different. So very different.
I didn't want to be there and I didn't want to celebrate. I just wanted to curl up in a fetal position and cry. I wanted to be alone. But how? How could I be alone on a day that involved another person? It wasn't my birthday and it wasn't another frivolous holiday, it was OUR anniversary; it was our day.
Maybe on most occasions I could pull off the self-pitying fetal position, but this year was different. I really wanted to go, I really did. But with how I had been feeling the prior months, I knew it was a risk being there and bringing our daughter to go with us. But how could I say no? They were both trying so hard to make me happy and they wanted so badly to bring a smile to my face. So I did what any mother and wife would do during these circumstances—I sucked it up, and I went.
This time, willingly.
What I would give to have it end there, but it didn't end happily. Not this time. At that point, I hadn't started hitting myself, so going home was not a scare nor was it a concern. However, my unhappiness was. Nothing could please me by this time, and nothing was "good enough."
All I did was complain about everything—the service, the food, the prices, the drinks—all of it. I couldn't find anything good about anything. As we were waiting anxiously for the check, I was sitting there tapping my leg as if I had to make an emergency run to the bathroom. I look back on that evening today, and realize how much I crave for a nice quiet evening such as that fateful night on our anniversary, and it saddens me. It only makes me realize how much pain I was in at that time. It was out of my control; it wasn't me back there.
But is it too late to make amends with myself? Give myself some peace?
I don't know. I honestly don't. I realize that having bipolar disorder is out of my control; it's something I can't change. All I can do is continue my medication and realize that everyday will be a challenge, a challenge that I am ready and willing to embark on. A new day.
I now think to myself how lucky I was for having the luxury of spending a lovely evening at a delicious restaurant with my family, and how evenings like that are too few. After recently coming home from my father's funeral, I realize how he can no longer enjoy a delightful evening with his wife, or take advantage of a delicious meal at a sensational restaurant—these are things that he loved to do on many occasions, and can no longer do so.
That breaks my heart.
Is it a cliché to continually remind yourself of a common sentiment that "life is short?" Or should we actually take this advice and try and see the good in everything and everyone? Is it unrealistic to have such a positive attitude, or just absurd?
For me, the answer isn't that clear yet, but I hope it will be someday—soon! I am very anxious for that answer. I need clarity in my life. Especially now.
I desire nothing more than sitting in a restaurant with my family so we can enjoy the time we are spending there together, not look at what's going wrong, or what's right, just enjoy it; embrace it. Whether or not the food is crap, service is slow or if the drinks are overpriced, will be irrelevant. I will only enjoy the time that I'm there with my family and take advantage of the precious time we have now and will continue to enjoy for the future.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Saturday, June 23, 2012
My Rock
Who is my rock? If you've been following my posts, I think you would know the answer to that.
One word...Husband.
Yup, during this past year has been a tumultuous one—for everyone in my family. Everything in my life this past year, not just my bipolar disorder, but my father's illness, our finances and of course, my brother's nutty behavior. If I were single, I honestly don't know how I would have handled it. Seriously. I'm a weak soul when it comes to situations like the above. I truly am. So having my husband there meant the world to me. Even friends here and there, but as I've also mentioned in prior posts, I am very selective with who I discuss these private issues with. I try to keep it as minimal as possible; I keep it simple.
There are many issues that I do trust with my friends, but one of them is definitely not my bipolar disorder or finances. I've learned that people tend to judge you for these "problems" and hold it against you—especially financial hardship—so I keep it on the down-low.
When people asked me how my father was doing, or what happened with my brother, I don't go in depth other than the basic information. Even though I know they're only inquiring because they care, I still share with them as little as possible.
My husband is different. I realize that these situations involve us as a family, however, but he has stood by me through everything. He has taken over everything within our household so I would have limited, if not any, problems clouding my mind or issues that could affect my getting better from my bipolar disorder. He knows under these extenuating circumstances that my reaction was typically accentuated beyond the normal boundaries that most people react.
He has seen me through everything, including my tantrums that were clearly out of my control, but also my brother, my father's illness and our financial hardships that have collided with my bipolar disorder; even though he works two jobs, everyday he would walk through the door, and even though he would be physically exhausted, he still held his head up high and he was proud, proud of everything he had accomplished in life. That takes courage. Throughout all of this, like you could imagine, he was mentally exhausted as well.
My husband means the world to me, that much is certain, and I truly hope that while others are suffering and struggling with bipolar disorder and depression, they too would be lucky enough to have the same support system that I have been so blessed with. Nothing is more important than having someone that loves you and never judges you and help you.
So as I sit here drinking my cappuccino and writing this post, I am eager to head home tomorrow and be with my "rock" once again.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
One word...Husband.
Yup, during this past year has been a tumultuous one—for everyone in my family. Everything in my life this past year, not just my bipolar disorder, but my father's illness, our finances and of course, my brother's nutty behavior. If I were single, I honestly don't know how I would have handled it. Seriously. I'm a weak soul when it comes to situations like the above. I truly am. So having my husband there meant the world to me. Even friends here and there, but as I've also mentioned in prior posts, I am very selective with who I discuss these private issues with. I try to keep it as minimal as possible; I keep it simple.
There are many issues that I do trust with my friends, but one of them is definitely not my bipolar disorder or finances. I've learned that people tend to judge you for these "problems" and hold it against you—especially financial hardship—so I keep it on the down-low.
When people asked me how my father was doing, or what happened with my brother, I don't go in depth other than the basic information. Even though I know they're only inquiring because they care, I still share with them as little as possible.
My husband is different. I realize that these situations involve us as a family, however, but he has stood by me through everything. He has taken over everything within our household so I would have limited, if not any, problems clouding my mind or issues that could affect my getting better from my bipolar disorder. He knows under these extenuating circumstances that my reaction was typically accentuated beyond the normal boundaries that most people react.
He has seen me through everything, including my tantrums that were clearly out of my control, but also my brother, my father's illness and our financial hardships that have collided with my bipolar disorder; even though he works two jobs, everyday he would walk through the door, and even though he would be physically exhausted, he still held his head up high and he was proud, proud of everything he had accomplished in life. That takes courage. Throughout all of this, like you could imagine, he was mentally exhausted as well.
My husband means the world to me, that much is certain, and I truly hope that while others are suffering and struggling with bipolar disorder and depression, they too would be lucky enough to have the same support system that I have been so blessed with. Nothing is more important than having someone that loves you and never judges you and help you.
So as I sit here drinking my cappuccino and writing this post, I am eager to head home tomorrow and be with my "rock" once again.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
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