Married to Bipolar

When my mother was dying, I felt suffocated by societal norms that wouldn’t let me speak truth. The truth that my mother was mean and awful in her dementia, that taking care of her hurt me in every atom of my soul. I would post the smallest things on social media and would be met with, oh just enjoy the moments. What? She threw her water bottle at me! I’m not enjoying this!

And with bipolar I feel the same way sometimes.

The quiet moments when I admit to myself, I don’t love this.

Even there, it’s hard to say what I want to say.

I wish he wasn’t bipolar.

Oh I’m a little nauseated.

Why is that so hard to admit? Who’s going to strike me down?

It doesn’t mean I don’t love him.

It doesn’t mean I haven’t accepted that he has bipolar disorder.

Both things can be true.

I love him and also I get frustrated by behaviors that come from his bipolar disorder.

We have to do something with normalizing all of it. Not glossing over the, oh just love and squeeze him, it’s not his fault. Yes I know it’s not his fault, I’m not blaming him. I am allowed to be frustrated sometimes. Well, you chose him, yes I did. And also, I am allowed to be frustrated sometimes.

How I choose to ACT in my frustration is also the key, though.

I should not be frustrated at HIM, towards him, angry towards him, blame him.

And maybe that’s the differential we’re looking for.

Feel frustrated.

But in actions, be sympathetic. Find a way to feel frustrated… together. I hear you, you hear me, let’s get on with life baby.