Back to the present, some years from the day that my family was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, we are doing much better. I say that our family was diagnosed for one, simple fact. Although my husband is actually the one whose brain is directing manic and depressive episodes, all of us have had to learn to live with it.
I think that we’ve finally reached a point where his medication is stable, and he is learning how to live again. We’re talking about years of making mostly impulsive, irrational decisions – and then suddenly, the medication is right and he can think on his own!
To be honest, I think it scared the living daylights out of him when he first realized what had happened. He could really think! And that meant dealing with everything that he had done, and rebuilding his life.
I know it scared me when the medication seemed stable…I suppose one just gets comfortable with what they know regardless of how horrible it really is. Take, for example, women who endure abuse for years but are afraid to leave. I, like them, felt that at least I knew my demons.
The first time he was nice to me for no apparent reason, I was completely furious. No kidding, folks. I was livid. Seeing red was not the phrase for it – it was like a nuclear explosion of crimson. Why? The reason was simple - it terrified me to distraction. I wanted to know why he was being nice to me…what precisely had he done that he was trying to make up for? Who was watching that he wanted to impress? What, for the love of pancakes, had gotten into him that he thought I was going to buy that old trick?
Imagine my surprise when he was just being his nice, sweet, real self. I guess I cried for a whole day; maybe more.
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