Don't get excited.
This may not be the post you were looking for.
My last post was supposed to be the one where i started fresh all over again. That was my intention.
Funny things, intentions, they almost always start out well. But quite often they get blown all to hell.
Kinda like what happened with the idea that I had a fresh outlook and was going to get back in the groove. It all went to hell.
Two days before I wrote that last post, The Husband had a nervous breakdown. A bone fide on the floor full hysterics breakdown. We thought it was an isolated incident.
Boy was I wrong.
For those who also read The Husband's blog, you are aware that he has been diagnosed as Bipolar. For those who don't...surprise!
For the last three months it has been a whirlwind of doctors and therapists and more doctors and tests and let's not forget about the medicine.
Here's the thing about Bipolar.
There is not one single medication that can help. It is a dangerous cocktail of medication that must be adjusted, and apparently adjusted often, in order to find the right cocktail for your particular form of disease.
This is hard on a body.
It is hard on those who have to watch said body.
I know that it is hell on The Husband, but this is not about that.
This is about the rest of us who live with this disease every-waking-minute-of-the-day.
This is about having to watch the man you have known for 22 years turn into someone you have never seen before.
In the past three months I have once again become too efficient at dishing out meds, watching side effects and charting behaviour. Hmmmmm seems like I have done this before.
For The Husband, it involves Panic Attacks, so severe I have had to leave work to come home to find him curled up in our room, frightened, like a child who has had a night terror. It involves Anxiety attacks, which have no rhyme or reason. It involves depression so bad that last week it was 430 in the afternoon before he got out of bed, and brilliant ideas like selling everything we own to move to Scotland to raise cows.
It involves tremors so bad he has been mistaken for having Parkinsons. Thankfully this problem seems to have been solved.(When typing that sentence, i knocked wood, spun three times, snapped my fingers and spit on the floor. i am done tempting any and all Deities.)
It involves energy. Lots and lots of kinetic energy that needs a place to go.
It involves anger.
Anger on his part as too why he can't feel better.
Anger on my part as to why the hell he can't just snap out of it.
Yes, I just said i wanted him to snap out of it.
I would really like him back.
He has a great Psychotherapist who helps him with meditation. At home I walk him through the meditation exercises, but what i want to do in my heart is grab him by the head and say ENOUGH ENOUGH ENOUGH!
Then of course I feel guilty for feeling that way.
He has no control over this. It has control of him.
He is off work. Which means he spends his time at home while i work....when I am not speaking to psychiatrists and doctors and therapists and pharmacists and comforting the children who understand that Dad is sick but not in a you can see it kind of way.
So if you came back to the blog to see how things are going, i will not blame you if you turned and walked away. Hell sometimes that is appealing to me as well.
But I can't.
I can however learn what hat to wear and when. i can learn to not try and be logical when speaking to someone who is illogical. TO know that sometimes just hold a hand is comfort enough, and sometimes it really isn't.
I miss my husband. The one I knew. The one I know is in there somewhere. I just have to be patient and know that at some point he will emerge again.
At least that is the intention.
Expect more of this for the next little while.