“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…the facts of life.” So went the opening song to a sit-com in the 80’s. The lyrics are true enough for life in general, but they really strike a cord for me, a bipolar’s wife.
Much has been said about bipolar, a genetic mood disorder. Generalizations and jokes are made all the time in a way that would never be tolerated in society today if they were about a race, or sexual orientation. Even I have laughed and referred to things as being “bipolar” including, but not limited to, my state’s fickle weather pattern. But, as a die-hard, full-fledged, longstanding supporter of this wonderful, horrible, manic-depressive club, I feel justified in making a few jokes about it. As the the saying goes, “you might as well laugh, as cry.” And, I have cried about it, a lot. But I’ve also laughed, a lot.
You see, to be married to someone who is bipolar, means that you have it too. Not in the sense that I literally do, because, as my husband has pointed out on a number of occasions, “you can go to work, or sleep, or leave, and get away from me. I cant, I’m stuck with myself all of the time.” Many times, when the strain threatens to break, rather than bend me, I have thought that same thing to myself, but in a different way. I’ve often thought, “as hard as this is, it’s easier to be me, than it is to be him. ” Because it is hard. There is a reason that bipolar carries a 20% mortality rate, and a whopping 90% divorce rate. It sucks sometimes, and it’s also fantastic sometimes.
Of course, there are the highs of bipolar that my friends see on social media; hikes, trips, spontaneous adventures, over the top expressions of love, even after 27 years of marriage. But, then there are the lows that most don’t see; accusations, paranoia, restlessness, physical pain, and shame. Such is the life of someone with bipolar, and inevitably, such is the life of the bipolar’s loved one.
There is a level of figurative tiptoeing around, that I do when the pendulum threatens to swing towards DOWN. It is instinctual, and it is at the height of gaiety and fun, that something inside me says that IT is coming. Warnings like, “You’re so UP right now, you need to make sure you’re getting enough sleep, that you are eating enough, and getting plenty of exercise,” are as useless as telling someone to be careful, when they leave the house. It changes nothing. No one is going to be more careful just because you reminded them to be, any more than he can change anything about his UPness. But, to not say it, seems like you are jinxing yourself and your loved one.
And then DOWN comes, like a violent summer storm disrupting your outdoor plans, bringing with it anger and sadness, accusations and guilt; a fierce Mr. Hyde, to his sweet Dr. Jekyll. It is a difficult time, and sometimes makes me wonder if it’s worth it, but what holds me still, is hope and faith that NORMAL will come again, a brief place of refreshment and rest before UP comes knocking, and it starts all over again.
Two weeks ago, my husband and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful Maine summer weather by hiking a coastal mountain about an hour away from us. The trip there was jovial and fun. We sang songs, joked with each other and pulled over to explore a place we spotted that we’d never seen before. We snapped pictures and decided to check it out fully when we had more time. We started the hike in good shape too. The roots and rocks were wet on the trail and at times slippery pine needles blanketed the ground. And although the trajectory was up, there are times when you’re hiking that switchbacks cause you to have sections that you must go down. In these spots, my husband always warned me to be careful, and reached back to offer a hand, as I’m not as surefooted a hiker as he is. Although stronger and faster than I, he solicitously kept my pace. And so we made our way to the top.
Glorious views of the Atlantic ocean, blanketed by pockets of morning mist covering parts of the coastal towns nestled in the harbors, greeted us at the top. Wanting a better look, I inched closer to the edges. “Be careful!” he warned, as concerned about my safety as a father would be with a toddler. He needn’t worry, I’m neither careless, nor without caution, particularly when heights are involved. He knows that, but warns me anyway, just as I warn him when the whirlwind of UP threatens to carry us all away.
At some point, the tides turned; the mood tide, not the Atlantic Ocean’s tides. Something was said that triggered a host of negative feelings and words and culminated in a sullen silence as we headed back down the mountain. Suddenly DOWN, he no longer turned around, hand outstretched to help me navigate the slippery rocks and his pace had quickened so that I didn’t bother to try and keep up. Angry tears blurred my vision and having foolishly packed no tissues for my oft runny nose, I used a suspiciously cheerful green leaf instead. He would have slowed down if I’d asked him, helped me if I’d pointed out that he now wasn’t, but I didn’t want the help and I was glad he was ahead of me. It gave me time to think.
I thought about how although I do not have Bipolar disorder, in a way I do have it. I’ve been the recipient of its fun, joy, creativity, spontaneity, tireless energy and reckless, extravagant love. And although I would be lying if I said I didn’t love these things, UP comes with the foreboding of DOWN, surely to follow. Just as Christmas Eve is more exciting for me than Christmas Day, and spring better than fall, It’s the thought of what is next that keeps me from fully enjoying the day, or the season. Much better for me, is the delicious anticipation of something good, rather than the knowledge that it will soon be over.
And that is the thing for a bipolar wife. You KNOW what is coming, you can read the signs as surely as a meteorologist can predict a storm. For some reason, My husband, and perhaps all who suffer with bipolar, cannot read the writing on the wall, as he lives so fully in the moment. When he is UP, DOWN is a thing of the past and cannot be spotted, even on the horizon. It must seem so far away, and as hard to fathom as it is to imagine yourself bundled up in January, when you’re currently sweating out a heatwave in July. By the same token, when he is DOWN, it seems to him as if there is no other feeling, no escape, and that the barrenness and frigidity of winter is the only temperature he has ever known, or will ever know.
Strangely, this is one of the things that I love about him; the ability to live so fully in the moment. It is childlike in its innocence and has helped me relish the good moments in life, just as I have helped him to look beyond pain when life is difficult to see that joy will come again. That is how we help each other, that is how we fit together, that is how our two imperfect halves make one perfect whole.
Afterword: Although it may seem as if we are passive riders on a manic depressive roller coaster ride, this is not entirely true. Medication helps, as does a routine of exercise, sleep, and eating as he often forgets to eat when he is UP or DOWN (I cant even imagine having this “problem!”). We have identified triggers over the years such as exposure to aluminum (soda out of a can makes him weirdly angry the next day. Strange, but true!), summer (which makes him not want to sleep, causing all sorts of UPS and DOWNS), and lack of exercise (which causes depression and pain). We manage it as best we can, and yet….
