The First Leveling

As my mind started to settle down, there was a process of holding on and a letting go. An in between zone. I had a growing awareness that what I was experiencing was unusual if not downright aberrant, but I bargained with my mind to keep the things that I had created real. I kept working on my business. I wrote and rewrote passages of text. I looked for opportunities to legitimize my actions. I wanted to be that successful, confident woman who believed she could find infinite success. I kept going, but in the back of my mind, I knew. Gradually, the voice of reason grew louder, and the hypomanic thoughts became less. I began letting go of the unusual ideas and behaviors that had held me hostage for weeks. I found level ground.

            Letting go came with sadness and honest reflections about the reality of my life. What I wanted for myself wouldn’t come true, and this truth hit me hard. I am not who I want to be. I cannot be who I dream of being. I am limited by myself and my mental illness. I am a failure. I know this to be true. The evidence supports it. With this in mind, how can I move forward? How can I know if actions that I am taking to be successful are the result of hypomania or something real? How do I trust myself? How can I live out my dreams if they are always hijacked by neural circuits that spin me wildly out of control? Is there any hope for me?

            These observations caused me to become irritable and more withdrawn. I accused my husband of making it impossible for me to be successful or have my own life while we were lying in bed. He had told me I may need to quit my job because he couldn’t be there to help with the kids one evening a week. I couldn’t have 3 hours of time because his job was so “important” and he worked such late hours. I told him that I was done living a life where he was the only one that mattered and that I refused to quit this job. He understood that I have sacrificed for him, but had no answer other than to accuse me of jealousy.

            We argued about the fact that everywhere I go I am “Tom’s wife” and that no one is ever interested in me. Everyone I see, from the cashier at Coborn’s to health care providers talk about my husband constantly. I have even had doctors and nurses message me through Facebook for my husband’s medical advice. I recently saw a podiatrist who spent so much time talking about my husband that the physical exam was an afterthought. As a result, he did not understand the problems I was having. When I had my colonoscopy, the entire staff, including the gastroenterologist talked non-stop about my husband, even when I was half-naked lying on the procedure bed. I felt like I didn’t matter. It’s always about my husband. It always has been.

            My husband told me there are advantages to being his wife. He said that my doctors only see me because I am his wife, and that I would get poor care otherwise. I told him I don’t care anymore. I just want to be me. I want to start over. I want the success that I had when I was creating my business and furiously planning for the future. It is all gone.

            I fell asleep and dreamed that my psychiatrist’s nurse called me at 6am and told me never to contact the office again. The next night, I dreamed that my psychiatrist was publicly mocking me and intentionally telling me the wrong date and time to my next appointment.

            I had held success in my hands while building my business and planning for the future, and watching it all slip away was hard, especially when I compared my life to my husbands.