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this is the world I live in now
Oct. 2nd, 2005 07:22 pmI have not written publicly about my divorce in the past three months. But I think we've come to the place where I need to talk about it. some people, Alan included, are going to se this as an attempt to pick a fight. It's not. I just have to tell the truth about the situation.
While there are parts of my life that I would prefer to be more private, I think my relationship with Alan and my love for him has for the most part been very clear. There is one large gap in there, and that is the crux of it all. I have never written publicly about my husband's mental illness or the struggles we've gone through. It's cost me dearly, in terms of love, friends, time and health. It has been perhaps the most difficult thing I've ever been through. When you watch someone you love, someone you care about more than yourself in some ways, go through this hell... there isn't a way to describe it. But I will attempt with this meager words to tell you what my world is now.
I fought to keep things together. I fought to save him, even knowing that I couldn't do it. But you know, I believed in my marriage vows. I wrote them, and I said I would go to the end. This was not the end I had in mind.
On June 12th of 2005, I called 911. Alan had vanished for most of the weekend, along with a prescription bottle containing 90 Adderall. He took all but two of them over the course of weekend. He was thrashing and shaking, talking nonsense. I called Sarah and I called my mother, and then I ended up on the phone with emergency dispatch. Alan screamed at me, called me a fucking bitch right up til the moment I opened the door to the police that arrived first. I have never been so scared in my entire life.
EMS took him to Seton's ER where I watched him sitting on the bed with a heart rate that fluctuated from 122 to 138. The doctor wanted him to drink a cup of charcoal. Alan drank half and refused the rest, even when the nurses told him that he would end up with a tube in his nose. Finally he became so belligerent that they had to try and restrain him while the nurses inserted the tube. Alan grabbed it and yanked it back out, giving himself a nosebleed. I could hear him screaming from down the hall. At some point he hyperventilated and stopped breathing. I heard them call a crash team. The doctor came into the waiting room and told me I had to be prepared for the strong possibility that Alan would die that night.
I remember doubling over in terror and pain, crying at the nurses in the ER, and Sarah dragging me into the cold waiting room while meaningless codes went over the intercom. I remember when they finally let me see him, blood around his nose, sedated and moaning in the bed. I smoked outside Seton at 3am, choking on a soda.
The next two days of my life were hell on earth. I called his parents. I had no choice in that, it was their son and he was in the hospital. My mother waited at the hospital with me. Brett drove down from Dallas. Sarah kept me in her place. When he finally did wake up, Alan would barely speak to me. I could see his heart rate and vitals leap when he looked at me. He wouldn't speak to his parents. I remember crying and tlaking in Brett's car, and I started to laugh hysterically because I could hear my Texas accent like a country song. I thought I would die, that I couldn't go on with this.
The hospital could not commit him to inpatient treatment because he denied any suicidal intent. So after two days in the ICU, they released him home. Alan swore up and down to the hospital that he would follow up with his psych doctor. In the car on the way home, he informed he had no intention of doing so. Alan told me he wouldn't have a wife who betrayed her husband like that. He wanted a divorce. I took his wedding ring and gave him a hundred dollar bill. Part of me couldn't bear to leave him. But he had already settled at his computer, shutting me out.
I left our home. For a week or so I begged him to reconsider. He screamed at me once, and called me a cunt. I started to see that the man I loved was lost to me. There was no hope. I hired a lawyer, using the money I saved towards that house downpayment I dreamed about at night.
It has only really gotten worse. I hoped when he found a new girlfriend it would distract him from hurting me so much, but that doesn't seem to be the case. His communications to me have only become more and more hysterical and demanding. I know so much of it is the illness. But when someone you love screams at you, it's hard to let it go. He's very good at shifting the blame, and he blames me for all of this now. For awhile, he even lied to everyone and said that things were fine. He twists his words, and mine. I haven't always carried this burden with grace, and I have not always been the best support. I have made mistakes along the way. But gods help me, I tried. I tried and I tried and I tried.
He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2004 and has been on various medications. For the past 18 months I've fought with various doctors and the insurance company to get him treatment. I've filed complaints, cried, begged, shouted and been calm. I've filled out forms galore. I've driven him to the doctor. I've paid all the bills and kept food on the table when he doesn't go to work or spends his entire paycheck over the course of a weekend. Until recently, I have respected his wish for privacy and not told anyone about the illness. Alan never believed me when I told him that my friends loved him as much as they loved me. He's stopped speaking to anyone that I've told about this, and has accused me of trying to make everyone turn against him. All I have ever tried to do is help him.
When he has manic episodes, he goes for days with only a few hours of sleep. He stops eating. He has numerous physical tics, constantly speaks rapidly and often incoherently. He rages at me, screams and is verbally abusive. He paces the apartment, makes incredible messes and locks himself in the bathroom for hours at a time. He stops going to work, and is in serious danger of losing his job. The only thing that prevents the company from firing him is that I keep filling out FMLA forms. When other people are around, he is able to control himself somewhat. But he never does so with me. In the winter he nearly had a car accident while driving in this condition. Taking away his keys or his wallet brings a torrent of accusations and anger down on my head. He refuses to go to a hospital or doctor during these times. After that, he enters a depressed state where he sleeps a lot and barely speaks. It usually last about as long as the manic episode.
He lies to me on a near daily basis about everything from his medication to his doctor visits to what he does after work. I find liquor bottles hidden around the house from his attempts at self medication, and he lies to me about them. I hate knowing that I can't trust my husband. It kills me. He's stopped interacting with me on any meaningful level, except to blame me for his episodes. Our fights have become so terrible at times that I've worried we would get violent with each other.
The worst part of all is that I really did think he was getting better. Right up til June 9th, when he got that fucking Adderall prescription because he lied to his doctor and neglected to mention how the previous year he crushed up and snorted a bottle of it.
-----
I still love Alan. In my heart I will never stop loving him. I married him, because I knew deep inside that I could give my entire life to him. Somewhere he is still that person. This illness has taken him away from me, and it's worse than a death. I wish that I could be more angry, I wish that I could hate him but I can't. This was the man I married, and it meant everything to me. What else could I do? I made a choice and I stayed until the bitter end. I stayed until my hope died. I couldn't bring myself to walk away when I still thought there was a chance. I faced criticism over that decision, but I did what I thought I had to do and that's all I can say.
I have no shame about my life, except for my silences. I do not regret my marrige. I miss him. I worry for him. I hope that somewhere out there he finds some stability. I hope that one day he will know that I only ever tried to love him.
While there are parts of my life that I would prefer to be more private, I think my relationship with Alan and my love for him has for the most part been very clear. There is one large gap in there, and that is the crux of it all. I have never written publicly about my husband's mental illness or the struggles we've gone through. It's cost me dearly, in terms of love, friends, time and health. It has been perhaps the most difficult thing I've ever been through. When you watch someone you love, someone you care about more than yourself in some ways, go through this hell... there isn't a way to describe it. But I will attempt with this meager words to tell you what my world is now.
I fought to keep things together. I fought to save him, even knowing that I couldn't do it. But you know, I believed in my marriage vows. I wrote them, and I said I would go to the end. This was not the end I had in mind.
On June 12th of 2005, I called 911. Alan had vanished for most of the weekend, along with a prescription bottle containing 90 Adderall. He took all but two of them over the course of weekend. He was thrashing and shaking, talking nonsense. I called Sarah and I called my mother, and then I ended up on the phone with emergency dispatch. Alan screamed at me, called me a fucking bitch right up til the moment I opened the door to the police that arrived first. I have never been so scared in my entire life.
EMS took him to Seton's ER where I watched him sitting on the bed with a heart rate that fluctuated from 122 to 138. The doctor wanted him to drink a cup of charcoal. Alan drank half and refused the rest, even when the nurses told him that he would end up with a tube in his nose. Finally he became so belligerent that they had to try and restrain him while the nurses inserted the tube. Alan grabbed it and yanked it back out, giving himself a nosebleed. I could hear him screaming from down the hall. At some point he hyperventilated and stopped breathing. I heard them call a crash team. The doctor came into the waiting room and told me I had to be prepared for the strong possibility that Alan would die that night.
I remember doubling over in terror and pain, crying at the nurses in the ER, and Sarah dragging me into the cold waiting room while meaningless codes went over the intercom. I remember when they finally let me see him, blood around his nose, sedated and moaning in the bed. I smoked outside Seton at 3am, choking on a soda.
The next two days of my life were hell on earth. I called his parents. I had no choice in that, it was their son and he was in the hospital. My mother waited at the hospital with me. Brett drove down from Dallas. Sarah kept me in her place. When he finally did wake up, Alan would barely speak to me. I could see his heart rate and vitals leap when he looked at me. He wouldn't speak to his parents. I remember crying and tlaking in Brett's car, and I started to laugh hysterically because I could hear my Texas accent like a country song. I thought I would die, that I couldn't go on with this.
The hospital could not commit him to inpatient treatment because he denied any suicidal intent. So after two days in the ICU, they released him home. Alan swore up and down to the hospital that he would follow up with his psych doctor. In the car on the way home, he informed he had no intention of doing so. Alan told me he wouldn't have a wife who betrayed her husband like that. He wanted a divorce. I took his wedding ring and gave him a hundred dollar bill. Part of me couldn't bear to leave him. But he had already settled at his computer, shutting me out.
I left our home. For a week or so I begged him to reconsider. He screamed at me once, and called me a cunt. I started to see that the man I loved was lost to me. There was no hope. I hired a lawyer, using the money I saved towards that house downpayment I dreamed about at night.
It has only really gotten worse. I hoped when he found a new girlfriend it would distract him from hurting me so much, but that doesn't seem to be the case. His communications to me have only become more and more hysterical and demanding. I know so much of it is the illness. But when someone you love screams at you, it's hard to let it go. He's very good at shifting the blame, and he blames me for all of this now. For awhile, he even lied to everyone and said that things were fine. He twists his words, and mine. I haven't always carried this burden with grace, and I have not always been the best support. I have made mistakes along the way. But gods help me, I tried. I tried and I tried and I tried.
He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2004 and has been on various medications. For the past 18 months I've fought with various doctors and the insurance company to get him treatment. I've filed complaints, cried, begged, shouted and been calm. I've filled out forms galore. I've driven him to the doctor. I've paid all the bills and kept food on the table when he doesn't go to work or spends his entire paycheck over the course of a weekend. Until recently, I have respected his wish for privacy and not told anyone about the illness. Alan never believed me when I told him that my friends loved him as much as they loved me. He's stopped speaking to anyone that I've told about this, and has accused me of trying to make everyone turn against him. All I have ever tried to do is help him.
When he has manic episodes, he goes for days with only a few hours of sleep. He stops eating. He has numerous physical tics, constantly speaks rapidly and often incoherently. He rages at me, screams and is verbally abusive. He paces the apartment, makes incredible messes and locks himself in the bathroom for hours at a time. He stops going to work, and is in serious danger of losing his job. The only thing that prevents the company from firing him is that I keep filling out FMLA forms. When other people are around, he is able to control himself somewhat. But he never does so with me. In the winter he nearly had a car accident while driving in this condition. Taking away his keys or his wallet brings a torrent of accusations and anger down on my head. He refuses to go to a hospital or doctor during these times. After that, he enters a depressed state where he sleeps a lot and barely speaks. It usually last about as long as the manic episode.
He lies to me on a near daily basis about everything from his medication to his doctor visits to what he does after work. I find liquor bottles hidden around the house from his attempts at self medication, and he lies to me about them. I hate knowing that I can't trust my husband. It kills me. He's stopped interacting with me on any meaningful level, except to blame me for his episodes. Our fights have become so terrible at times that I've worried we would get violent with each other.
The worst part of all is that I really did think he was getting better. Right up til June 9th, when he got that fucking Adderall prescription because he lied to his doctor and neglected to mention how the previous year he crushed up and snorted a bottle of it.
-----
I still love Alan. In my heart I will never stop loving him. I married him, because I knew deep inside that I could give my entire life to him. Somewhere he is still that person. This illness has taken him away from me, and it's worse than a death. I wish that I could be more angry, I wish that I could hate him but I can't. This was the man I married, and it meant everything to me. What else could I do? I made a choice and I stayed until the bitter end. I stayed until my hope died. I couldn't bring myself to walk away when I still thought there was a chance. I faced criticism over that decision, but I did what I thought I had to do and that's all I can say.
I have no shame about my life, except for my silences. I do not regret my marrige. I miss him. I worry for him. I hope that somewhere out there he finds some stability. I hope that one day he will know that I only ever tried to love him.