Ugh

It's not easy most days lately. I got my own diagnosis of PTSD not too long ago. I'm trying to live with that, I've known for awhile I probably have it. I move forward and yet I feel stuck. Like with every step quicksand it pulling at my ankles. Keeping me suspended and in motion simultaneously. 

Francis seems like he's falling into a depression again and maybe his anxiety gets the best of him. It's become a battle to be in the same house and to share a family with the man I love....

It Fucking Sucks

When you started getting anxiety that your partner will never be fully well. When you teeter living apart so your kids aren't fully fucked up and staying together because they will completely miss him.

When your kid cries because they want to spend some good quality time with him and he says no. Not because he's an ass he's just fucked up. 

Anxiety

Francis has been off work about a week now, suffering from serious anxiety. We are seeing his psychiatrist this morning. I think he will need more time off of work or possibly a hospital stay.

I can see him fighting through it and I can see it's taking a toll on him.

I'm trying to give him space and time. That includes filtering everyday things and trying not to take things to heart. This is life right now. Moving forward without trying to leave him behind. 

Here We Go

Took Francis and Rae to psychiatrist today. Francis had his meds adjusted and Rae got meds. I'm hoping the daily meds are not permanent.

I'm worried that Francis may end up st behavioral health before long. 

If your out there and reading this, pray for my family. Also, pray for the oldest daughter, she's having some mental health troubles. 

Talking

One thing Francis does not like to do much these days is talk. He seems not be either not able to gather his thoughts, or he doesn't want them to be fully known. It's funny, looking back to when we met in 1994....all we did was talk. If we were not talking we were writing each other letters. I don't mean 15 minute talks or short four sentence paragraph letters. We would go on long walks down Marine Blvd and talk for hours on end, when we were not living in the same area, we would exchange 3 and four page letters. Part of me in angry with his mental illness. I feel like we are being robbed. Like I am being tied up with my hands bound. I am angry about the loss of the friend, father and husband I once knew. The kids don't really understand the extent on which things seem to be spiraling. Part of me wants to tell him to just "snap out of it!" The realistic part of me knows he can't just choose to be "normal." His cycles go from extreme mania where we promises the kids all kinds of toys and gadgets to where he wants to lay in bed or yell about how lazy the rest of us are. When he is starting to fall from his mania high, it's like watching someone with diabetes get extremely low blood sugar. It's ugly and ranty. We are then left with half done projects around the house, kids who think their dad is a habitual promise breaker who doesn't love them and more lingering thoughts on why I love him. Often times I will fall asleep on the couch and wake up to make sure he is still alive. He has been, and I will lay next to him. My heart starts to race, and I wonder when this will end. When he will feel normal, healthy and be the person he once was. Then my chest starts to hurt, like I am going to die. Why? Because, I know that even when he gets back to where he thinks he should be, he will not like it. He won't like not being creative, being motivated and having emotions. Getting on meds for him is like a win-lose. He isn't cycling, but there are a plethora of other things going on. While I lay there and mull it over, I often cry and have to pull back from falling into a dark hole, and breath through the beginnings of my own anxiety. This man, this man who isn't even forty seems like he is lost. Lost in a world of unknowns and maybes. Lost in a world, he not longer shares with the rest of us. I want to rescue him, but my lifeboat is not equipped. Where can I find the tools? ~Ash

Thoughts on Suicide

I'm not a mental health professional. Sometimes I feel like I need one. Only slightly joking. Francis has had some serious ups and downs this week. Waiting a couple weeks to see his psychiatric is wearing on me. I can't imagine his personal turmoil. He doesn't really share, just get mean with his words and his face gets purple.
I often wonder if he will commit suicide. He has expressed frustration and sadness so much recently. Out daughter and him discovered her dog dead in the street. She's now cycling and that has really impacted him. He normally doesn't take days off of work, he took off today and yesterday he wanted to be home.
I never really thought he'd think scout suicide as an out. See we are Catholic and if you know anything about Catholicism and suicide. Well, they don't mix. Today he said, the only thing that stops him, it's knowing how it would effect people. WOW! I didn't respond to that. I had to process what I heard and what I had always believed. He  needs to be more honest with me about his feelings, his thoughts and how is life is really going.
I know for a fact that there are two kids who would need supervision for a very long time.
I don't know how well I'd handle it. If probably be angry and be a total bitch. Sometimes, now I have to be like that, with him. It's often like having a disruptive teenager.

That's all,
Ash

Hello

Hello, Ash here. No that is not my real name. But, I am a real person. I am a 37 year old woman, entering her fifteenth year of marriage to a bipolar recovering drunk. That is what he calls himself and he suggested I start this blog. He is cycling pretty bad right now, and I think if I would leave him alone, he would have spent all day in bed. You know, sometimes I wish he would sleep all day....but, that also scares me. When he gets low like this, I have a hard time sleeping unless I shut down and get all bitchy. At this point with the highs and lows, I want him to move away forever...and at the same time never leave my sight. My heart aches at the same time I want to slap his face. When he became sober just over two years ago, that is when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and anxiety disorder. I believe he may also be on the ASD. When he rapid cycles with extreme highs and lows, the whole house goes a bit crazy. I am just trying to figure it out without feeling like I am constantly failing, doing something stupid or needing to be this perfect person all while making sure my kids don't grow up and run away forever and talk about how dumb I was for staying with him. This is me, rambling. ~Ash