In past diatribes I have alluded to ways that my husband and I have of getting us through the hard times. In order to make sense of some past posts, and ones that may come in the future, I'm going to try to explain it. I'll say right off the top that I'm not giving all the information because I don't think it's necessary, and well ... you'd never get it anyway.
Because I'm a whack job and never know from one day to the next what sort of lunacy is going to pour forth from me, it helps to have a solid set of boundaries. For someone with borderline personality disorder, or bipolar disorder, there are times when your mind and body simply feel out of control: it's akin to a dog running the streets wild, or a horse escaping it's corral and running for miles with no borders. While it might sound exciting on paper, it's terrifying. What you want most is to go to ground or have someone, anyone, come and take that control back for you, keeping you safe. Without a plan in place, that often never happens, and it's why so many patients end up in hospitals, or are considered, "failures". They have no one to set out the guidelines that they so desperately need. From an outsiders point of view, setting guidelines for an adult seems ludicrous. But be assured, it's not. It's absolutely essential.
But what are these guidelines, and how do you set them? How do you ensure they're being adhered to?
In our house, we sat together and set out the guidelines that I need to follow. Most of them are simply for the good of my own health: I'm required to drive with the flow of traffic (I love to speed); refrain from engaging in road rage (a big problem for me); no drinking (for some obvious reasons); attend all psych and therapy meetings; take medications in a timely fashion; and no swearing. The rest of the rules are set in place because they assist in making my marriage work: speak respectfully to my husband at all times (he does the same); I feel it's my 'job' as a wife to serve my husband (oh stop yelling, I like it) so I do the best I can to do that. I make sure I serve his meals to him, put his clothing out in the evening, and get everything that he needs. It puts me in what critics or feminists would call a, "subservient" role, but I don't see it that way at all. It's what I prefer, and it makes me happy! It gives me a role to fulfill, and it works. In return, he treats me beautifully and works for our family, while I stay at home trying to figure out why I'm nuts. There are other rules but since my mind is fried, I can't remember them at the moment.
Each evening when he comes home, my husband will ask how my day has been and query me on certain aspects of it. He knows which rules are subject to breakage on any given day! There's nothing more embarrassing than having to admit that some stupid driver made you so angry that you flipped her the bird in an instant of rage. How childish! These are the things that I need to keep under control because they lead me down a road so fast .... I allow myself to build upon anger that fuels itself into a rage where I'll follow people, tailgating and gesturing .... over nothing. Everything else leaves my mind and I forget where I am and where I'm going. When reason finally comes to the fore again, it's a frightening thing to realize what's happened.
Anyway, in our home, my husband is the boss. I like it that way. It makes me feel very secure knowing that there is someone in command of things. There's no fighting, no questioning. I know what the rules are, and he knows them as well. When things start to get out of control, we have ways of setting them straight. It might be as simple as him telling me, "this conversation is over!" and me accepting it (because 90% of the time I just argue for the sake of arguing). Sometimes he may take it further and tell me to go sit down and cool off for five minutes. This irritates me, but works. Other times it could even be telling me to stay in our room until I've managed to get myself together. Since he's in charge, I do what he says. There have been situations when he's given me medication. He knows what I need. This isn't an easy role for him. It's not as simply as being bossy; it's a situation where he's constantly questioning himself because I am great at making him wonder if what he's doing is right ...
But this is how we live. He's the boss and when it's working, it's great. The problems come when it all breaks down. Living as the "boss" isn't all that easy: particularly if your natural personality isn't that of a dominant individual. And I live with a lovely, kind, gentle, sensitive man.
Sometimes when the shit hits the fan, there's a reason for it. More often than not, he's very capable of reining me in and within a few days, calm will be restored. But sometimes, for reasons I don't understand, it will all just come tumbling down: brick by brick, by brick. I can sense it happening, and because it's happened before, and have fought it tooth and nail, I'm loathe to bring it up yet again. So I wait. I wait to see what will happen THIS time. Will he step up? Will he recognize that I'm crashing? Inside, everything is a swirling mess, and what I want the most is for him to notice that something is wrong. I so desperately need him to see that I haven't been able to move all day ~ that my eyes have been focused through the sliver of open blinds at our back yard, seeing nothing. I need him to notice that my one-word answers aren't because I'm angry about something, because they rarely are. They're about having nothing else to say.
This started months ago. And it's not uncommon; there's always an excuse ... we went on holidays, and of course you can't take charge when you're on holidays ... then he got sick, and even *I* can't expect him to take charge while he's sick (I don't). Now I'm sick. But what's not changing is that brick by brick, it's coming down. There's no one setting guidelines for me, and it's driving me mad. Like a dog running wild or a horse outside the corral .... I don't know where to go or what to do. So I wait for things to change, and sit: and cry.
I know he's not doing this on purpose, and if I could just bring myself to go to him, we could talk about it and maybe come to some sort of solution. But instead I do what any mental patient does ~ crawl inside myself, pull away from him and do nothing. Go to bed at night and turn my back to him and fall asleep lonely: desperate for his attention, and afraid to ask for it. I see the same misery in his face. What I can't figure out is if he knows what's going on in general, or if he thinks I'm staying away from him on purpose. And we love each other so dearly. What a waste of time.
Does he really not know that things have fallen so far apart? Does he really not know that I'm a hair's breadth from complete disaster? Does he really not know that I'm looking to him to be my saviour just this one more time?
Is that my one big mistake?
