I’ve put up a post or two that didn’t settle well with many people. That was painful— but I’ve learned from all of you, and I appreciate you all in your frank sincerity. 

I’m growing. 

I was diagnosed as “cyclothymic” back in 2016. Now, mind you, for clarity, that I have a family history (both sides) of Bipolar disorder. Still, at the time I was diagnosed, I was dealing with my wife’s illness—rearing it’s ugly head via a steroidoidal psychosis that would eventually (or from the complications thereof) take her life in 2018. 

So… of course I had questions. 

Was this just her paranoid? Was I really ill? Was I depressed? Or was I stressed out my ears? Like really really stressed. I remember that day that I carried her on my shoulders through Home Depot, after her mental disposition deteriorated to a significant degree of social disorder. Maybe I was just paranoid too? After all, she was the one concerned and pointing it out.  It was fight or flight, “Okay I’ll see a doctor!”

It took me 4 years to grapple with her dying day. I still do. It’s so fucking absurd I think I could scream every day. I do some of the days. 

She decided it was too much. Tried to run… tried to hide. She drown. Probably. Nobody knows for sure. A complete delusion. That they would take Michelle away from us. A complete delusion. That I endangered her life at the poolside, a complete delusion. She died for a delusion. For I was a man, willing to die for both her and her daughter, but her illness convinced her that her cross wasn’t worth bearing. 

I’ve started taking my medication again. I’m sorry if I’ve downplayed your experience in any way.  That was never my intention. My intention is to understand. Remember this: the person stepping on your toes isn’t necessarily leading with condemnation. They want to underhand themselves, and by extension you. They are trying to love.