Relationship Stressors of Mental Illness

Being in a relationship magnifies depression.  My last husband agonized when I crawled into our closet and hid in the shadows of our hanging clothes.   With three little girls in our home I tortured him with my blackness.  So yes, almost all relationships, when you are living with bipolar disorder, present stress of some kind.  I’m ashamed to say that there was stress even with the little girls, his and mine.  There are many chores that need doing when children are in the home and those chores, when I was depressed, seemed insurmountable but then irrelevant when I was manic.  I had only short stints of normalcy between depression and mania.  Those were the really good days.

I remember being in my early twenties when living in Washington, DC - I felt odd, out on the perimeter.  I remember walking away from parties, wondering what was wrong with me.  I had a difficult time being around people.  Friendships were fraught with stress.  I discovered that alcohol and drugs helped me get along with people but, even so, I consistently felt the urge to be alone.  But being alone presented other problems. 

When alone I then had a difficult time walking back out my door.  This has been a consistent problem and not one I would wish on anyone.  It was as though I would find the impetus to open my door only if someone else was involved, like a friend or a relative.  But I did find the strength, ultimately, to go out my door and open others. 

My sons’ father is a steady, hard-working man.  I met him when I moved to Wyoming in the late seventies.  I did him a disservice by thinking that, because of who he was, he could keep me in check.  But it didn’t work that way.  I ended up hurting him terribly, something that I wish I could take back.  I wish we knew then what we were dealing with.  I wish BC2M had come knocking on our door to give us some insight.  The closer the relationship the more hurt is involved. 

I have made my amends, but, even today, I’m wary about new relationships; I still have a bit of self-stigma.  I will tell new acquaintances that I have bipolar disorder, an admission that is always accompanied by a racing heart.  But I say it, to one person at a time, in the hopes that they will see me, not the illness, and understand that we’re all just people.