I was extremely impatient with a short fuse, lashing out for no reason and becoming overwhelmed and blinded by anger over stupid things like the hubby not hearing me when I spoke.
It's frustrating and embarrassing not having a grip on my emotions during those times. It's hard to find and hold onto perspective when I'm swept away, rational thought is extremely difficult if not impossible. Often I find myself yelling at my husband as he takes a logical approach to talking me down, "SHUT UP! Just shut up! I hate it when you talk like that when I'm like this, how many times do I have to tell you it doesn't make sense? I'm not rational you can't rationalize with me!"
Last night the hubster seemed discouraged and deflated by my behavior, one of few occasions when I've seen him so openly affected by my issues. Don't get me wrong, he is generally a communicative and expressive man but when I'm sick he usually remains stoic.
At the time, when I'm not in my right mind, it seems to be the right thing to do. When I'm down or irrational or angry seeing his honest reaction can make me feel worse about myself, even more angry with myself. Shielding me from that seems like a Prince Charming move. But today, I wonder if it's enabling my poor behavior.
The handful of times I remember seeing my husband honestly react to my mental illness episodes have stuck with me. The fear and exhaustion, the pain and disappointment, even loneliness he showed bring tears to my eyes. His face when I was suicidal and had put my engagement ring on his pinkie, telling him that he should wear it like that after I was gone will never leave my memory.
Last night he laid sideways on the couch, clutching pillows under his head, huddled under a heavy silence instead of a blanket. I was at the other end of the couch sitting in an angry stew when I perceived his pain. The silence wasn't comfortable between us like usual, it was thick and scary and strange.
Mumbling a "sorry" felt like pulling a fish hook and line from my throat, but I gagged it out. The gnarled mess wasn't recuperative, tinged with anger and self-disgust it lacked soothing empathy. Instead of addressing his distress it seemed to call attention to mine. He drew back into his shell and told me "it's okay."
The rest of the night, attention was directed at my problems. The hubby and I were able to dissect some of my feelings and eventually I was soothed enough to sleep.
This morning I felt bad about myself but something different as well. I usually feel down on myself after an episode and I do feel bad today but I also feel a certain motivation. Seeing my husband's pain reminded me that my episodes aren't just about me and it's humbling. Humbling and motivating.
Instead of being slathered in shame and guilt for my bad behavior and angry at myself and my illness, sharing the struggle and pain with my husband instead of simply depending on him as stoic support seems to have reframed this episode. It gets me out of my head, shifts the focus from "I'm such a mess" to "we need to do better."
It's easier for me to help someone else than just help myself. Right now I lack the self-worth to consider myself worth any effort when I'm feeling down. Maybe reframing my illness as a challenge shared with husband and not just my own ugly dysfunction will help me be more proactive until I can create my own reserve of self-worth.
It seems like such an obvious way to consider my illness, shared within my marriage, but I have looked upon my sickness as my problem. I've seen myself as a weak link at the end of a chain, easily lopped off and tossed away once I became too big a problem. In reality my husband and I are in this for the long haul. I'm not one shabby link at the end of a chain, I'm a link right in the middle that needs repair.Too often I feel all alone. Too often I overlook my husband's role in my life and my recovery. We're in this together and I'm ready to start holding up my end of the bargain.
