Driving home from school on May 1st, I received a phone call from Henry -- and it was crystal clear from his breathless first words that something was definitely wrong and, even though Henry didn't say it, I knew that I was to blame.
I have never pretended to know what it's like to be married to a person with a mental illness and I have never entertained the thought that it could be even remotely easy. See, I know what it's like living inside MY head. I know first hand how enormously difficult it is for ME to keep myself on an even keel. I can only imagine what I look like from a different vantage point.
Since the mid to end of February, I have been tango-ing dreadfully with myself over my wildly drastic mood swings and how to keep them on a more level playing field -- and failing miserably. My manic moments are out of this world, but my BZ (BitchZilla) moments are six feet under, and the rapid cycling between the two has put a tremendous amount of stress on Henry because BZ always takes direct aim at him.
Which brings me back to the events leading up to May 1st. Henry, after 9 years of living with intrinsically complicated me and helping to raise my special needs son, finally reached his breaking point. My inability to control, or even tame, the extreme BZ moments over the last few months backed Henry into a corner and, literally, dropped him to his knees. Several of my careless actions in BZ mode pushed Henry to his limit -- causing him to drive himself to the emergency room.
Having tried unsuccessfully several times for Henry to park his Jeep and call 911, I continued talking with him phone as I made my way to the hospital to meet him.
Since that day, Henry and I have spent a great deal of time talking -- and listening -- and trying to figure out which parts of my carelessness have been totally BZ or only partially BZ and mostly Carrie.
The jury is still out...
I have never pretended to know what it's like to be married to a person with a mental illness and I have never entertained the thought that it could be even remotely easy. See, I know what it's like living inside MY head. I know first hand how enormously difficult it is for ME to keep myself on an even keel. I can only imagine what I look like from a different vantage point.
Since the mid to end of February, I have been tango-ing dreadfully with myself over my wildly drastic mood swings and how to keep them on a more level playing field -- and failing miserably. My manic moments are out of this world, but my BZ (BitchZilla) moments are six feet under, and the rapid cycling between the two has put a tremendous amount of stress on Henry because BZ always takes direct aim at him.
Which brings me back to the events leading up to May 1st. Henry, after 9 years of living with intrinsically complicated me and helping to raise my special needs son, finally reached his breaking point. My inability to control, or even tame, the extreme BZ moments over the last few months backed Henry into a corner and, literally, dropped him to his knees. Several of my careless actions in BZ mode pushed Henry to his limit -- causing him to drive himself to the emergency room.
Having tried unsuccessfully several times for Henry to park his Jeep and call 911, I continued talking with him phone as I made my way to the hospital to meet him.
Since that day, Henry and I have spent a great deal of time talking -- and listening -- and trying to figure out which parts of my carelessness have been totally BZ or only partially BZ and mostly Carrie.
The jury is still out...
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