Much like that period of time while waiting for meds to take effect I find myself in that period of time waiting for seasons to change.  For those of us also affected by SAD we have the worsened misery of being held down by the winter.  This has been a long one and what with recent events probably the worst one of my life.  I usually write in my blog every Sunday but I haven’t for the last month as I frankly just haven’t felt up to it.  I have been in a stasis.  Going through the motions.  After the deep betrayal and abandonment of my wife, after being left high and dry by the people in my world I just didn’t feel up to a whole lot.  My emotions eventually balanced themselves out, it didn’t take nearly as long as I thought.  However, I felt numbed, disengaged.  Like there was no fight left in me.  I just don’t see the sense in carrying on.  People are garbage.  I really can’t be bothered getting all caught up in their lives, invested in their mundane, self-interested bullshit.  I am deeply altruistic, so much so that I look out over the breadth of the world and care so much more for the suffering peoples in the far-flung corners of the world than I do myself.  I get really worked up about causes that don’t affect strait, caucasian, WASP, males with blue eyes who are healthy and fit at six feet tall and two hundred pounds lean.  For all intents and purposes I am the model of what the world aspires to be (perceived).  I have nothing to be worried about, if I were as self interested as the rest of the world I could go to sleep at night and wake up safe in the knowledge that I am the greatest thing therein.  A dragon among ants.  Yet I don’t.  Because my heart bleeds for the things that it isn’t.  In a way I guess I cause myself some undue stress, but I see it as a responsibility to protect others if and when they haven’t the means to protect themselves.  I see it as a duty to stand up for equality when justice is not being served.  This has been with me since I was a child, as long as I can remember.

So the seasons have not changed and nor has my state of being.  The meds are working and Dr. Saint has increased my Cymbalta to 60mgs.  This is kind of intense.  I feel what I can only describe as normal.  Seriously.  I think I feel what regular people must have always felt like, though I have no frame of reference.  The goal is not to feel super happy good times at all moments.  The goal is to not feel mopey, dumpy and want to kill yourself and to feel happy when it is appropriate rather than anxious.  Mission accomplished.  Yet, I am not “happy” for good and obvious reasons.  My wife recently left me.  While I am “over” this, being TOTALLY rejected as a human being complete for something so innocuous and workable as depression is jilting.  It hurts.  It is actually the worst pain I have ever felt.  It is worse than any injustice and hatred I have yet to experience.  I have been assessed over the course of two years by a person, a person who chose to marry me (FOR LIFE) who knew about my disorder and claimed to understand it.  They saw the dark side of my disorder and despite all of the wonderful things I said and did for this person I was rejected completely.  This is especially painful given that this person is actually much worse off without me.  Lives in filth and squalor.  Cannot perform the most basic of familial duties.  Which is why I am over them, but not the sting of the rejection.  I am much better than this situation and I know it.  I am much better than the abuse of it.  I am better than all parties involved.  Yet I am the one on the outside, alone in the cold.
I started dating again.  I met a woman, she is an artist.  I am a very honest person so I mentioned my disorder right up front and she has no issues with this.  I don’t think either of us expect it to go very far, there are many complications.  I can say so far that I personally would try rather hard to make things work with her but she is cautious for her children and I respect that.  She has roots where she lives which is two hours away from where I am and I don’t think she wants to move too far.  She has the most amazing smile.  I just like to look at her.  It is nice to have something in your life that cheers you up, even if there isn’t much hope in it.  One never knows though.
After a month you would think I could ramble, alas I have little to say.  The meds are working, the weather is improving but not quite there yet and there is a woman on the horizon.  It is always darkest before the dawn and my dawn is breaking.  My stasis may be coming to a close and for once I may be feeling a real sense of hope.  I might even learn how to make genuine friends.  I can dream can’t I?


The events of the last two weeks have left me feeling as low as I have ever felt and were it not for my medication I cannot lie I would likely be gone.  After receiving the news from my wife that we would no longer be together I was met with a dead silence.  She did rather little to explain her decision other than that she could not see it working.  She had made no attempts to this point to correct any issues that she might have had and I was not aware of many if any at all.  Of course she was resentful of my disorder and it was having a toll on her which I understood, in fact I was going to great lengths to correct my issues and feeling all the more guilty for having them all the time knowing that they were causing her grief.  So day after day I was feeling more and more stressed and anxious dealing with my emotional ups and downs knowing that she was becoming less and less patient with me.  Not so much supportive, I should have taken this as a sign.  I guess my love for her clouded my judgement.

After she dropped the news on me I was met with a week of silence.  I was in a remote location working outdoors in extremely cold temperatures which is pure hell for me given the SAD aspect of my illness.  My mind kept going over the last bits of information that it was given by her.  It kept hitting on the same things, the fact that she had requested an opportunity to alter our marriage into an open relationship and then suddenly she ended it and distanced herself from me as quickly as possible and hadn’t spoken to me since.  The fact that she didn’t have a job and therefore all the time in the world for us to discuss things yet took no interest in doing so.  The fact that she had been out at bars and living it up with her bachelorette friends.  My instinct was to believe that she had met someone else.  What else would anyone think?  Sure, maybe it was a little paranoid.  However, it isn’t even two weeks after Valentines (wherein I spoiled her) in the middle of a harsh winter where she knows I am suffering from a bad case of SAD (and clearly has no concern) and she has left me with no explanation and refuses to talk to me for no discernible reason.  Here I am left to imagine a plethora of terrible reasons in my twisted and emotionally distraught mind as to why that is.  Unfortunately my reaction to which is not admirable as one can well imagine…
I proceed to pretty much harass her and accuse her of all of the above.  I am not proud of it, though the intention is not what you might think.  I am not trying to cause her harm, nor to incriminate her, I just want the truth, I want to ease my mind.  I want her to finally speak freely and say what she has failed to say for the last 8 months of marriage.  The saying of which might have actually saved our marriage.  Finally it all comes out.  Some of it is very valid, to be fair in the interest of purity of emotion it is all valid.  I was rather thankful to receive it all.  Though some of it was just as twisted up and plain not true as many of the purely emotional garbage that was circling around in my head.  You see, neither of us is right.  Immediately afterwards she is so angry with the browbeating that I have given her to get the truth out of her that again she refuses to speak to me.  Curse this woman.  Why can she not just communicate like a normal goddam adult?!  Why must I resort to cheap tricks and dirty tactics to get the simplest of truths out of her.  Had this not been the case in the first place we would likely still be happily married.  Had she just been able to speak up like a normal damn person we would be in much better shape.  She is convinced that I blame her, well… Yes.  I can’t lie there.  I admit to my faults.  I am brutally honest, to a detriment.  I am not convinced that she ever loved me, for if she had we would have found a way.  She would have seen a way to take on the challenge of helping me through my disorder.  Instead she just got angry and inpatient and treated me poorly.  She resented me for it and frankly I found her lacking in character for it and started to dislike her.  Don’t take me wrong, I love her, but I disliked her for the way she treated me if that makes any sense.  To this day she claims she understands bipolar disorder, I can tell you with utter certainty that she flat-out does fucking not at fucking all. PERIOD.
Her treatment of me was in summation abusive.  I know many people will get on edge when they read this but it is true.  When you react to people with a mood disorder with hostility and anger and you work them up in order to get an emotional response, you are abusing them.  When you try to make them feel guilty for doing so, you are abusing them.  When you blame them for not doing anything about their illness and accuse them of ruining your life as a result you are abusing them.  When you attack them by diminishing their symptoms and claiming that you know more about what they are experiencing than they do, you are abusing them.  I know that most of her treatment of me was subjective and likely only a human emotional response to her situation but an intelligent person knowing the situation who loves a person with a disorder takes a moment to breathe and thinks about what they are dealing with and comes back with a caring empathetic response.  Which was never the case with my wife.  Not once.  Ever.
My wife has some good friends in the town where she lives.  Some genuinely interesting people that I had started to build relationships with.  I was becoming rather attached to a few of these individuals, one in particular.  A caring woman who is interested in many of the same causes and such as myself, a creative soul who I had the occasion to have some interesting heart-felt conversations with.  I reached out to a few of these individuals to express my regret at never being able to see them again and said my goodbyes.  I had hoped that as open-minded objective individuals that they would at least be big enough to say goodbye, I mean, other than having to cajole my wife into giving me an explanation for leaving me, which she motherfucking owed me in the first fucking place… I have done nothing even remotely wrong.  Unless you count being mentally ill.  Which is superficial and shitty.  Regardless, they have elected to not reply to me at all.  Nothing.  Much like my wife.  I certainly have managed to surround myself with some of the smallest people imaginable.  It really is little wonder that they ended up in a nowhere town where the chief preoccupations are incest and burglary.  The primary form of income other than the aforementioned burglary is welfare.  No judgement, I mean I married someone from there so what does that say about me?  I just have to wonder what horror stories my wife has made up about me that they won’t reply to me.  Or are they just being really petty?
It’s all over but the shouting.  I’m going to go pick up my stuff hopefully this weekend and never look back.


This will more than likely be a long post but hopefully worth the ride.  It may change some readers opinions of me for the worse, if so, so be it.  My intention here is to be as honest as possible about my disorder and the consequences it has on my life and the shortcomings therein.

My wife left me on the 27th.  Not two weeks after Valentines day, over the phone.  After I surprised her with a cache of thoughtful and personal if not slightly expensive gifts.  A poem that I personally wrote.  The obligatory chocolates, not only perfume but a vivabox, so that she could chose the exact one that she liked.  An eighty year old well preserved copy of Twelfth Night because there was a passage from the play she was in that she adored and a card of course customized with a hand drawn comic of my own.  I hadn’t been able to visit her since Christmas holidays so I wanted it to be very special for her.  I was going to finally see her play about which I had heard so much.  She had been getting accolades.  I wrote the poem specifically about her prowess as a thespian and how much it meant to her and she to me.  The comic that I drew was of a character that she cherished of mine that I have been drawing for years.  The character is homicidal in nature so I depicted him wielding a bloody knife with a fresh human heart in the other hand saying: “The best thing about this holiday is harvesting your own hearts!”
She hadn’t worn her ring in over two weeks.  Even then on Valentines she explained to me that her character wasn’t married so she had taken them off for the play.  Yet… She wasn’t putting them back on at the end of the night?  She was going out drinking almost every day of the week, still is so far as I am aware and the play has been over since the 22nd.  I called her on the 25th to ask her to meet me on skype and she tells me: “Oh yeah, my friend Jessie picked me up, I’m staying at her house tonight.”  There had been no mention of this beforehand.  She had decided that being on a bachelorette whirlwind with her single friends and drinking five nights of the week was more important than even texting her husband to let him know.  We used to have a kind of rule, we didn’t care about things like this, but we let each other know.  Heck, I used to go out all the time, but I would text long before, then usually two or three times during.  She just stopped caring.  I’m guessing that she was more interested in the local scenery, I don’t blame her, she’s only human.  I just wish she had been more forthright about it.
She has no job.  I worry for her because I love her, of course.  She doesn’t work.  She has some money in the bank, about half as much as the average yearly income.  It won’t last that long with the way she is living at present.  She needs dental work and I have dental coverage.  She just left me.  I don’t think she is in her right mind.  Normally I would fight harder for her because I do love her, but at some point she looked at all of my pros (not to brag but of which there are a whole goddam lot) and then she looked at my bipolar II disorder and said: “I can’t handle your moods anymore”.  I want to vilify her and she would deserve it because that is very insanely self-centered anti-human and shows exactly no amount of love for a person whom you said vows to.  But she is just human and I guess I can’t ask her to put up with this if she feels she can’t take it.  I mean, she has gone out of her way to not understand it.  She actively avoids thinking or learning about it whenever asked to.  Instead of doing an even part way decent thing and reading or attempting to understand she gets excitable and defensive and claims that she already understands it.  She is totally unwilling to work with me in order to improve things for me or to help me cope.  In short, she is not a person who I should be with.  Truthfully, I can’t see any redeeming qualities in her and have no clue why I married her and that makes me sad because I still love her.
I have no intention of coming off as a saint here.  I have been a rough go.  Early in our marriage I was on zoloft.  As we know this is really bad for hypomania, downright horrible.  Especially dysphoric episodes, which are heightened by alcohol.  One night we get home from drinking and she is picking at me.  Belittling my condition, saying that my depression isn’t so bad and how do I know that I am even depressed and so on.  My rage and dysphoria are building in the back of my mind and I can physically feel changes occurring in my body.  I am going to warn the reader here that this is where many of you may begin to hate me.  I have been violent less than five times including this incident in my entire life, I am a pacifist.  I do not condone violence and I certainly am disgusted at the very thought of violence against women.  Nobody hates what happened next nor myself more than I do.  Next thing I know I am on top of my wife pushing her into the floor and yelling at her through my teeth.  I have no clue what I am saying nor why I am so angry, nor for that matter how I got into this position.  When I realize what is happening I leap up and dash out of the apartment crying and bewildered.  I make it to a nearby friends house.  My wife arrives shortly thereafter and upon seeing her my flight is renewed and I dash back out into the streets where I find a park to smoke until I calm down.
I lived until my mid thirties having been violent no more than three times and here I was pressing my wife into the floor like some kind of ape.  I have not felt right about myself since.  I have tried to justify it a thousand ways, the medication and alcohol, the disorder, the disorder and the wrong medication class, ultimately it doesn’t matter.  I get to wear that the rest of my life… No better than some petty wife beating piece of shit.  Something I had been so proud of my whole life was that I had not caused any woman harm and that was washed away in a moment.  Taken away from me like my wedding vows.  Alas, this wasn’t the only time though the second was only an accident, I collided with her in a narrow hallway while having a dysphoric fit.  Again, this didn’t make me feel any better about it.  I don’t feel any less like a big sack of garbage.  This is so intensified by my depression, medication or no medication.  The best part, she throws these instances in my face every chance she gets.  Like at any moment I am going to become Mr. Hyde and smack her around.
So you see, I want to be upset that the woman I chose to be mine for better or for worse doesn’t deserve my better (which I have given her more than enough of) if she can’t really take a moment or two of my worse.  I think about my grandparents and their fifty plus years of marriage and I imagine that of those many years they must have had at least twelve full years that were total trash.  My wife and I have had just over two years together and eight months married and she couldn’t handle a few rocky months while my meds balance me out and I progress through my treatment.  It is probably for the better, I just wish I had known before we decided to make it official.
I don’t know what is next for me.  I have obviously had some suicidal thoughts.  These aren’t new but they have been more frequent lately due to these events than they had been since the meds.  I am single and my job keeps me in an isolated place with few women of any quality.  Not that I really have any intention of dating.  I need to work on me, maybe my writing.  I won’t be doing any socializing anytime soon as many of my recent friends were through my wife and I doubt many of them will want to see or talk to me now that she has left me.  When couples split friends choose an individual from that couple and they will all definitely choose my wife.  It’s a shame it has to be that way, I really liked them…  I was just getting to know some of them really well and I had hoped to spend more time with them.  I guess this gives me more time to work on me.  Or to sit around and stew and hate myself and everything else more.  I guess we will just have to see what happens.