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.

2 responses to “Anathema

  1. I’m really sorry you are going through this. I hope you will be able to find happiness. In my late teens and early twenties I had moments of blinding rage, there were honestly times I didn’t know what I had done or said, other times when it was like I was trapped in someone else body. I could hear the words and feel the motions but I could not stop them, then a hopeless sadness that left me trying to take my life, three times. I wasn’t diagnosed with Bipolar until just a few years ago. Now that I’m on medicine it helps, it’s not a cure, but it helps.

    • I’ve only had moments like this before while extremely drunk. Which I was. Plus I had to be incredibly angry, which I was. Alas I don’t know how nor why. This is what dismays me most about the whole thing. Honestly, it made me hate myself since. My actions were deplorable. I haven’t forgiven myself.

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