Feeling "Better"

Well, Hubby says I must be better, because I'm starting to complain...

It wasn't, actually, a complaint, just an observation I made, concerning his driving this morning, on the way in to work.

See, he had both hands on the wheel.

This is an unusual occurrence, for my Hubby, you see. Mr. "I've-been-to-skid-school-and-I-can-drive-like-a-maniac" usually only has a finger on the wheel, much less a complete hand. He never checks his blind spot and regularly guns the engine if, heaven help them, some poor pedestrian happens to be meandering across the road against the light...

But I digress. This morning I was startled out of my usual morning stupor/reverie by the sight of BOTH his hands on the steering wheel. I quickly assumed the crash position - with Hubby, a wise precaution - but there was no crash. We changed lanes, and the windshield wipers moved.

"Oh," I commented. "You were signalling to turn AND washing the windshield at the same time! I wondered why both your hands were on the wheel..."

"Phbbllt" was Hubby's reply. "You must be feeling better..."

And so my day began. I've been sick for a few days actually, lying on my side, heating pad clutched to my tummy, groaning "Oh" and "aaaw". Either stomach flu or food poisoning. Trouble with me is, I never throw up. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times, since I've been an adult, that I've laid at the foot of the Great White Throne.

No, I just FEEL LIKE throwing up, for hours, days, weeks.... For as long as it takes. Outside observers might say I have a strong constitution, that it's difficult to poison me, that I'm - ha-ah - lucky in this way.

Lucky, eh? I wouldn't put it quite that way... The urge to die can be quite strong under these kinds of conditions, and "lucky" is not the first word that leaps to mind...

However, while lying in bed waiting to die, I had plenty of worrying time on my hands. A member of my family, Someone very precious to me, is having relationship difficulties, and I sympathize very much and worry about what's happening. I too, have had my share of relationship difficulties, both in and out of this particular marriage, and I can certify it's no joy when someone you love does things that mess with your state of being.

It FEELS like about half your world has been yanked out of your chest and bludgeoned on the floor.

No matter how independent, strong, flexible, forgiving, or cautious we think we are, no matter how hard we've worked to have our own identity, our own lives, our own interests, when our significant other exhibits behaviour that is unacceptable, stunning, belittling, dramatic, or inconsiderate to the point of being astonishing, our reality is crushed. Warped, along with our feelings, our sense of security, of purpose, of self.

For me, the reaction can be extreme, due to the mood disorder. See, whenever somebody acts completely out-of-character to me, the first question I have to ask is "Is it me?" As in, "did I ever really know this person to begin with?" Did something I did or said cause this? Is this appropriate considering our interaction?

Lots and lots and lots of self-doubt. So, in a way, it's almost easier for me to suffer these kinds of things, because I at least have that little bit of distance, wondering if maybe I brought this on myself.

My Somebody, on the other hand, has no such possible explanation. This happened out of the blue, a thundering gob-smack to the side of the head, an abrupt and unprovoked scene, a total lack of understanding, and no further communication.

This is very lonely territory, and I'm grieving about it, because the Somebody is desperately trying to get through the day and doesn't need me boo-hooing in their ear to make matters worse...

As my faithful readers know, I've been struggling in my marriage for some time, trying to figure out if I'm happier within it or not, trying to figure out what I'm going to do... Trying to figure out at what point loving teasing becomes a rasp against my self-esteem, against my soul. Trying to figure out if I'm the real culprit in terms of the mess in the house, or if it's unreasonable to expect teenagers to help out.

Trying to choose between occasional unacceptable behaviour versus usually sweet and fun.

And here my sweet Somebody is now going through the very same struggle, and the hardest part for me is -

I have absolutely no advice.

I don't know what the answer is, how the future will work out, one way or the other.

All I have is past experience, and the answer I draw from there isn't pretty.

"You will be strong..."

I remember being in my twenties and hearing those words, meant as encouragement, and the shudder of horror I felt upon hearing them.

The platitude "That which doesn't kills us makes us stronger," isn't as forthright as it seems. Firstly, because it DAMNED WELL NEARLY kills you. I mean within an inch of your life, of your sanity. Yeah, Life will teach us, for sure and IF, and it can be a big "if", IF we survive, we will be stronger...

Backbone, maybe. Stress causes problems in the body. I may be what is generally thought of as a "strong" woman, but my joints are on social security. Oh sure, I can survive leaving this relationship, selling my home, starting over... Oh, I'll be alive. And I'll be "stronger" - right now I have a mood disorder, fibromyalgia, recurring depression and thoughts of suicide, chronic sinus trouble... I wonder what it'd be AFTER I leave this relationship, sell my home, start over?

Because there is always a cost, no matter what "they" try to tell you. You decide to stay, to "put up and shut up", and the stress will wear away something in you that you thought would never go. You decide to take off, to take your chances, and you'll have support where unexpected and you'll make it through... but there will be payment required in some form. A part of your soul, maybe. Or a part of your spirit.

Today, on my way into work, Hubby announced I must be feeling "better".

Because I didn't die.

Rotten Moods...

I have a mood disorder. I'm on meds, and I take them.

Here's what it's like, living with someone with a mood disorder.

It's like living with permanent teenager. Some days.

I get cycles, 3-5 days long. A period of feeling okay, playing music loud, dancing around the room while vaccuming, singing while sweeping... Followed by a day or two of feeling like a disgusting pre-reptilian lifeform that crawled out from under a stinky rock, followed by an angry outburst, followed by wallowing in bed wishing either I, or everybody I know, could just drop dead. Repeat ad nauseum.

It killed my first marriage, although, to be fair, so did my ex.

It scared of a bunch of men when I was madly dating.

It wrecked hell with my family and quite a few of my friends.

You could say I'm hard to love.

I'm not as noisy now as I used to be - most of the time, I mean. I can still crank it up past "Jet engine" when required. But, by and large, I'm a lot quieter than people think I am. I have a reputation, you see, so now not everybody gives me a chance to really get going - they prefer to shush me before I open my mouth. Sometimes I feel like Basil Fawlty (Fawlty Towers) when the deaf old bat Mrs. Alice Richards walks into the room and says "What!" See, she thinks that's his name. He replies "I haven't said anything yet!" Sometimes it feels like that. But I don't really blame anybody.

Along came Hubby, my equal in many ways, and my equal-and-total-opposite in others. He's just as stubborn as I am. We can lock horns for HOURS. Days. Months. We've had arguments we re-start periodically for thirteen years! For example, he insists that pedestrians crossing against the light do not have the right-of-way. Driver's ed taught me otherwise. And no amount of argument or reasoning or facts or evidence gets in the way of this continuing argument.

He's my total opposite in the length of time it takes him to get mad. I'm zero to ballistic in under one millisecond. He's zero to zero-plus-point-five-seven in roughly three years, give or take a decade. To say H is "calm" is to say the Great Wall of China is "calm." Any calmer, and he'd slip into a coma...

When I take on new tasks, I push through to the end, come what may, because I want a general idea of the entire process. He won't start till he could make a movie from fade-in to fade-to-black, in terms of his understanding. He won't just "try" something. For him, it has to be perfect, or he'd die of shame. For me, I don't care about the result. The result can be s--t, as long as I learned how the process works. But we both think we're experts, that much is certain!

Well, certainty is pretty hard to come by in the world to begin with, and if I may play the pity card here, a little tougher for someone with a mood disorder.

See, I can LOVE someone, and HATE someone, and be totally INDIFFERENT to this same someone, all in the space of a couple of days. "Someone" doesn't change, doesn't do anything different than usual, just my limits change like other people change their socks.

With a relationship as rocky as Hubby's and mine has been, we've endured our share of loving advice through the years, but lately it's all been aimed in one direction. "Figure out what makes you happy, then do it, never mind who you're married to or not married to. Be independent."

Okay. So how do I figure out what makes me happy? Well, some of it's not hard. Dark chocolate is a good starter. Bright sunshine. Lying in a hammock in summer. Lying on a floatie toy in the pool in summer. Lying with a heating pad under mountains of covers, snuggled up with the dog and the cat in winter. Good music. Friends. Lots of friends. My Daughter. Even the Stepkids, on occasion! My Cousin, and all her family. My Bro and his.

Full moons - reflected in the ocean, the swimming pool, or on the snow. I like full moons! They make me feel connected to the universe.

Playing cards. Writing blogs. Quilting. Sewing. Designing something beautiful. Making people laugh. Listening to people who make me laugh.

Okay. This doesn't help much though. Because I'm still going to love all those things, no matter where I live or who it's with. And there are days when I detest myself BECAUSE I like chocolate too much, and I'm fat and ugly. When I feel like I must be the laziest person in the whole world, lying in my hammock or curled up in bed. When I hate all music. When I don't want to see anyone. When I'm afraid to talk to my daughter, my stepkids, my hubby, because I'm SURE I'll say all the wrong things. When I'm bored with cards and don't have anything to say to the world, when the quilting is stagnating and the sewing machine is my enemy. When everything I design looks like s--t, nothing I say is funny, and nobody in the world is funny, either.

And quite often, I don't remember the cycles. In the middle of a "down" mood, I don't remember being happy. Well, I remember it, like something I read in a book, about twenty years ago... And vice-versa.

The point being, it's really hard for someone with a mood disorder to figure out what makes them happy.