Milligrams

Today he woke up in semi-agitated state. It wasn’t bad, but he was
impatient, a bit grumpy, and easily frustrated. His mind is elsewhere,
electricity buzzing through his circuits, and simple household jobs
become projects requiring coaching and extra patience from me.

We had an episode today over hanging a mirror that would have been
hilarious if only we hadn’t been living it. First, it was the world’s
most complicated mirror to hang, with little hooks spaced unevenly in
inaccessible spots on the back. In addition, no lines in our
apartment are plumb, so it was really hard to figure out what
“straight” meant, in the circumstances – straight as compared to what?
And I’m naturally clumsy.

I think it would have been a lot easier if his medication were
working, but it hasn’t been since he cut 5 mg from his Abilify dosage,
so he didn’t have the patience to sit calmly and figure it out.
There’s a crookedly-hung utensil rack on the wall in our kitchen that
reminds me every day that I didn’t handle him well that time. I walked
away and let him figure things out for himself, not wanting to deal
with his temper, but that’s not an option. I have to help.

So we made at least five attempts, dealing not only with the
mathematical problems of measurements but also the obstacle of his
bipolar-induced impatience, which both of us fought in different ways.
We succeeded. There’s now a bunch of holes in the plaster that are
concealed behind the mirror, which is hung higher than we’d like
because we’d pretty much wrecked the wall. But it’s more or less
straight, and the project is done.

Throughout this, like usual when he’s fighting this particular aspect
of bipolar disorder, I had to try to remain calm and optimistic. I
can’t get frustrated because I have to help him fight against the
downward spiral that bipolar disorder would otherwise drag him down
to. In his worst days, back before the medication, before we knew
what was going on, and before I had figured out what my role was in
this battle, this alone could have set him off, perhaps on a two- or
three-day introspective black mood about how nothing was going right
in his life. Now that tendency is not as pronounced, but the thought
pattern is still there if he slips.

So sometimes I hear myself saying the weirdest freaking things. I’m
honestly a bit shocked to hear myself saying, “It’s all gonna be OK,
don’t worry,” and “Tomorrow’s another day,” and “When life hands you
lemons …” Or, worse yet, singing upbeat songs to him: “Everything’s
gonna be alright now, everything’s gonna be all right!” Goofing
around, trying to pull him out of the blackness.

Because, when we first met, I thought that I was the moody,
introspective artist and he was the super stable one, but now I no
longer have that luxury, except when he’s really, really well, which
has only been two months out of the past … well, a very long time. It
turns out that I’m naturally optimistic, and comparatively resilient;
whatever I thought about myself in my 20s was flat-out wrong.

Life does very strange things to you, doesn’t it?