Today I thought I might tackle a big topic. The stuff the spouses of
people with any illness – mental or otherwise – are often afraid to
admit to themselves, never mind to anyone else.

As spouse of a sick person, people often expect you to be saintly,
accepting, loving, patient. But I have often been sad, angry,
frustrated, self-pitying, sorry, guilty, confused, furious, and
terrified. All at once. Sometimes for months, maybe years, on end.
Oh, also: overburdened, resentful, exhausted, and fearful of the
future.

His bipolar diagnosis, and the episodes, and everything else, took me
completely by surprise after we got married. I just thought he was a
little depressed, since my husband is amazingly great at pretending to
be OK. And, it turned out, just as frightened as I was.

At first I couldn’t talk to anyone about this. I was too terrified
and angry about this enormously hard thing that had happened to us.
But I’m ridiculously bad at concealing emotions – I’m frequently told
that my face reflects my every flickering thought. (I almost never
lie, for this reason.) So he would see what I was feeling, and
misinterpret it in his bipolar haze, and this plus everything else
severely strained our relationship.

Who to talk to about these negative emotions? At first, and for a long
time, no one at all. Lots of stewing and brewing. After a while:

- Can’t worry my family with this stuff. These days I do give them a
brief overview, but if I go into too much detail I’m worried that my
elderly parents will start treating my husband like he’s insane or a
toddler. Maybe talking to him in VERY LOUD VOICES. Plus, they’re
frantic worriers, and what good would more worrying do my 85-year-old
father, who has terrible back problems, cancer, arthritis, and
glaucoma? None. Also, they’re very religious, and as I’ve learned,
in their case that means negative emotions toward (especially the
male) spouse are taboo. They would prefer me to be saintly.

- No point in telling his family, who are a lot younger, but don’t
want to hear it. I was really disappointed by this, but when I try to
talk to them they cut the conversation off. I think that above all,
they don’t want to accept that their son is ill. Easier to tell
themselves that I’m making it all up. And that if there’s any grain
of truth to what I’m saying, of course exaggerated beyond all
reckoning, then it’s my problem and not theirs. (I’m pretty angry
with them, in case you’re wondering. They’ve been horrible.) They’ve
made it very, very clear that they would prefer me to be saintly.

- None of this can be shared with friends for fear his employers might
hear of it. We live in New York, so we’re professionally connected to
most of our friends.

Who does that leave? Old friends. I’ve lost touch with most of my
college friend because they live in another country. His old friends?
They’re very fond of my husband, so they would definitely prefer me to
be saintly. Just not the right people to tell.

So we’re both seeing therapists. Obviously, he needs to see one, and
I needed an outlet.

Over the past year, I’ve been doing my best to describe my experience
to him, acknowledging all of the above. Because he senses, of course,
how this affects me and what I’m feeling. Better to discuss than let
it brew and continue the misunderstandings.

How do you tell the person you love, who’s unstable and unwell, that
sometimes he’s a huge burden that drives you to tears? By very, very
carefully avoiding blame and accusations, and doing it little by
little. It turned out that this was a really good move, because
that’s how we started working out the compromises and solutions that
both of us can live with.

I’ve seen advice from professional counselors advising spouses to wait
for a stable period to bring this stuff up, but I think that’s really
stupid. “Oh, you’re well, honey. I’m so glad. Now here are all the
negative things I’ve been feeling for the past X months.” What a
great friendship that would be. My attempts at waiting for the right
moment didn’t help us at all.

It looks like the only way we can manage this is by watching for and
recognizing the moments when he can’t work out what’s real and what’s
distorted by bipolar disorder; at those times he has to depend on me
to help him sort it out, which seems to be really helpful. But he has
to be able to trust me for that, and vice versa, so very little can be
hidden between us.

Sainthood is not an option.