Living with the Aftermath

During some of my manic episodes, I engaged in some destructive behavior. My husband and I were going through some very difficult times, and my anger and resentment led me into some bad situations. Yes, I recognize my judgment was clouded as happens with mania. Nevertheless, I take responsibility for my actions. I did things that have caused pain and have nearly destroyed my relationship. In the long run, it may very well have; who can say? Our relationship is more strained than it has been, and my every word, every action is called into question. I am under a microscope, and deservedly so.

Having been on the other side of this coin in the distant past with others, I understand the pain he is feeling. I know what it is to be drawn and quartered inside, to be shredded, to be ground into a nothing but a pile of raw meat. I know the vulnerability, the fear, the agony. I also know how long it takes to recover, and that the it is quite likely recovery may never be complete.

I went through one of the harder periods of the aftermath last night. It is one thing to live with the simple shame of knowing what you did to yourself, to compromise your own values and let yourself down. It isn't easy and it is sickening. To see the person you have loved and adored, no matter what difficulties you may have had in the moment, in such torment, to see the anger and hatred in their eyes in the heat of the moment, is quite another. Having that mirror thrust in your face, makes any other pain I might feel an insult to his. I cannot defend myself, I cannot try to relate. I cannot effectively express my true love, because my words ring hollow. The only thing I can do is lay myself bare and listen quietly, because his anger is righteous.

Last night, I didn't do so well at this. I tried to make him understand what was happening to me at the time, but it only exacerbated the situation. It ended with me on my knees begging him not to leave. I've never begged anyone for anything before, but no one and no thing has ever mattered to me this much before. I don't know how to make this situation better other than through time; as he once said to me "Time is the great equalizer". I am terrified that nothing will ever be enough.

I think of all the other bad things I could have done. Why did it have to be this one? Why was this my compulsion and not all the other things that other people do? It doesn't really matter anyhow. I did these things, and the result is mine to own. I do not and will not abdicate responsibility. That's not what I'm trying to do. My statements only indicate a predisposition to that weakness. How I wish it had been a different one. Nevertheless, he thinks it was intentional, spiteful behavior. I can't explain it to him, there's no way he can possibly possibly understand. All he knows, all he thinks is that I didn't and still don't love him. I don't blame him one bit. I wouldn't be able to think anything else either, if roles were reversed.

Nothing could be further from the truth, though. Even in our worst moments, I have loved him with all my heart. As strange as it sounds, he has always been there with me in my mind and my heart.