This week, I am trying a new thing. Last week, I spent every waking moment at the shop. I felt like if I stepped away, if only for a moment, it would explode and I'd be screwed. John was closing, I'd go down to work because he was there are because I missed his laugh and because it fit right in with that voice in the back of my head that says constantly "You really need to do this one other thing."
Well, last week it made me crazy. And then on Saturday, the hot water boiler broke in our almost 100 year old building, and all the residential apartments and businesses serviced by the boiler just didn't have any hot water. At all. Not even a little. I am the only owner of the three of us that works on Saturday, so I called Jonathan and Katy to brainstorm what we should do. We talked to the other businesses on our block, and we called the health department's emergency number, and we did what they told us would work as a "temporary solution". We got the call on Saturday evening that the boiler part apparently is very specific and that the building had to get it shipped in from Fresno of all places. We were given an estimate of Tuesday for when the repair was supposed to take place.
Long story short, we fought with the Health Department over the meaning of "temporary" and eventually had to shut down for two entire days of revenue. Yeah. Suck. I know.
So after having several freakouts about it and spending the first part of my work week in a near panic, I decided that today when I was done with my shift I was just going to be DONE. I came home. I lazed on the couch. I am getting ready to go to the gym in just a bit, here.
I am going to try to push myself into a routine. I see this happening somewhat like an amoeba eating a food source: Flowing around the new idea, slowly forming myself to fit it. We'll see.
One of the things that has been weighing really heavy on my mind lately is the process of recovery in Bi-Polar people. John and I have a few close friends who are Bi Polar as well, (imagine that, similar disorders find comfort in proximity) and at least two of them are in constant cycles of "okay" and then "really not okay" with no real indication they will break out. One friend, in particular, has really been on my mind a lot lately. He's just not coping. At all. It's not that he doesn't have the tools or support. He blames it on a lack of self worth, and is perfectly willing to let his shitty self esteem be the reason that his cyclical behavior produces the predicted and tragic results. It's a catch 22 that I can't get him to comprehend as being a mere excuse. If he feels shitty about himself and feels worthless, he doesn't need to take the steps to take care of himself because the effort to spend on himself is "not worth it" in his eyes. So he cycles. And he crashes. And he feels worse, i.e. more worthless. And the effort it takes to feel better, by making better choices, is unimaginable, because he doesn't deserve it, so why should he try?
It's a victim mentality. Complete and total. No matter your chemistry, no matter your synapse relay, choosing to stay sick because it's easier is just another version of self serving pity partying. I used to put it to John like this: If you try, and fail horribly, and fall several feet, I will still tell you HOORAY for the incremental progress you managed to make, even if it's only measurable in nanometers, because when you are making a commitment to your health and to managing your disease when you are well, you never EVER fall as far or as hard when you are sick. If you have a routine that becomes second nature, the crash that comes may disrupt your routine, but it's still there, like muscle memory. You take your meds because you always take your meds and you know you have to take your meds. You eat real food because you always eat real food and you know you have to eat real food. You look at your lists, you have your network help you identify your flags, and you take the hands that are offered to you when people who love you reach out for you, to keep you from hitting the ground.
Our friend doesn't see it this way. He doesn't want to confront his disease or his triggers when he is more stable because he fears that examining his triggers will in and of itself trigger a cycle. He lives in fear, and so reverts to self pity and blame game. "It's not me. This is just what I do. It's what I know how to do. It's how I was raised."
It is frustrating, to know that he has this potential, to have seen him more happy and more healthy, and see him now, angry and barely coherent. I hate this disease. I hate it so much. I hate what it does to my sweet teddy bear of a husband, to our soft and giving friend, to the other remarkable people I know that fight their own brains, every minute of every day. I hate that I can see the pain in John's eyes on days when he just CAN'T do it, when he can't face people and cannot make himself get out of bed. I look into his face, and I see the small line between his eyebrows, I see this weary and cautious soul. I see it in our friend, too. He has this big love of everything, a childlike glee in beauty and nature, an adoration for all things living, a deep and abiding chest ache for injustice, or people he cares about being hurt. He is sore in his heart parts, lost, and instead of choosing NOT to let his disease define him and NOT to allow himself to wallow in a self-created Hell, he is falling away from us. I can't get through. He spent last night on my couch. I needed to know that he was safe, that he was around other people. I told him to pack a bag and I left a message for his psychiatrist that he was seeing today about his crash. I told him that until he is past this crisis, and still seeing his shrink daily, he should be here at night so we can be sure he is okay.
I'm doing it, and it feels just like starting over with John, at square one. I do not love this person as much as I love my husband, but I sure do care about him a great deal, and it is anguish to watch him flail out like this. I need to set boundaries. I need to keep a safe space for John, and for me. (Too much more like this and we will need to set up another place for our friend to go, because this eventually will push John into a cycle, too.)
So, I told our friend last night a version of what I tell John: Ultimately, the battle to be healthy comes down to a choice: You can choose to be healthy and make steps in that direction or your can choose to not be healthy and live a broken life forever. Choosing to be healthy means taking responsibility for your choices and actions, even when they're not what you intended and you're not proud of them. It means when you get set back and you crash, you go to your routine to pull up, and you do it over and over and over and over again. Living a broken life means you wallow in your misfortune and you end up hospitalized. There is no middle ground for a person who has this disease as badly as our friend, or as badly as John. You either choose to learn to swim, or you sink. I told our friend that I will be here and be support if he wants to be well, but if he just wants to be sick, well, then he needs to do it elsewhere, because I won't watch it and won't stand for it.
I am hoping that in the next couple of days, he will take a turn for the better, and that John helping him out will actually help John level out instead of going from our friend crashing to John crashing.
I don't have enough reserves to give my all to yet another person I love falling to this disease. I just can't. It doesn't leave me enough to function and breathe when all I do is take care of bi polar people all day long when I'm not working.
Whew. Ok. That's out. Now, to the gym to run off some of this frustration.
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