Dear Bipolar

Dear Bipolar,

I am writing you this letter 1,622 days since you came into my life and stole my sweet husband’s soul.

This letter will reach you 908 days after you physically took my husband from me.

Since you have done this to so many peoples life’s, you probably don’t remember me. I will try to refresh your memory.

1,622 days ago, you came into my life, uninvited. You were not invited in, I know I did not leave a door or window open, yet suddenly you were there. You stepped into my husband’s soul, turned my amazing and vibrant husband into a depressed, angry, anxiety ridden, empty shell of a person.

You caused my amazingly bright and creative husband to see dead people, hear voices, and caused him to think about suicide daily. Your voice was in my husband’s head. You ridiculed him at every turn. “You’re not good enough” you said.

You took the sparkle out of his eye.

You took the pep out of his walk.

You took away his smile. How could you take away that amazing smile??

You took away his trust and faith in the world around him, causing him to think the world was after him.

You even made my husband think I was out to harm him.

You entered our life when we were just getting started. You see, we were happy. We didn't need YOU. Yet, you kept working on my husband. Bit by bit, destroying him.

908 days ago, you put a gun to my husband’s head and took him away from me.

Left me widowed at 29 years old.

When I am angry about my husband’s suicide, I blame you.

My husband would have never killed himself. But you were happy to do it.

Bipolar, I hate everything about you.

I hate your games, your mania, your depression, your psychosis, even your name. Bipolar = Two polar opposites. Did you leave something out when you created your name? I think you did.

Because of you, I do not get to see my “happy ending”. I do not get to live to be old with my husband. We will never have children or fulfill our dreams and goals.

Bipolar, your day is coming. I might not live to see that day. But your days are numbered.

A cure is coming.

It might be in the form of a pill, a shot, surgery, or hell.. maybe even a microchip.

When I get to the other side, my first duty is to get rid of you.

I will not let you destroy another person. I will not let you destroy another family.

Mark my words, your days are coming to an end.

And I will be watching, with my husband’s arms around me, with a huge bowl of popcorn and a huge beer when it all comes crashing down.

And guess what? 

Fuck you Bipolar!

Sincerely,

M

(If you or someone you know suffers from mental illness (Including if you have a parent that is mentally ill but you are not, they want to study YOU), PLEASE consider organ donation to the Harvard Brain Bank <-- click="click" font="font" here.="here.">

They are trying to find a cure for mental illness, but need organ donation.

My husband wanted his brain donated to the Harvard Brain Bank, unfortunately I could not fulfill that wish.

Please help with the research and study of mental illness for future generations.)

His world

I was his whole world. Everyone always said the way he looked at me, you could see how deeply he loved me.

He IS my whole world. I love him more everyday. The pain of losing him runs so deep in my soul, that sometimes I wonder if I will live through it.

I never thought losing a spouse would be this painful.

Or maybe I never put much thought into what if S. dies?

I miss the traditions I didn't even realize were a tradition. Every Easter S. would buy me lilies, and we would plant them together. My first Easter without S. was a little bit of a shocker.

I woke up that morning, still expecting my lilies. I didn't realize we had a tradition. And I didn't realize that tradition died with S.

I realized I don't have two lilies a like. They are all different. How he knew which ones I had, is beyond me. Or maybe it was just coincidence that he never bought the same ones.

I'll never know.

When I moved to my new house, the first thing I did was dig up my lilies. They were supposed to be at home, with me. Since my home is in a different place now, so are my lilies.

I want to carry on the Easter tradition. But I find I have no freaking clue what lilies I have. So as they bloom this year, I will take pictures of them... to remember which ones I have. So I never buy the ones I already have. Just like S. did.

I am finding I want to be someone's whole world again. I want someone to be my whole world. I miss knowing that at the end of the day, I was loved so deeply, that it didn't matter how I looked, or what kind of mood I was in. I loved being married, and I miss that. I know if I get remarried, I will be a better wife. A better friend. And I will live each day as if it is my husband's last day alive. I won't let life get a hold of me. Who's turn is it to empty the dishwasher?

It's not worth the fight.

I'll never forget my first moment of gratefulness. I was at a party, about a year after S. died. We were all sitting outside, enjoying the summer weather, with cold beers in hand. At some point I realized all the woman had moved inside, and I was outside hanging with the dudes.

I went in to see what the ladies were up to, and I found them sitting around the kitchen table.

They were complaining about their husbands. He never helps around the house. We don't have sex often enough. I feel like a slave.

I quickly turned around and walked back outside to hang with the dudes.

I knew if i didn't, I was going to scream "At least your husband isn't dead!!! Try keeping up with life (dishes, laundry, etc, etc) while mourning the lose of your loved one, and have NO help at all from your husband.. because he's dead!!". I'll never forget that moment. I vowed to not let myself fall into the poor me, if I ever get remarried.

The thought of getting remarried and loving again is terrifying. Even more, what if he dies? Can I live through this again?

The answer is no. I can't. I won't survive. Maybe my past experience with losing a spouse would make it "easier" next time, as I would be more equipped. I now own a mental book called "Holy fuck, what happened!! Here's a list of things to help you through this fucked up, unfair life".

Sometimes I think it's better to not love again, then to lose again.

I am hoping as my grief carries on, and slowly dwindles, that the fears will subside.

It's a sad feeling to look at your life and think "That's it, I had true love, and lost it. I'll never experience that again".