Friday, May 1, 2009

Loving a Bipolar Abuser.

Part 1

I mentioned in my previous blog that my ex hubby and me were together for 17 years. Almost half of my 40 years on earth. Now, would I say it was a waste of time, a waste of my best years? Maybe of my best years. . . But honestly – not of time. My character is to help other people. In these 17 years I had a lot of chances to do that, that’s for sure, but most of all I gained a lot of knowledge and experience to help others, either as bipolar sufferers, spouses of bs, abused women, drug abusers etc. So if I look at the bigger picture I have to believe that God has a plan.

Fortunately (sometimes foolishly) I am very analytical, which lead me to try to understand and analyze my ex’s weird behavior. Unfortunately though, not from day one and that is where the problem began.

To attract unstable people, you have to be slightly unstable yourself. I was a trouble teenager with a couple of issues with rejection. It did not stop me from being social and a successful student, but it did make me open to be a co-dependant. I loved adventure and met my ex on the way home after a rather boring evening with friends. He was hitching a ride and I had time to give him a lift wherever. That was the beginning of a rollercoaster ride and it took us a loooong time to be ready to pull up the brakes.

In retrospect I can see how I misinterpreted his hypo manic spells as adventurous trips and his depressive spells as the torment of a highly intelligent, though misunderstood soul. All the time I was sucked in deeper, getting more and more entangled in the web of unconditional caring, my own fears of rejection and a growing co-dependency.

It is difficult to say where the downward spiral started. I had to think hard and far, but with some information I gathered from him over the years (in far and few honest and sane moments) I could come to some conclusions. Together with the moods and adventure, sexual promiscuity and infidelity are also major side effects of bipolar disorder. Thus, the beginning of the verbal abuse was guilt driven after a night out in the red lights of the city. It was unknown to me then and frankly, unthinkable. At that stage I was quite good and had eyes only for him, so it was a great shock to all of a sudden be called a whore and a slut, only good for sleeping with other men in our own bed while he was at work. Nobody has ever called me a slut. I was molested as a child, my mother failed to protect me, boys lied about sleeping with me, etc, but never has anybody insulted me that blatantly in a relationship. At first I was too shocked and ashamed to react. In fact, at times I even sat down to think if there was something he knows that I forgot, his insinuations driving me crazy. Endlessly trying to figure out what I did wrong or did I speak to somebody or did I dress provocatively. Until one day, I remembered how they do it in the movies and I slapped him through the face. That was the beginning, because 17 years later he could still say I was the first to lift a hand in our relationship. . .

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