Jilted Spouse? Sue the Hussy
I seriously want to move to South Carolina now! I’m so loving this bill (hopefully law before long).
Men and women who seduce married people could be sued by jilted spouses under a proposal that has won initial approval from South Carolina lawmakers.
I would love to see tramps and players getting what’s coming to them when they go messing around with other people’s spouses.
source: Greenville Online
Just another manic Thursday
When it comes to living with someone who suffers a mental illness like bipolar, you often recognize patterns in their behavior. A few years ago, I could mark my calendar by my husbands mood. When the Wednesday prior to his long drive to pick up his children for visitation weekend rolled around, he would become highly irritable. For three full days, my boys and I would walk on eggshells hoping not to piss him off too much and tried to mollycoddle him as much as possible to make this recurring event a little more bearable for all of us.
As the children aged and custody situations changed, so did the timing of his deepest, darkest episodes. It wasn’t until recently that I was able to give this horrible timing a name - episode?!? - sounds easily enough and well defined doesn’t it? Such a small, concise word for such a nightmarish experience.
Right at a year ago, I saw the stress his job was putting on him. God had finally blessed me with enough income that I was able to tell him he could quit his stressful job and pursue what made him happy. I wanted to put the days of mine and the kids playing watchtower, to determine his moods upon arriving home from work, far behind us.
Little did I know, his dreams would be fleeting and before long, all he wanted to do, or had energy to do was tend to his birds, sleep and watch Discovery and History channel. It seemed like I’d woken up from a horrible dream only to realize the man I’d married was gone and in his wake was a complete stranger. A stranger I was left to take full responsibility for.
These days, my husband works minimal hours at a job that accommodates his schedule. I was thrilled at the prospect that he had a job, one that was quite cool really and perhaps having a little income would give him a sense of accomplishment and that would provide him a means of caring a bit for his own children.
I was so wrong, in so many ways.
With the new job came new behavior patterns and episodic behavior. Every other Thursday, which around here is called ‘payday’ he begins an episode. He stirs chaos in our house, becomes argumentative, insulting and negative. Thanks to the Family-to-Family class we are taking, I was able to recognize the cause of these bi-weekly episodes. I realized my husbands overwhelming urge to spend money was the driving force and the only way he can justify his behavior is to create an argument that provides him the excuse to leave the house.
When he returns, he comes bearing items that were needed in the house to begin with as a sort of shadow that masks the other items he may have purchased in haste.
For several months before he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he had a draw toward purchasing coffee cups. Not just any coffee cup - the $30 - $50 coffee cups from Danbury Mint.
It wasn’t like we didn’t have cabinets literally filled fully deep and stacked two high of cups already. I’ve never understood his need for such silly purchases, but it was those cups that lead us on a path of diagnosis.
What it will take to reach recovery is still a mystery and at times a seemingly unachievable one.
As much as I love my husband and adore his son, there are days, like today, that I struggle deeply with the desire to leave a note asking that he look me up when he’s recovered and taking my kids and fleeing.
Who said life is fair?
Last Tuesday, just before our Family-to-Family class, I felt myself having a meltdown. All. Day. Long. The meltdown had begun the previous day and was a steady progression up and until I cracked Tuesday afternoon. For TWO days, I watched while my husband sank into another episode of depression. The same feelings of resentment that I’ve become so familiar with lately, began to pour over me. Resentment for my husbands need to get away from stress - his need to go to bed at 1:00 PM and sleep for three hours - his need to avoid any financial responsibility - while I feel more and more like the weight of the world is thrust on my shoulders.
I stewed…
I felt sorry for myself…
I waited…
I waited until I had him cornered on our drive to the class and let him know there are some TIMES that he needs to push his depression aside and take responsibility - if for nothing else, his son whom he has full custody of. As much as I love his son, I don’t believe it’s my responsibility to provide the ‘necessities’ for him and that I need help in doing so.
In essence, I was telling my husband to ’snap out of it.‘ Little did I know the nights class would be focusing on people just like me! People who offer advice so freely…people who are obviously ignorant to mental illness and the toll it takes on it’s host.
I learned that my husband doesn’t have the ability to "snap out of it" that I must let him process through his episodes at his own pace. I learned in class that this IS my reality and if I love my husband, I’ll stand by him, work with the doctors to find a medication that helps - but we also learned that it may not be as simple as the bipolar diagnosis - there’s likely other issues at play that we’ll be speaking with our doctor about.
Fortunately the kids and I are learning to recognize episodes as they are coming on. When we see the classic signs, we are able to overt attentions away from the episode, walk away, get away - whatever it takes to avoid confrontation during his confrontational phase.
Robert Hamm has taken the time to describe mood disorders and mental illness as it likens to alcohol and drinking. I believe this is one of the best descriptions I’ve found that helps bring a sense of understanding to my own ignorance of my husbands illness.
The occasional stranger
I’ve waited so long for this week to arrive - the week when I could begin saying "next week, we start our Family-to-Family classes." You see, next week, my husband, kids and myself will begin a 12 week course through NAMI (National Alliance of Mental Illness) to learn how to embrace the occasional stranger that visits our house and learn coping techniques. This stranger is bipolar disorder.
Anyone who has ever had contact with someone with bipolar disorder knows what a struggle it can be to engage in the simplest of conversation. A person with bipolar disorder isn’t any less a person and certainly aren’t less deserving of love - but what they are, I’m not quite sure.
My husband, whom I love and adore more than anything has been battling a problem without a name for several years. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that we learned this problem has a name. And it wasn’t until a couple of months ago that we learned of family support and classes that teach entire families ways to live more harmoniously with a bipolar consumer.
Everyone in or around the blogosphere is familiar with the name Heather B. Armstrong or more lovingly called Dooce — but few dig deep enough in her links to uncover the man behind the blogging powerhouse. Thankfully I’m nosey enough that I did dig deep enough. It was through Mr. Heather that I discovered the support options to begin with and where I learned to embrace the person and talk about this aspect of our own family dynamics.
My Hubby turns 40 Today!
Here’s wishing my wonderful hubby a Happy 40th Birthday!
He thinks he’s officially over the hill… I think he’s hotter then ever!
This is one of my favorite pictures of him. It was a time we were at the lake and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so relaxed. He was truly in his element.
For those who didn’t know, Rusty is the first boy I ever dated. The only one mom and dad would let me go out with when I was 16. We broke up in high school and reunited 20 years later.
On our second first date, he took me out for my birthday and completely reenacted our original date on my 16th birthday to the letter.
He may be a man’s man but he sure knows the way to my heart.
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Payin' the light bill
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