A thing that no one will read.
Three years ago my husband had a psychotic break. I had to put him in a psychiatric hospital for stabilization.
Before he was hospitalized, from about oct until feb we were busy arguing.
It wasn’t apparent what was really happening until he started letting on that he was hearing voices and misinterpreting words both written and in speech.
The *aha* moment came when he insisted an audible voice would respond to him, when he told me he loved me.
Husband: I love you.
Voice in head: no you don’t.
We spent an evening in our living room when he insisted that we talk to the voice because it was coming from above/ out of the light fixture.
So, as we stood there together.
My husband saying, “ I love you “.
And me telling him I didn’t hear anything.
All that resulted from that was, I was lying, I was one of them, I was an agent working against him, I was gaslighting him.
Once I understood the severity I got in touch with his psychiatrist and I was told that , yes, hospitalization was needed due to the situation.
Once I started my attempt to rationalize with this irrational person, explaining that he needed to go to hospital.
The argument quickly turned to my husband tearing our marriage apart, telling me to leave, telling me he didn’t love me anymore.
I knew in my heart that he wasn’t well.
He knew it was the last thing he could destroy to get rid of me to avoid going to the hospital.
Everything leading up to that felt like it was ‘the hardest thing to deal with’.
Being alone while he was in hospital was hard, I’ve never lived on my own and I don’t drive.
After he was released from the hospital he was heavily medicated and still hearing voices.
It took a full six months for the voices to subside, some symptoms remained.
Things kind of plateaued after a while with no improvement and no decline.
He was still miserable every day.
It was about a year / year and a half after the hospital inpatient care that his doctor suggested a second opinion.
So, we did just that.
My husband went to a new doctor with more experience in schizoaffective disorders for his second opinion.
It took six or seven months for the second doctor to release his report to my husbands primary doctor.
The diagnosis was different.
Instead of schozoafferctive disorder he was given bipolar type 1 with facets of ocd and ptsd from the trauma of his psychotic break.
His prescriptions were changed and things were getting better.
We were still at a place where he didn’t talk about the ‘episode’ with me.
It wasn’t until recently he started opening up about the ‘episode’.
This seemed like a milestone had been reached, we were talking about what happened and we were finally addressing some relationship problems.
This past week was particularly rough.
My husband wasn’t sleeping and if he did it wasn’t restful, he went four days without any sleep.
It was only last night in putting up dishes and tidying the kitchen that I found his cache.
I found two unopened bags of medication, totaling five pill bottles. It took me by surprise.
After asking him why he had unopened bags of medication/ asking the ‘right’ questions did he fess up.
I found out last night that my husband has been off of his antipsychotic and antidepressant, for quite some time. The only medication he had been taking was his adderall.
I kinda hate myself right now for trusting him to take his medication.
I don’t really like how I have been thrust into this caretaker role.
I don’t like anything about how I feel.
I’m incredibly guilty feeling because in my mind I know I cannot handle the emotional and mental strain of being the partner of someone during a psychotic break.
I promised myself last time, for the sake of my sanity that if he has another psychotic break We will separate.
I feel like a garbage person for having to set that boundary.
I’m essentially writing this to hold myself accountable and as a promise to myself that whatever happens I’m worth making that sacrifice.
For the most part I’ve been incredibly isolated and lonely the past three years. Even as recently as last summer my husband told me to leave.
It’s just been really really hard.
I stopped making art, I stopped going out with friends.
I’m a shell of what I think I used to be. I have felt like I’m under a heavy blanket.
At this point I don’t even know who cares enough about me to talk to.
I’ve been that friend that’s in a long term relationship. I’m scared of friends not liking me if I’m honest. Im scared of losing friends over me even being completely honest and sharing my plan if ‘shit hits the fan’.
If you are reading this, rather still reading this I ask that if a friend or family member is going through any of this please be there for them.
I ask if you are in the same-ish situation I am, be kind to yourself.
Anyhow, I’m going to go ‘not cry’ and rationalize my actions/ justify why I’ve been where I am for the past three years and try to not worry about the future.
❤️
