Sometimes, I’d quite like to strangle him. Like right now, for example. It’s day six of the new tablets. Day six of life with Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s been one hell of a fucking rollercoaster so far. I honestly think I preferred it before.
Confirmation this morning. Bear DOES NOT have schizophrenia. He was wrongly diagnosed. He has Borderline Personality Disorder.
I knew it. I knew he wasn’t a schizophrenic! ??
— NotSoSexintheCity (@notsosexintheci) 17 January 2018
He takes one tablet before he goes to bed for two weeks. Then things change. I haven’t read the instructions properly, but I know that he either changes time or quantity. I should probably check up on that soon.
We were doing okay for a while. For a long time, in fact. We’d been laughing and fucking, being the cool and cute couple that everyone knows us to be. It seems like everything changed since he got his diagnosis though. I don’t know whether it’s the diagnosis itself or the tablets that accompanied it, but something has turned him into a raging dick. The biggest. Like, think of the biggest ten-incher of a cockwomble you know and then times it by one hundred. That’s still not as dick-like as Bear is being right now.
Day six and I’m already at the end of my tether.
In fact, I was pretty much at the end of my tether around day four. You know I’m pissed off when I’m blogging about it. I read last night that it can take weeks or months for these pills to settle down and make things normal again. I don’t know if I can last weeks. At least you might get some blogging material for a change.
The last six nights have been the same cycle. I’ve worked too late. He’s slept for most of the day, done an hour or two’s worth of work, and then sat on the couch to watch TV or play a game. He’s been shitty, really on-edge. Everything I’ve said has been met by negative responses. Rude and negative responses, as if all the negativity weren’t bad enough. He’s called me a cunt a few times. To be fair, last night, things got so heated that I called him a cunt too. With each night that passes, it seems that he finds a new and more spiteful thing to say to me. I’m running out of ways to deal with it. I was super sympathetic on night one, understanding that his tiredness and snappiness was because of a long and arduous day. Day two brought out the really obnoxious side of Bear, but nothing as obnoxious as day three. He was so rude, so abusive almost, that I had to leave the room. Locking myself away in the bedroom with my laptop, I just worked through it. As predicted, he peeked his head around the door within half an hour, offering cups of tea and armfuls of apologies. I sent him a few web pages on Borderline Personality Disorder, highlighting the points that I felt were relevant to us. He said that he understood. We hugged it out. I cried a bit. We went to bed and cuddled up, him knackered and drowsy from the new pills, me a bit upset about the shitty things he’d said to me during our fifteen minutes of fighting.
Day five was just as bad.
In fact, the day was just fine, but when evening came, the cycle began again. Lots of negativity. Lots of rude responses. He was shitty, really on edge. And, if truth be told, a complete and utter cunt. By the time his son had gone to bed, we’d separated into different rooms, no longer capable of being in each other’s presence. This bullshit is starting to drive me mad.
In the end, he went to bed on his own. I joined him a few hours later. 4:30 am. I finished my work at about 2:00 am, thought about joining him then, and decided against it. I just find him really difficult to be around lately, and whether it’s the official diagnosis or the drugs, it’s bullshit. I don’t deserve to be called a cunt. I don’t deserve to be spoken to like I’m a naughty teenager. In fact, the actual naughty teenager doesn’t even deserve the way he’s spoken to by his father quite a lot of the time. I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut as far as Bear’s parenting is concerned, but there have been times where I’ve been unable to keep schtum.
He always apologises. Always. He’ll run off after his son within ten minutes usually, and this morning I woke up to the cutest little illustration. I know it’s a bit of a cop-out, but it was followed up with a genuine, face-to-face apology where I could look into his eyes and see his regret.
I know it’s going to be up and down for a while. I don’t think he’d quite come to terms with having schizophrenia yet, and quite rightly. He didn’t have schizophrenia. Now he’s got to come to terms with a brand new mental health condition, as well as the medication that comes with that. I can forgive him for going a little crazy. Some of the stuff he says though? Unforgivable. I really wish he’d stop with that.
It’s day six now.
We’ve made it almost to day seven without arguing or him being an absolute cretin. He’s been a half cretin. I can deal with that though. I was totally prepared for half cretin — the little fights, slight negativity, and snapping. Full cretin is a little too much to bear. Perhaps day seven is the day where things really turn around?
Maybe it’s just a bad week? Maybe it’s the drugs? Maybe it’s the brand new diagnosis? Who knows? I don’t know. I guess we’ll wait and see.