Surviving Being a Partner to a Bipolar

Living with a bipolar partner can be very traumatic. All conflicts tend to be extreme. Whatever you are doing is completely wrong. You don’t deserve any credit for anything. No matter what you have done so far is never enough.

Then after that comes the change. She is so sorry for what happened and what she has done. Then there is a slight chance that you can agree on something. This agreement she might keep or not. But the that is s good start.

Once this pattern has repeated itself enough often. One start to adapt and create strategies for handling it. Eventually however it gets you and you can give up talking about your needs since they are not acceptable if he/ she does not feel well or is frustrated for one reason or another. It can be a family quarrel with a mother or something at work. You will have to carry the burden of that by being the target of aggression and merciless criticism for something completely different like putting the children to bed too late or in the “wrong ” way.

Saturday From Hell

This evening she hated me deeply

She had made the choice

To have a really bad day

Because I was not there

They stayed at home all day

Because of the rain and the total inability

To take the bus

Maybe I deserved it

Defining me as a small man

Deserving to die in a snowpack

She spat on me while my daughter

Who sat in my lap

No inhibitions at all

How bad I was

I needed psychiatric help

And then as always

Like a hand that turned

She was so sad, her colleague

Had not done enough

I put my daughter to sleep

Waiting for the next act

Of the bipolar drama

Answer to Shame

I am on the run

From the shame of being

Such a bad father

Being such an incompetent son

And impotent lover as well

No one loves my soul

I am so bad

And I am so tired of being

Projected as bad for not fulfilling

Other people’s dreams

I am not bad

Just the answer to your projections

Scream and Hatred for Breakfast

The scream woke me up

What the hell the voice said

You are so lazy the voice said

Now I go

Confused and tired

I opened my eyes

She hated me

And left me with the children

Watching bad cartoons on TV

Today I started

To contemplate

Suicide as an option

If I don’t get out of here

The grey cold place

That is my so cold home

It’s just that I don’t want to die here

No meaning what so ever

I want to die in the sun

Feeling redemption and hope

But life goes on without meaning

Or purpose

The environment here is slowly

Breaking me down

Piece by piece

Just the writing keeps me going

For a while

On Suicide

Once upon a time my grandmother

Tried to commit suicide

She swallowed a huge

Number of yellow pills

That my mother had

Prescribed to her

As the good doctor and daughter

She was at the time

Sleeping pills

My grandfather found her

In bed with the faded light

And traffic noise from

The street below

On a winter afternoon

I was about ten at the time

My mother told me that

It was not my fault

Not so much, just a little

And any way the pills

Would not kill her

Most to blame was my grandfather

Who did not fulfill her wish

Of the perfect summerhouse

I kept those words in memory

Creating new disasters in

The far future

That is now

The Boy

Once I was

A happy young man

Being a fool and

Dropping out of school

Traveling the world

Met rich and poor

I opened many closed

Door

Sensing my limits

I met this beautiful girl

From home out there

In the world

I stood there

Naked and gay

In front of her

High as a kite

She told me

I love you

Just the way You are

Just do not Take it too far

And that was the way it had to be

Some but not to much

I started to wither away

All my dreams grow old

And in the end there was

Not much left

I had gone old

The children had left

For school

Lonely and lost

I had to find

New dreams

Overworked

Tired

I will not save you

Blue Monday

Found a way through

The city streets for a

Brief meeting with

My teacher and Guru

However

The man was not found

He had already died

.

Though he had been

There waiting for me

On the same spot

Exactly eleven years ago

Our meetings had

Therefore to take

Place in the spirit

More than as a

Conversation

.

Another little man

A boy had been born

In the meantime

With his very own

Passions and problem

Mirroring the old

Master but much

Wiser

The Eternal Quest

So the eternal, nocturnal

Battle has started

Trying to make the baby sleep

Frustrated parents and siblings

Happy child talking her own

Language

Refusing to sleep for generations

The same problem, with different

Solutions for each and every one

Keeping the Wake

You keep me

Awake at night

Complaining for

This and that

Always blaming

It is never your fault

Throwing the children

Around like they are

Pawns for you

Which they are for you

But not for me

In the end

You know I will

Leave you

Relationship can

Never be built

On grievances