What My Conversation With My Partner Taught Me About Bipolar Disorder

Buddhism teaches Four Noble Truths: There is suffering, a cause of suffering, an end to suffering, and a path to the end of suffering. If unchecked, bipolar disorder causes those I love, including myself, to suffer. Suffering ends when I surrender, talk about it and ask for help. The path to the end of suffering is a roadmap of self-care and compassion for myself and others. It’s a path from a land of chaos to a more balanced, aware and spacious open field, and I’m grateful that now my partner is on the path with me.

• What is Bipolar disorder?

When we sat down for an honest, nonjudgmental conversation about our shared experience regarding my bipolar disorder, we agreed to a specific day, time frame and short list of topics.

1. What was it like to be my partner before the diagnosis?
2. What do bipolar disorder episodes feel like?
3. What does a bipolar disorder episode look like on the outside?
4. How are things different for us now?

Me:  What is it like to be the partner of someone living with bipolar disorder? 

Him: I have an anxious attachment style, so I look for stability and consistency. When we met, you were usually elevated and vivacious. I thought that was your normal self, and then your behavior seemed to suddenly go over the top. [You were] saying you loved me and you wanted me to say it back. It was way too soon for me, less than a month into dating. I was being extremely cautious, and you were going a thousand miles an hour. In hindsight you were hypomanic and asking me to participate in your mania. 

Me: I barely remember that, which tells me I was [often] hypomanic.

Him: Before you found support, you presented as one person with your words and actions, and as time passed, I realized the person you showed me was someone you’d created to hide the reasons people had hurt and abandoned you in the past. You presented as a bold, confident, stable, independent person, while in photographs you looked strained, like you were faking a perfect version of yourself to keep people from getting too close to you, and keep you from getting too close to them. It was as if you created a character you could hide behind.

Me: I had no idea I looked like that in photos. How about when I was depressed?

Him: You’d make plans and abandon them. You avoided phone calls, conversations, and going out. You’d get irritable, make assumptions and take things personally. You were overly critical of yourself, impatient with tasks and with me. An analogy [would be] like when you’re having a good dream that suddenly turns into a nightmare. It seems real, and it’s hard to wake up. You acted as if the “dream” was reality. Is that what it was like for you? 

Me: You nailed it. Faking it and creating a false, protective self comes from believing the dream and becoming a character in it. I’d tell myself, “Everything is fine, keep smiling,” and you had no idea I was really struggling. Over time I became skilled at masking what was really going on, fearing what being [discovered as] “not fine” would mean. It became an escape from reality, and when I was hypomanic, that “character” took over. It became easy to sell a lie after living it for so long. I sold others a man who didn’t exist, and eventually I believed it.

Him: Thanks for sharing that with me. That must have been really hard for you. 

Me: It was so painful because I just wanted it to stop. Sharing what it was like for you helps me, and I love that you’re willing to tell me when you notice little signals that I might be losing my balance. What is it like now that I have support?

Him: Now it’s like you’re aware that you’re dreaming, and you don’t get lost. It’s only happening in your head, and you don’t need to do anything about it. When you’re depressed, you’ll say you’re feeling low, and if you’re irritable, you’ll say, “I love you, and I’m not up for witty banter just now.” You express your feelings, and we talk about it and move past it more quickly.

Me: I feel like I “see you” more clearly, because I’m not lost in my “mental movie” as often. Also we’re working to be impeccable and kind with our words, to ask questions and not make assumptions, not take things personally, and to give each other grace. Thank you for doing this with me. I love you very much.

Him: You’re welcome. I love you very much too.

We still have work to do. We’re seeing a couples therapist that specializes in addiction recovery and healing relationships impacted by mental illness. Once we process the past, we do our best to keep it there: in the past. If the conversation turns toward a painful, touchy subject, we ask, “Is this a more serious talk?” If so, we make time for a longer conversation or save it for therapy.

Undiagnosed bipolar disorder, addiction, anxiety and depression were big obstacles until we got support. Now he leaves love notes next to the morning coffee, and I’ve shown genuine interest in his work. We cook together, disagree at times, apologize when we act like jerks, hug and kiss, say thank you and have date nights. Most importantly? We remember to play.

The longest, most intimate relationship we’ll ever have is the one we have with ourselves. Author Elie Wiesel wrote, “Never let anyone be humiliated in your presence.”  It makes sense to treat ourselves the way we wish to be treated, accept our humanness and see our imperfections as tiny cracks that let the light in. Addiction and mental illness don’t make us flawed and broken; they make us human, just like every human who has ever existed.