A few weeks back, my friend Teresa asked me to contribute to her blog, which addresses a range of issues affecting those who are mentally ill or those who live with, or are related to, someone who is mentally ill. She told me that I was such a good writer and that I’d been living with J for so long that she thought I’d be perfect. And she told me she wanted posts that were “solution-focused.”
Okay, I have to admit I was flattered. Who doesn’t want to be considered a good writer? And who doesn’t want others thinking that their relationship is somehow working so well that it can be used as a model for others to follow?
Then…
The doubt, the incredulity started creeping in. Did Teresa really have any idea what kind of person, what kind of wife I was with J? Solution-focused? Me? What do I know about solutions? To anything. Let alone living with someone who has a serious mental illness. Who am I to use my life, my relationship, as a frame of reference from which others can learn?
This wasn’t false modesty. This wasn’t fishing for compliments. This was truly an “Are you sure you have the right person, Teresa?” reaction.
And then…
J and I went on our first extended road trip since 2006. And being on that road trip–because J and I were together constantly, with no one else around–made me realize that I have indeed learned a great deal being with J, and maybe some of what I’ve learned can help others. Who knows?
But the least I can do is try.
The last road trip we took, as I already mentioned, was in 2006. At that time, I thought J had Borderline Personality Disorder or a Personality Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (NOS), which means it’s a little bit this, a little bit that.
The thing with personality disorders is that I tend to look at them as, at some level, controllable. My therapist has told me that I’m not completely right about that and that at many levels, a personality disorder is so ingrained that the sufferer cannot easily change his or her behavior or actions.
Okay.
But in 2006… That’s not what I thought. In 2006, I thought J’s “problems” were that he had Tourette’s, a personality disorder, and too much money that made him oblivious to how real people lived.
So, in December 2006, when I needed to fly from Long Beach to Albuquerque to get home for Christmas and J said he wanted to go with me, I said, “Sure,” and I booked him a flight, which required that I change my ticket, so we could fly together.
Then when he changed his mind and told me he couldn’t fly but he could drive, I cancelled both tickets and got ready to drive. Then, however, J didn’t want to take his car to New Mexico, so he asked me to call the concierge and arrange for a rental car.
Okay. So we stop right here. First, in 2006, I didn’t even know what a concierge was. Second, I am fiercely independent and completely convinced that I do most things better than other people, including renting a car.
But…
The relationship was new, and J’s money intimidated the hell out of me, so I called some concierge based in Santa Monica and waited. I waited for 2 or 3 hours before she called me back, breathless and apologetic: There were no cars that we could rent to drive to New Mexico.
J told me to ask about a town car. I did. It would have cost upwards of $10,000.
J then decided he wouldn’t be able to have Christmas with me, after all. I called the airline tried to get a ticket back home. They were sold out. I tried another airline and another and another. All sold out.
I wasn’t staying in Long Beach for Christmas.
So, I called for rental cars. And what do you know? The concierge was wrong. You can so rent a car to drive from California to New Mexico, and that’s precisely what I did.
J still went back and forth regarding whether or not he would go with me. Finally, he told me if I packed him, he’d go. I told him I was the worst packer in the entire world. (True. I have been known not to pack: 1) deodorant; 2) toothpaste; 3) shampoo; 4) a razor; and 5) a night shirt. In addition, I have been known to pack 12 shirts, 4 pairs of pants, 6 pairs of shorts, and 3 pairs of shoes for a weekend getaway. I have no idea how to pack.)
And I told him, I had to get home, and I’d like it if he went with me, but one way or another, I had to go.
He agreed.
In 2006, when J kept vacillating, and I kept just rolling with it, I thought, as I’ve already mentioned, that he had a personality disorder. I didn’t realize that he had schizoaffective disorder, which affects that part of the brain (primarily the frontal lobes) that allows J to plan and organize easily. He’s not linear. He doesn’t go from Point A to Point B; he goes from Point A to Point Q and then bounces on over to Points 3 and 4.
Opening everything to discussion and vacillation as I did in 2006 doesn’t work with someone whose brain is making it so difficult to plan, organize, and carry through.
What I needed to do in 2006 is either insist that we fly to Albuquerque or insist that I find a rental car on my own. Bouncing from one plan to another is chaotic. Chaos puts me on edge, makes me crabby and shrewish, unable to think straight, which exacerbates the situation. I needed to take control of the decision, and I didn’t.
I also needed to push J ever so slightly to get an early start. When I go on a road trip, what I like to do is get on the road around 5 in the morning and drive straight for at least 4 hours at around 80mph; that kind of driving gets me 320 miles down the road before I even realize what I’m doing.
J doesn’t like being rushed, and he sees my wanting to get going as my attempt to rush him. So in 2006, we got out somewhere around 10 or 11–early for J, incredibly late for me; the traffic leaving California was horrendous (it’s always horrendous), and J is a smoker, and you can’t smoke in a rental car, so we had to stop and stop and stop so J could smoke by the side of the road, and so by 2pm, we’d made it as far as San Bernardino. I was exhausted. And getting crabbier by the minute.
I thought that J was being purposefully uncooperative.
Flash forward to 2012. This time around, I know J has schizoaffective disorder. I know the disorder makes it nearly impossible for him to make a decision, so when he vacillated about going to Scottsdale and Santa Monica with me (we never made it to California, but that’s another story), I understood that it was the disorder and not his being intentionally recalcitrant.
Where we stayed: The Scottsdale Princess
This time around, I also knew that regardless of what J decided, I was going on the trip. It was for my 60th birthday and our four-year anniversary, and I needed to celebrate. So I told J that I would like him to go because his going would make the trip more meaningful and that I wanted to be with him on our anniversary and I thought the trip would be more fun if both of us went.
I also told him that I understood he is ill and that traveling is hard for him and that if he couldn’t go with me, I wouldn’t be angry; I wouldn’t try to make him feel guilty, and I wouldn’t hold a grudge, even if he changed his mind at the last minute, I would still understand.
And then…
I told him that if he cannot go, I will feel sad, but I will go alone, or rather I’ll go with Rocky, one of our dogs.
When I contrast this 2012 trip with the one in 2006, I see how much I’ve changed.
First, I recognize that J’s illness makes it difficult for him to make a decision, and it makes him extremely difficult to leave the familiarity of his home.
Second, I recognize that my need to celebrate my 60th birthday cannot take a back seat to J’s illness and that if I don’t go because J can’t go, I’m going to be resentful.
Being resentful is not a good place to be with anyone, least of all with someone who is mentally ill. Someone who is mentally ill lives in a different world than those who are not mentally ill, and being resentful of the illness is akin to being resentful of someone with diabetes who can’t eat the sugary desserts others can. It’s pointless, in other words.
However, just as I may eat that sugary dessert that those with diabetes cannot, I will also engage in activities that those who are mentally ill cannot.
Someone once equated taking care of yourself around someone who is mentally ill as affixing your own oxygen before helping small children in the event of loss of air pressure in a plane.
Although that is a close analogy, it is not completely accurate. Losing pressure in an airplane is a crisis situation, and if you only take care of yourself in a crisis when dealing with someone who is mentally ill, you will become depleted, and if you become depleted, not only are you no good for yourself, you’re no good for the person who is mentally ill.
As hard as it is, you must put yourself first. You may do as I have done and rationalize that the other person’s needs (in my case, J’s) are more important, more pressing than your own because the person is indeed ill and keep pushing your own needs farther and farther back.
Don’t do that.
If you do, I can almost guarantee that you will end up: 1) physically and emotionally exhausted; 2) resentful; and 3) depressed to such an extent, you’ll need medication.
If you can’t put your needs first for yourself, put your needs first for the person who’s mentally ill. A person who is mentally ill needs a network of emotionally resilient people, and you will not be emotionally resilient if you do not take care of yourself, which means addressing your own needs first–consistently and not just during a crisis.