He loves me not, he loves me..

My husband is my knight in shining armour.  A lot of the time the patient becomes priority and the ones who hold them togethers feelings are never looked at.  I have to contribute every single step of my recovery and the unbearable symptoms he’s not only seen but had to survive as well, why?  Because my symptoms manifest in behaviour.  My husband has seen things And been through episodes that yes are horrible to go through as the patient but the real heros are the ones who take the storm and let the symptoms reflect off their back.  Like a armour of love.  Somehow no matter how horrendous I’ve been while in a episode is unforgiveable yet when I’m back behind the wheel he’s still there.  That’s something he deserves so much recognition for yet he lays low.

I live in such a heavy guilt quilt over my actions st times, so embarrassed, disgusted at times that I could do or say such things.  It’s shameful.  My husband stood by me post diagnosis, he watched me spiral and go Wild.  He walked me home nightly cause I was so drunk everyday I’d sleep in the street.  I was just a friend.  He sat in bars night after night and watched me to make sure I did not do something that could hurt me, I had no common sense.  Even with his eye I left under his nose in a jeep full of men I just met that night.  He worried about me and he tore into me when he found me, drunk, high on perks, shrooms and swaying up the road, he’s the first person who just kept coming back, over and over.  He’s sat by my bedside night after night to make sure I did not overdose even a few occasions having to watch me have seizures pissing myself, vomiting and thrashing around.  He stayed.  He’s watched me try over and over to just make him run, leave me like the rest.  Yet he stayed.

My husband has come home after long hard days at the funeral home to find his girlfriend then passed out on the floor full of blood, bottles of pills and vodka, he’s wrapped my wrists and held pressure on my wounds that I sliced into my own skin.  He’s come home to me crying hysterically curled in the shower just trying to get the noises and voices to stop.  Yet he stayed.  My knight has not slept for weeks unable to trust my actions he’s worried himself sick just walking out the door wondering if he’ll come home to find me dead by my own mind.  Yet he comes home.

my knight has seen my heart ripped out and held me till the tears are groans.  He’s gone to battle with my dragon no second thoughts, he’s saved me.  He’s believed in the person inside away from the chaos.  He’s chased me down when I run away he has been hit, screamed at, called unthinkable names.  I’ve beat myself around till bleeding and he’ll jump in first chance and hold me down.  He’s sat in the er all night while the doctors try to stop my episode, over and over. He’s come to years  of  dozens of psychiatrists, several hospitals therapy programs.  He’s takin days and days of work to get me to my programs at the hospital.  He fills my prescriptions, monitors my moods, he’s been a nurse he’s taken on a disabled person as a spouse knowing for better or worse really means both.  He’s got up every night with both our children to feed them, change them after working all day to care for us, because if I don’t sleep I may have a psychotic episode, could you do it? it’s been a long road having children but never hesitate if asked again.    My husband has to make all the decisions, handle our funds and do way more than any husband should because his wife is sick.  His wife has a disease that is not a casserole how are you doing disease, he’s doing all this alone.  His shoulders are heavy yet somehow he’s happy, living and still standing after every episode.  He’s the real warrior.

my knight does not deserve any of this, he could have easily left that ward in 2006 called my mother and never come back. Would you? Really think about that.  To him if asked it never even occurred.

That’s love.


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