Dating a manic depressive woman

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There have been times when the only thing holding me back from suicide was a deep fear of hell and my theological confusion in that area.Note that I didn’t say my hope in Christ held me back. For a long time, my depression alienated my husband because I retreated and wouldn’t discuss it with him. However, I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want him hovering around me. I didn’t think I could stand to hear him constantly asking, “Are you OK? ” So I shut the door in his face, crawled under the blankets, and disappeared.One of my most amazing feats in life was convincing my husband that I was a normal person.He knew about my past when we were dating—the depression, the suicide attempts in high school, the abuse, all of that.As Scott looked around the kitchen in horror, my rage turned into shame, and I ran to our bedroom, crying hysterically.I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t help it, or that it certainly felt that way. Even though I could tell when it was coming, I didn’t know how to stop it. I knew it was wrong, and it always zapped me of so much energy, but I felt powerless over it.

I thought that in order to be a “manic depressive,” you had to go around in a state of euphoria.I remember the day I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder because I could not believe I had it.Even though it runs in my family, I thought there was another explanation for my ups and downs and overall weirdness.I built my world around him, and I was in a love-induced haze right up until we got married.As the newness wore off, the old familiar feelings of emptiness came back in full force, and they were so strong I couldn’t hide them anymore.

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