The Things We Do For Love

Love. It meant more to me then. At 19, 20, 21...28...when I had no idea what I didn't know and that was easy and simple because I loved him and there was no possible way for things not to work out. I trusted him with all that I had and didn't need anything more than his love and devotion to me. Well, I had that for a long time. Lots of fun and some travel and the promise of many things. Sure that I would negate my parents' doubt and that Dave and I would be fine. Better than fine. And although we had our troubles we were well on our way to being fine. Until we weren't. There were characteristics that Dave always had that may have been signs. I have no idea. I feel a little ripped off honestly, that within this man who treated me like gold and stole my heart was a patiently waiting thief. Waiting to take my hopes and dreams from me. My husband and family would be taken from me. I thought I chose well, but no predictions could have come up with this one. As that seed sprouted and grew I didn't see it creeping in. Despite being a nurse and having a little training in the area of mental illness, it was still one of those situations where I could not see what was happening all around me, to me, to him. From the outside I think people questioned, maybe even knew, that there was a problem and on numerous occasions the question was asked of me. "Do you think he has mental illness? Schizophrenia? Depression?" No, he doesn't I would say. I was sure he didn't. Being that convinced, that sure of something and ending up being so completely wrong was totally destabilizing for me. That which I "knew" was completely false. I was wrapped up in the illness with him. He had woven it around me, around the babies in my belly, around our home and trapped me in a very dark existence and I blindly carried on. There is so much to the journey I shared with Dave and this force which took over our lives. Details which leave many people open-mouthed in disbelief and astonishment that I could have stayed, believed in him and supported him. There are times that I have felt judged and embarrassed that I didn't recognize the sick man before me. I knew he had changed and that things weren't good. Believe me. But more than anything else I believed that it would work out. That things would calm down and stabilize and that we would be okay. Even when I knew that I no longer loved him, I pushed that aside and told myself that the love would grow again once things settled down. We would work on it because we had our babies and our family was what mattered most. The things I did for love weren't enough for what schizophrenia required from me. It took my husband, my hopes, my home, my life as I knew it. Love couldn't save any of it. And now I stand in the echoes of what happened, adjusting and healing and wondering if I should open this vault and venture in. I do this to help understand myself better and so that maybe someone will read it and feel like they are not alone, as the spouse or loved one of someone with mental illness. Sometimes we get forgotten because we aren't the ones who are actually sick, but we have to continue living with the consequences of an incurable disease. It is real to us too, a part of our daily lives and something we have to learn to live with. Lacking any kind of expertise, all I have is an experience to share, and I'm learning, so here are the murmurings of that knowledge in hopes that at least one person will heal as a result, and maybe even help a reader or two.