Our Crazy Marriage

Joanne: My control issues make it hard to dance

TwoIgnite has hosted ballroom dancing classes at church this week as part of the month's focus of 2drink. 2drink is all about sex and romance. So...ballroom dancing classes this week lead up to a fancy dancy party at the clubhouse in our neighborhood next weekend.

Band, dance instructors, fancy finger foods, photographs--kind of a like a grown-up prom.

Toben had my mom send his tux. I have nothing to wear! So I'll head to Target later and see what kinds of party dresses they have. I don't want to spend much, so I'm hoping for some Target magic. Cross your fingers.

Anyway, dance lessons.

We missed the west coast swing class on Tuesday night. There was an accident near church, the road was closed for a while, and most of the high school kids didn't show to babysit. So I watched 26 K-5th graders by myself. (And I'll go ahead and admit that I didn't do it with a very happy heart. Sometimes serving is a joy, sometime's it's just grit-your-teeth obedience.)

Last night's class was the cha-cha. And I think Toben and I have it down pretty good, for the most part. Except when I take over and lead.

I think there's some sort of a metaphor for marriage in there. 

It's not that Toben wasn't trying to lead, but he doesn't lead with much vigor. So I can't really tell if we're breaking open, doing a twirl, or whatever. His movements are more subtle than blatant. And so in my uncertainty, I just blaze forward and do what I think we should do.

Sometimes I guess right and it works out okay. Sometimes not so much.

I kept thinking about the dance instructor saying that men are in charge on the dance floor. That the woman needs to follow even if he messes up. That ultimately the man is responsible if he messes up, the woman's job is to follow.

I don't really mean to open up a whole submission can of worms. Really.

But I will say this. Most of the wives I know want to follow their husband's lead. They want him to lead boldly. With purpose. With confidence. It's when we're not sure that we tend to blaze ahead and take over.

For me? I think I need to wait for Toben's leading to be more obvious. And if it's not as clear as I'd like or need, I need to wait and ask questions. Otherwise we're just going to keep stepping on each other's feet.

Toben: Strong Medication=Embarrassment

Couple of things in the last week have reminded me of the strength of the medication I am on. The first is that in California, after I took my nightly meds, Joanne and I had a lengthy conversation that I have no memory of.  What a weird feeling to wake up in the morning to Joanne distraught because I was so out of it the night before; that I was insensitive and inattentive. This seems like it happens at least once a week and has been for most of the time that I have been medicated.  Even then, it is still embarrassing every time it happens. 

The other thing is that when my meds kick in a loose some fine motor control, which leads to incomprehensible text messages and emails! As much as I try to land my thumbs in the right place on my iPhone I just can't make it happen.  And instead of just deciding not to text at night, I try anyhow only to realize the next day that I have sent gibberish to friends.  Again, pretty embarrassing.  

Heard from a friend today about someone at her church with bi-polar who has taken himself off of all his meds.  That makes me sad, but I totally get it.  My first reaction to the embarrassment that I too often feel is to think about quitting the meds, or playing around with the dosages to try and regain control.

Granted, I am happy with my meds most of the time.  I know enough to know that without them I would probably be dead.  Being aware of that keeps me on track. 

But I completely understand why people quit them. It's a control thing.  I think all of us have a natural desire to be in control of our thoughts, emotions, and actions.  Sometimes the meds take some or all of those things away. That's a bad feeling. But I know this: it is better than the alternative. 

Joanne: Thank you again

Just wanted to say thanks--for the comments here, on Facebook, in my email box. I know I've said it before, but I appreciate you all so much. Thank you for being an encouragement to me.

I pray God blesses you right back--100-fold at least!--for the way you bless me.

Joanne: Weary

We're at the beach for a long weekend and I'm sitting up in bed after trying to fall asleep for the last two hours. I'm exhausted, but the Mexican I had for dinner is not sitting well and my stomach hurts.

And Toben snores. Loudly. I'm not making a typical husband joke. It's awful. One of the side effects of medication in a roundabout way. He's gained weight and takes medicine at night that knocks him out. So all the articles on snoring that suggest weight loss and no sedatives don't work.

Usually I sleep with some white noise in the form of a fan, but I didn't pack one, and there's not one here. The bathroom fan is too far away. And I don't have any earplugs. But you can bet I'll be buying some tomorrow.

Toben just sat up a few minutes ago, got up and went into the bathroom. I heard him shaking pill bottles. When he came back to bed, I asked what was up. "I needed a drink," he said.

"Then what pills did you take?" I asked.

"My morning meds," he answered.

"But it's only 10 o'clock," was my response. Call me silly, but I thought morning meds were for morning.

"Oh, I was confused. Thought it was 5 a.m."

More snoring for a minute or two. I ask about the effects of taking medicine at the wrong time. No response.

"How is your stomach?" he asked.

"It's really hurting; I feel pretty horrible," I answered.

Pause.

"So that's good that you're feeing better," he said.

"No! I just said I don't feel good." At that point I gave up. There's no point in continuing the conversation. Because he won't remember it in the morning anyway.

So why am I sitting up in the dark and blogging? Somehow it helps to write it down, rather than to lay alone in the dark stewing about it. 

I know it may not seem like a big deal, but this happens a lot. Has happened a lot for years now. 

We talk about something--not even in the middle of the night but in the evening or as we lay in bed at night before falling asleep--only to have the same conversation the next morning. "I told you that last night," I say. "Oh," says he. 

Often followed by "No, we didn't." 

"Yes, we did," I say.

He'll agree with a whatever, but I can tell it's often more of a "Whatever you say, but you're making it up."

In my head, I know it's the result of the medication. In my heart, I feel hurt and ignored and brushed aside. To have him listen to me when I talk and remember what I say in the morning? I miss that.

So why blog tonight?

To show that it really happened, I suppose. To be able to point to something with a time and a date to validate the conversation. To show I didn't make this up.

To prove he really did take his medication when morning does come around. I don't know what the effect of doubling that medication could be--especially on top of taking it so soon after evening medication--but I doubt it would be good. His doctors have his medication very carefully timed for a reason.

Joanne: "It's not about you."

"It's not about you." 

I can't tell you the number of times Toben said that to me in the midst of falling apart, being diagnosed, seeking healing. I get what he was saying.

But sometimes it felt like an excuse he used not to talk to me, not to tell me what was going on. It felt like justification for keeping secrets. It felt like shutting me out.

I had a conversation the other night with a friend about this. No, it's not about me. No, it's not about him. Really, it's about illness, about addiction.

I get that. 

But the thing I said back to Toben was this: "It may not be about me, but it is affecting me. It's affecting everything about my life and so I'm part of it too."

I know it's hard. But keep talking through it. 

If you're the one with the illness or addiction, I understand that it's hard to talk about it more--especially when you've maybe already talked it to death with your counselor or your psychiatrist. But it would've been so helpful for me if Toben had said something like, "I'm all talked out right now, can I tell you about it tomorrow?"

And if I could go back and tell myself anything, I'd tell myself that it wasn't that he was shutting me out. I'd tell myself to have some patience, to pay attention to when I asked him to share, to how I asked him to share.

So here's a question for Toben to answer: What would've been helpful for you in those conversations?

Toben: Addiction

Been reminded lately of how destructive addiction can be.  We have a great friend who is wrestling with one right now and it is heartbreaking for a lot of reasons. It reminds me of my own battle with alcoholism.

After I got diagnosed as bi-polar I was in a lot of pain and denial.  I didn't want to be bi-polar.  A lot of that had to do with the fact that everyone I had heard about who struggled with it was a disaster.  I didn't want to be that guy. So I decided to self medicate.  I spent the first eight months after my diagnosis drunk. Literally. 

I had a routine.  I would never drink during the day.  For whatever reason I could make it until after work.  Then I would drive to a little convenience store about five miles from my house and buy high alcohol content beer (which is nasty tasting). I would drink the equivalent of s six pack in about five minutes while I drove to the beach parking lot at Grandview.  I would throw my empties away there and then head for home.  By the time I pulled into the driveway I would be drunk.

In my crazy thinking I rationalized that I wasn't really driving drunk because the time between when I drank and when I got drunk was about the same amount of time that it took me to get home.  I am so lucky that I never got pulled over or hurt anyone.

I thought I was fooling everyone but I wasn't.  My intervention was on August 27th 2004.  My first AA meeting was on August 28th.  I went to 88 meeting over the next 90 days and countless meeting after that.  I haven't been to a meeting in a couple of years.  For whatever reason I am not tempted by alcohol these days.  But if I started to feel the pull I would be back in a meeting in a second.

So I'm thankful today for my sobriety. I am regretful for what it did to Joanne and the girls but we have come a long way since then.  Joanne was the one who really got hurt. The girls were so young that I'm not sure they remember much about those days (that's a blessing).  Fortunately a lot of healing has taken place and we are in a good spot today.

So today I am praying for my friend that she can beat this thing and that she will come to know a better life than she has known before. It's possible.  It's a lot of hard work.  A lot.  But it is possible.

Joanne: Everybody's got something

You may not deal with mental illness in your marriage, but I'm guessing there's something. Maybe not in your marriage, but maybe in your life.

Something you struggle with, something you may keep secret, something that you work hard to keep under control, to keep under wraps, to keep quiet.

And maybe you feel alone, like no one else struggles with what you struggle with. So you keep on keeping quiet.

Maybe you've tried telling someone and maybe it didn't go well. Maybe you were rejected. Maybe you were abandoned. Maybe you hoped for understanding and got judgment instead.

Try again.

I know it's hard. I know it's scary to put yourself out there and take the chance that the other person is going to look at you like you're crazy.

Try again.

We need each other. We need community.

And someone out there needs to hear your story.

Joanne: Someone I love needs help. Help!

So there's a tough question. Or a series of tough questions.

How do I get someone I love to seek help?

How do I make someone I love take their meds?

How do I help someone I love see what I see?

And the tough answer is that you can't. I hate typing that as much as you probably hate reading it.

But you can't force someone to open up and swallow a handful of pills. You can't make someone go to the doctor. You can't show someone else what you see when they won't--or can't--open their eyes.

You can't control another person. It's not about finding just the right words, coming up with the perfect argument or persuasive speech. If the person you love won't seek help or take the help offered, it's not your fault and it's not something you can control.

It's not your fault. It's not something you can control.

Mental illness is not rational. It doesn't make sense. And it's not about fault. And you don't have control.

So what can you do?

You can talk. You can gather friends and family to intervene and paint a big picture of what mental illness without help, without treatment is costing. You can arm yourself with information.

But.

The only person who can change another person is God. 

And so we are left with prayer. Pray for the person you love. Pray that God would set them free, that God would open their eyes, that God would open their ears, that God would move in a mighty way.

I know that doesn't feel like enough. Trust me, I know that it sounds hollow sometimes. I know the burning desire to do something, to see an immediate result, to feel like you're moving forward. I know that prayer can feel like standing still and doing nothing.

But prayer is not a last resort.

Prayer is active, not passive.

Prayer is powerful, not weak.

Prayer is purposeful, not without purpose.

Prayer is productive, not ineffective.

Prayer changes things. Not always in the ways we expect, not always in our timing. But God's Word tells us the truth and promises us that our prayers matter. That our prayers have purpose. That our prayers have power.

"The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." James 5:16

Know that my prayers are joined with yours as you pray. As you have commented and shared your story here, it is my joy and my privilege to pray for you each week. 

It doesn't matter if I know the whole of your story or that we have never met face to face. God knows. I've said a million times that it is God's response to prayer that has brought Toben and me this far. Prayers from friends and family and from people we've never even met and never knew were praying for us.

Your names are whispered to the all-powerful King of the universe, whose ears are attentive to our prayers.

Toben: Dealing with Stress

Over the last week I have come to clarity about something.  I have known for a long time that I have certain triggers that throw me out of equilibrium, but I think I have defined one of the biggest: Stress.  On an average day, with average tasks and responsibilities it is pretty easy for me to stay on an even keel.  But when things get stressful, when I am under pressure, I can feel the anxiety knocking at the door.  When the stress gets to be too much, then the full blown anxiety attacks occur.

I used to be really, really good under pressure.  When things would get weird or sideways I was sort of at my finest.  I could think quickly, solve problems, move things around and get everything back on track and headed in the right direction. In fact I think that used to be one of my greatest assets. I got a rush out of it. Now, that seems to be gone.     

So here's what that means: I need to stay ahead of the curve, of the tasks and responsibilities so that I don't end up scrambling. Having things handled well in advance will make this much easier. I probably need to communicate this to the teams I work with so that they know how it effects me when last minute stuff blows up and they can help me be prepared for whats coming and what needs to be done well in advance.  

Joanne: Thank you

So many of you--here, on Facebook, on Twitter, over email, via text message--let me know that you were praying for us yesterday. Thank you seems like such a small thing to say in response, such a simple way to express how much your prayers mean to me.

In the midst of Toben's diagnosis and the worst of our struggle in 2003 and 2004, it was the prayers of God's people that sustained us. People we knew--and people we didn't know--lifted us up before the Throne, saying our names and asking God to meet our needs. Even when those people didn't know what to pray for, God knew and responded.

Prayer changes things.

It's something we say often in church-y circles, something that seems so basic, so obvious. So simple that we forget its power.

"I'll pray for you," we say. It seems like the least we can do. Surely writing a check or providing a meal or solving a problem would be of greater value. And perhaps that will be a way in which God answers prayer.

"I'll pray for you." It is not the least we can do. To actually do it, to pray for another, is the most effective thing we can do.

When we pray, the God of the Universe, the One who made it all and who holds everything in his hands, the King of all Kings hears. He bends his ear to hear our voices and he listens. He pays attention. And he responds.

No, the timing isn't always what we'd like. Sometimes it seems that he's not paying attention, that he's running late. But his Word assures us that his timing is perfect. That he is never not working. That the good work he began in us, his children, will not be left undone.

Your prayers for us yesterday changed things. No, it didn't fix it all in snap. But there was a noticeable ease by yesterday afternoon. Everything that's been hard didn't go away, but we had the strength to endure. And to endure it together, rather than at odds with each other.

I'm reminded of part of Psalm 138 that I've been memorizing with my Bible study group:

As soon as I pray, you answer me;
 you encourage me by giving me strength.

It may seem a small thing to pray for another person. The truth is that it is not. To pray for another is huge. 

So again, I am grateful.

Toben: Crazy Thoughts

The last few days have been tough ones. I went from feeling like a million bucks earlier in the week to being totally overcome with anxiety the last few days. I hate it.  I hate it. I hate it.  There have been some triggers but nothing that should have taken me so far over the edge.  I wish I could talk myself out of it, that logic would overcome my thoughts and feelings, but that's not how anxiety works. It just is. 

I feel horrible because I know Joanne suffers through these bouts.  She so badly wants to help but sometimes there is nothing she can do.  Today we did have the opportunity to just sit and talk and that actually did help.  I know she is on my side and that she loves me.  I wish I could just exist in that space, knowing that truth, instead of going crazy. 

Joanne: I hate feeling powerless

I struggle so much with feeling powerless when Toben is especially affected by all the horrible stuff that goes with being bipolar. It's been a rough few days around here for him--anxiety is plaguing him like crazy. 

Watching it, I can totally see why it's called an anxiety attack. 

What it comes down to is feelings of panic and anxiety setting themselves up against the truth of what we know. I don't know what it's like to be bipolar, but as I told Toben this morning, I do know what it's like to have my feelings and my knowledge at war. 

Hello, PMS. Feeling things so powerfully that I know are NOT true, but being so weighed down by oppression that I want to give up and give in.

(Luckily, God's timing is good and I do not have PMS this week. If I did, I think we'd really be in trouble with both of us feeling overwhelmed by feelings.)

I tend to be a fairly logical person, so my method is often to try to talk Toben out of feeling what he's feeling. Not sure that's helpful. But we talked about it this morning in terms of feelings and knowledge. We talked about action we can take and knowing what's beyond our control. 

He just sat down and said he's feeling better having talked. Thank you, Jesus.

In the midst of these past few days, I've been reminded to drop to my knees and intercede on his behalf. Even if I don't know what to pray and all that comes out of my mouth is, "Help him, Jesus. Please. Please, help." 

Just typing this I'm reminded that I'm not powerless in the face of Toben's anxiety. Because I can pray. I believe with all my heart that prayer is powerful and that God listens and acts in response to my prayer. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.

TwoIgnite videos

Toben and I are videotaping ourselves as part of this new ministry he's working on. Here are our first two webisodes!

2 Play | The Heims 02 from Two Ignite on Vimeo.

2 Play | The Heims 01 from Two Ignite on Vimeo.

You can see the rest of the webisodes from others here.

What is TwoIgnite?

Here's a video that shares a little more about what Toben's working on these days:

What is TwoIgnite? from Timothy Allen on Vimeo.

Joanne: The Valley of Dreams

I don't know what your Valley of Dreams looks like--perhaps it looks a little like Hidden Valley Ranch or maybe the Land of Dairy Queen. Maybe it's someplace you've visited, or someplace that exists only in your imagination.

For us, the Valley of Dreams is a funky trailer park. A group of mostly single-wide trailers, hodgepodged together, west of the 101 and less than a block from the Pacific Ocean.

We spent the weekend staying in the trailer you can see, just three above "eucadia" on W Lecuadia Blvd. And we spent the weekend having dreaming kinds of conversations that went something like this:

"If this beach trailer we're ours, what would we do to it? Which walls would we knock out? What kind of furniture would we put in it? How often could we come here?"

"Someday, when it's just the two of us, would we want to live here again?" (We have never lived in the VOD--what the residents call it for short--but we have lived just minutes from here where Carlsbad and Encinitas meet.)

"Who would we want to have come with us next time we visit?" (Though there's no way we could squeeze more people into the trailer--we'd have to stay at the top of the hill in the beach house we've rented in the past.)

"Do you remember...?" Even looking back is a kind of dreaming, don't you think?

The VOD has always been a place of dreaming for us. 

We first stayed here nine years ago, when Audrey was just two and Emma was still hidden and being knit together. We lived in Monument, Colorado, at the time and had just built our first house. We dreamed of names for our new baby, the day Audrey would be out of diapers, of living in San Diego.

We visited on vacation for the next three years, doing more dreaming about "what ifs" and "if onlys." Then the dream of living at the beach came true. And look how close we were! From A to B.

And as life got hard, the VOD was still a place of dreaming, a place a refuge for me. For friends and family lived in the VOD and supported us and loved us and encouraged us to keep on dreaming in the midst of what seemed nightmarish as we dealt with hard diagnoses, pain, heartache, and shattered dreams.

Something about the ocean, about the Valley of Dreams causes Toben and me to dream. Maybe it's just being away from our normal routine, from the overly familiar that makes us stop to dream bigger and imagine life could be different. Maybe it's just being on vacation. Whatever the reason, it was good to dream. Dreaming gives us an unlimited number of things to talk about.

Do you ever feel like you've run out of things to talk about together? We sure do. We've gone out for dinner because someone has offered to watch the kids and then sat across the table not really sure what to say. Conversation starts and stalls and we go home feeling like we maybe just should've stayed home and saved ourself some money.

Dreaming together is a big part of what this new ministry Toben's working with is about. Daring to imagine our lives could be different somehow. It takes courage and imagination. Anything goes in dreaming, which is what makes it fun. Yes, sometimes dreams become goals and things to pursue, but dreams don't have to be logical or realistic or feasible or have three simple steps to achieve.

Just dream. Together. Start a conversation. "What if...?" 

What if you had unlimited finances?
What if you could go anywhere in the world?
What if your kids were grown?
What if you were retired?
What if you bought an RV?
What if you moved?
What if you learned to salsa?
What if you went back to school?
What if you started to dream together?

After all, if we don't dream, dreams can't come true.

Toben: The Shrink

I don't remember if I blogged much about this but I lost my my psychiatrist in Denver.  She just disappeared. That's a bad thing when you have a medical dependency on someone!  Without her, I don't get prescriptions, and without my meds I go nuts.  But here's a very cool thing that happened:  Joanne and the girls and I had planned a trip to San Diego for this weekend.  So when my doc vanished, I called the psychiatrist that I saw when we lived in San Diego and he fit me in for an appointment on the Monday before we come home.  Whew!  What a relief! The last thing I want to do is find a new shrink.  That's more than I want to deal with--explaining my history and why I am on this or that and having them want to monkey around with stuff is the WORST!  Glad to dodge that bullet this time around.

The whole story: His, hers, ours

I think that one of the cool things about this blog is the chance to hear both sides of the story. To hear from those of us who love someone who is bipolar or dealing with some other mental illness, to hear from those who are dealing with it themselves, to hear how God is working it out in the midst of relationships.

I don't mean to make it sound like there are sides. Maybe perspectives is the better word. Or points of view.

The truth is, it's hard to be in either set of shoes. I think because we're all stuck in our position and inside our part of the story, it's easy to think that this person has it harder than the other, that one person is in more pain, more turmoil.

But we're each dealing with what we know. And it's just plain hard sometimes. 

I can't tell you how helpful it is to hear from others who deal with what Toben deals with, who put things into words in a different way than he does. It give me insight into him, helps me understand him better, and makes me think. 

And I hope it works the other way too.

With love,

Joanne

P.S. Have to say though, that when I put aside my selfishness, my focus on myself and my own feelings and hurt and so on, I really do think that Toben has the harder road in this. He can't walk away from it. Though, really, I can't either. 

We're in it together for the long haul, and the more we love each other, the more his heartache merges with mine, the more his joy merges with mine, the more the edges of perspective start to blur and the more it just becomes our story.

Joanne: And other times it makes me mad

Mary left a comment (well, two!) on the post I wrote about Toben's illness making me sad. And I had to highlight it this one for a couple of reasons. Here's what she wrote:

And sometimes it makes me mad. I know I already commented on this post but I'm back to vent for a moment. The days when he sleeps. All. Day. Long. Those days make me angry. Even though the medication he is on now is way better than before, he still sleeps so much. The Saturdays when he wakes up at 11am, eats something and then lays down on the couch to rest...those days make me crazy. Those are the days I have 'that' conversation with myself. The one where I tell myself that it's just fine if he wants to sleep his life away. We'll just do our own thing. We'll go on day trips, hikes, picnics, movies...all without him. We did just fine without him for all those years when he was so heavily medicated that he wasn't involved in our lives at all and by golly we can do it again. I tell myself that we'll just go on with life without him. He gets angry when we make plans that don't involve him, but how can I make plans with a person that is unconcious? Are we supposed to just sit and wait patiently for him to decide he wants to be involved? And then anger turns to sadness and the tears come. Mental illness is a family disease. Most people just don't understand. Thanks J & T for creating a place where people get it.

I just had to come back and say "Me too." In fact, this could be describing Toben. (He did read it and might disagree, but from my perspective, it can look like this. Not everyday, certainly, but often. In fact, Toben's sleeping on the opposite couch right now.)

I have to remind myself that it's the medication and the illness, rather than going straight to thinking he's lazy and irresponsible. And I'll just go ahead and confess that there are days when that's really hard. Days when I just want to be so mad because it seems like he'd rather sleep than participate in whatever else the rest of the family is doing.

And I struggle because I sometimes don't know how to address it. I don't want to shame him (well, at times I do in the heat of the moment, but that's not really what I want) and make him feel awful about himself, but I also don't want him to sleep his life away or take a nap because he's too bored to find something else to do.

Mary and I have talked before about the importance and the very real struggle of finding the right time to talk about all this stuff together. Being the spouse to a bipolar person means you have to be careful not just about what you say but especially when you say it.

The other reason I wanted to highlight Mary's comment was to say thank you to Mary and so many others of you who have commented and supported us and prayed for us and said "Me too" to us. Knowing we are not alone is huge. Feeling like you're the only one dealing with something hard just stinks.

So thank you. 

Toben: Anxiety

It's been a tough couple of days.  Not sure what's going on. For some reason Anxiety is getting the best of me.  I am wondering if it has something to do with me coming off of Ambien? 

The other thing is that I have had a bunch of triggers this week.  First off, my psychiatrist, who I dependent on for me meds, dropped off the face of the earth.  I called to do a phone appointment and was told that she left the practice and left no forwarding information.  So I asked to be referred to another doctor in the practice and was told that couldn't happen for reasons I am still not sure I understand.  So I am scrambling trying to find someone who can see me and keep prescribing me my meds.  I am hoping to see my psychiatrist in San Diego when we are out there next week. He is the best I have ever seen and I would love to get a session in with him.

Work is pretty stressful too.  There is so much to do and I feel a little like I am doing the Lone Ranger thing.  I have a lot of people around me who have great ideas of what we could be doing, but then it comes down to me to make it all happen.  Not sure what to do about that except to keep chugging along trying to stay on top of things the best I can.  I spend a lot of time feeling like I am running behind, being reactive instead of proactive, and that's just not the way I like to work.

The big issue is that I know something is going on chemically. It is weird to feel my body having anxiety reactions to the most minor things.  My head gets light, my stomach feels hollow, my hands and forearms tingle and it is almost impossible to concentrate.  My mind just starts spinning.  It is such an awful feeling. And logic doesn't do anything to help--I can't talk myself out of whatever is going on.  I had a similar week or two back about three months ago, so I am assuming it'll pass and that this is just a "normal" part of dealing with mental illness.  Most of the time the meds will hold it at bay, but other times I am just going to have to accept that the craziness is going to get the better of me. Just hoping that it passes soon. It is an ungly feeling.

Joanne: Sometimes it just makes me sad

Toben is bipolar. In the past six years since he was diagnosed, it's just a fact of life. We've been married for almost 18 years. We have two children. We live in Phoenix. Toben is bipolar. It just is.

And in the past three years or so after the diagnosis and treatment and drama of all that, it's become part of our normal. It's not something I stop to think about very often since I can't really do much about it.

But sometimes it moves to the forefront of our reality and I spend more time thinking about it than usual. And in the past few days since talking about it on the radio, since seeing comments on the program's Facebook page, since receiving email from those who listened, since getting comments here, it's been something Toben and I have talked about more than usual, something I've thought about more than usual.

And it makes me sad.

Because it's hard. It has changed our life, continues to change what would be normal otherwise. 

I don't spend time most days thinking about how life would be different or how Toben would be different or even how I would be different without bipolar disorder in our lives. Mostly I've accepted it. Yes, I wish it wasn't so, have prayed for Toben to be healed. But I think it's our thorn.

The Apostle Paul prayed for the thorn in his flesh (whatever it was) to be removed, but God said no. Because God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. In our lack, he provides. In our brokenness, he is glorified.

I've said it before--and I really do mean it--that this bipolar thing is a gift. Not one I'd wish on anyone, and certainly not one I wanted or asked for. But God has used it for much good in our lives and for his glory.

God has used it to ignite a passion in me for him, to challenge me to believe him like I never had before, to remind me of his sufficiency, to teach me humility, to encourage others--and so much more.

And that's something I need to remember in the midst of being sad about it. No, it's not bad to be saddened by it, to wish it were not part of our lives. But in the midst of remembering, I need to remember the truth of how God has worked it for good, of how he continues to work it for good.