Mental illness sucks. Like cancer and other harmful diseases, it's unfair and stupid. It not only affects your loved one, but it begins to encroach into your life, too. This schizophrenia robs you of your fiancé for hours at a time and replaces him with a cold, unloving shell of his former self. I keep telling myself that it's just the disease talking but regardless, I feel sad. It's like Jose is drowning and I'm trying to pull him out of this deep hole but I can't, I just can't hold onto him. He slips past my fingers and he's gone. He won't talk and he won't smile. He just wants to be left alone and not speak to anyone. Any attempt to try and break his silence is met with antagonism and anger. In an instant, the sweet boy everyone knows is uncaring and unreasonable.
I never know what will set off an episode, so I stopped trying to figure it out. I try to understand how his brain works when he's like this but it feels like I'm trying to decode a maze wrapped inside out. Nothing makes sense. What might have made him shrug a few days ago is suddenly the worst thing you could have said to him. Ideas that were fine with him yesterday morning are now the source of frustration.
I feel I'm not equipped to handle this or I don't do a good enough job to be a shoulder for Jose to lean on. It hurts when the voices in his head start telling him mean things and he takes it out on me. Why do these hallucinations have to target me when all I want to do is help? Again, I have stopped trying to comprehend because I know they're not real.....but they're real to Jose and that's what saddens me. The new medication helps but not always. Jose told his doctor the voices have gotten worse with time and especially when he's stressed. She agreed with him and really offered no other help. The new meds are still very much new, so who knows if it's a matter of adjusting to them and giving them more time. I've suggested many times he talk to a professional but I can't force him.
So how do we break through when an episode is going on? The only thing that has worked. Talking through it. I told him I will never stop trying to talk to him. I reach into the murky silence and do my best to pull him out. The voices fight against me the entire time. But I keep pushing through. And sometimes we cry because it feels hopeless. Jose cries because he feels things don't get better. That nothing works. That no matter how much you try to fix the situation, it keeps coming back. It kills me knowing that this episode will not be the last. There will be others. Worse ones. Easier ones. Some that feel exactly the same, so much that we both say it feels like the illness takes us in circles. My dream of reaching into his brain and removing this dumb disease will never come true. But I love him and that's why I keep fighting. I tell him every single time. I am here and I will always be here until I no longer have any strength left in my body.
When an episode passes, I get my Jose back. He's making jokes and talking like his old self again. He's cuddling our cat and showing me funny videos on his phone. He's reasonable and understanding again. He likes life again and he feels hopeful. He wants to post on social media again. He's out of the abyss and things return to normal. I try never to take "normal" for granted. Normal is nice. Normal is boring. Normal is familiar. Normal is planning this wedding and we agree on all the big things while trying not to sweat the little things. You never appreciate normal more than when things are NOT normal. Value normal. Cherish it. There are great moments lost in the quiet of normal. Normal is a thing of beauty and you're lucky if you can have it for years.
Jose's disease masquerades as an obstacle. It tests our resolve. It tries to stand in our way and ask if we're really committed. Do we really want to get married and grow old together? And to that I say: YES. You're damn right we do. I know I'm not some savior that has to rescue Jose every time he falls into a deep hole. I am his partner. I am standing along the edge of the deep waters and looking in, hoping he will see me there and start swimming back up, on his own. He can do it. I know he can. He knows I will never leave him alone in there. I think that's what marriage means to me. We all just swim in different pools. Some are deeper than others. Some are shallow or barely reach our ankles. Sometimes they go up to our knees and we can wade through the problems with ease. Schizophrenia, manic depression, tremors and all the other things that come in this life of ours are swirling together trying to sink us further. But we won't let them....nope. We aim for the surface.
