Another excerpt (then I promise to write aboutmore cheery things for a bit) but I feel that right now, this is important in my life and I think many other can benefit from this as well.
But, as I well knew, and understanding at an abstract level doesnot necessarily translate into an understanding at a day-to-day level. I have become fundamentally and deeply skeptical that anyone who does not have this illness can truly understand it. And, ultimatly, it is probably unreasonable to expect the kind of acceptance of it that one so desperately desires. It is not an illness that lends itself to easy empathy. Once a restless or frayed mood has turned to anger, or violence, or psychosis, Richard, like most, finds it very difficult to see it as illness, rather than as being willful, angry, irrational, or simply tiresome. What I experience as beyond my control can instead seem to him deliberate and frightening. It is, at these times, impossible for me to convey my desperation andpain; it is harder still, afterward, to reover from the damaging acts and dreadful words. These terrible black manias, with their agitated, ferocious, and savage sides, are understandably difficult for Richard to understand and almost as difficult for me to explain.
No amount of love can cure madness or unblacken one’s dark moods. Love can help, it can make the pain more tolerable, but, always, one is beholden to medication that may or may not always work and may or may not be bearable. Madness, on the other hand, most certainly can, and often does, kill love through its mistrustfulness, unrelenting pessimism, discontents, erratic behavior, and, especially, through its savage modds. The sadder, sleepier, slower, and less volatile depressions are more intuitively understood and more easily taken in stride. A quiet melancholy is neither threatening nor beyond ordinary comprehension; an angry, violent, vexatious despair is both. Experience and love have, over much time, taught both of us a great deal about dealing with manic-depressive illness; I occassionally laugh and tell him that his imperturbability is worth three hundred milligrams of lithium a day to me, and its probably true……but if love is not the cure, it certainly can act as a very strong medicine.
An Unquiet Mind, A memoir of moods and madness, Kay Redfield Jamison p 173-175
And this is for my love:
Yet not once in the years we have been together have I doubted…love for me, nor mine for him. Love, like life, is much stranger and far more complicated than one is brought up to believe….. My life with….has become a safe harbor: an extremely interesting place, filled with love and warmth and always a bit open to the outer sea. But like all safe harbors that manage to retain fascination as well as safety, it was less than smooth sailing to reach
Id. p. 172-173
I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!