I love my husband

Sometimes I worry I present an imperfect picture.  You often hear about the bad deeds, the "failures", etc.... but what about the good things? 

I don't know - actually I do - God got into him.  Ron is incredibly appreciative now.  He can't say enough nice things - and he means it.  That is huge to me. 

"I can't run this business without you... I'd be lost without you." 
"Wow, you are so strong!" 
"Thank you for helping me"

It goes a long way towards making up for past "sins".  It's what I always wanted. 

I do my best to return the favor, but I could probably do a better job.  I make a point to thank him for paying the bills, etc., because that's his love language.  But, like I said, I can work on that. 

I hope I can always be used in conjunction with the word "teachable". 

Ron is also great about sacrificing personal time to travel with me.  I'm "on the bus".  Many things, however, are not.  Church, for instance.  12 miles in a car, 22 minutes.  On paratransit, up to an hour each way.  On the bus, impossible.  Well, the bus will get me 2 miles closer to my destination... but 10 miles is a long walk on a busy road without a sidewalk!   Yet, every other week, he signs up for a 5 hour round trip to church. 

He doesn't make me beg, either.  I like that.  I really appreciate the trips to Walmart, etc.  Can you imagine trying to bring home heavy groceries on the bus?  I've done it - not fun. 

Really, without the rides on paratransit my life would be very difficult.  He's happy to take my to the doctor (that's an all day trip), blood tests, pharmacy.  Groceries.  Cat food.  I make a lot of trips. 

(I try not to take advantage, and we plan "Metro free days" on a regular basis). 

I "need' more than a normal woman, but it's not a big deal to him.  He likes providing for my needs. 

That's the nice thing about us - it's not one person taking care of the other.  Today, the sales tax form came in the mail.  I am terrified of it, scared to death I will lose it.  I dread important papers.  I *will* lose it.  Yet Ron is happy to go file it (he uses brailled envelopes).  I'll read it aloud and fill it out at his direction, he holds it until that moment. 

Let's recall last year, when I mailed the check without filling out the amount.  Ron was really nice about it.  Most "bosses" would have gone purple, especially since we could have faced a penalty fee. 

He's really understanding about my terrible housekeeping, as long as I don't touch "his" counter or sink.  He has clean clothes, clean litterboxes, happy cats, plenty of delicious food, so he's content.  Most men would berate me constantly. 

Ron understands: I have brain damage.  I really have trouble planning, sorting, and organizing.  He also understands I am highly medicated on top of that, which fries what little brain I've got left. 

In return for his understanding, I do whatever I can, and direct all manias into either housecleaning or yardwork. 

He's just happy I can work, and help him fix the machines.  "I'm part mechanic" I told someone recently, and Ron agreed.  He values that more than a spotless countertop. 

How can we forget living with me, through 14 years of flaming insanity?  I was no treat, let me tell you, especially right before diagnosis.  His problems and mine fed off each other in a perfect storm of screaming arguments.   It's a miracle I didn't kill him.  I sure thought about it. 

I'll never forget Ron, the night of my diagnosis.  I was told I am bipolar.  Insane.  My thoughts immediately went to my mother, who did absolutely everything wrong and had a terrible life, dying homeless in a motel by the freeway, in her underwear, a 2 liter bottle of vodka close at hand.   That, to me, was bipolar.  I had no positive role model: the responsibly medicated person with a good quality of life.  (I strive to be that person now)

No, I'm insane.  "Well," I thought "That's the end of my marriage.  Ron won't stick around for this."  I wouldn't.  The mental health professional could tell I was very discouraged, and he said "I need to talk to your husband?  What does he look like?"  I described him.  The man left. 

He came back in, much brighter.  "Well, I told him you have bipolar disorder."  I wondered how it had gone, and tried to ask, but he was more concerned with giving me some (bad) referrals and getting me discharged.  At least, I thought, they didn't want to put me in the hospital anymore. 

Thank God I was uninsured. 

I was discharged and headed out to Ron, sitting patiently in the waiting room.  "You heard, huh?"  Ron looked up at me (yes, even blind). 

"There you are!" he said with relief  "Let's get you out of here!" 

"You, ah, heard I'm bipolar?" 

Ron shrugged.   "Yeah, I heard.  He said they've got medication.  Let's go get some dinner!" 

That's why I love him.