It's terrible

When I'm feeling bitter about my marriage, I remind myself I got married under the influence.  I have a severe mental illness.  At the time I married I was completely unmedicated. 

For so much of my life, I was told my problems were related to a difficult upbringing.  Manias were "high spirits" "being a teenager" and "adolescent acting out".  Depressions were "understandable results of my early upbringing and family situation."  Hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia just scared the hell out of everyone I told, so I stopped talking. 

So, I staggered through life, trying to cope as best I could, literally enslaved by my manias and depressions - consumed by them... and no one to help. 

I did my best, really.  Medical professionals said, again and again, that while I had "a lot of problems" I "certainly wasn't bipolar". 

When Ron found me he saw "someone who liked sex as much as I did" - well, sick, I did.  He brags about how "good" and "wild" I was back then, little realizing it's like telling a woman how great she was after he roofied her.  I wasn't myself. 

Could I give consent, really, when I was manic?  I don't believe so.  It would make an interesting legal question. 

Could someone tell I wasn't right?  Or would they just assume they were just that persuasive?  I know Ron thought the latter. 

It didn't help for me, I was basically taught "Don't have sex before marriage because you'll get pregnant and we'll make you give the baby up for adoption." 

Well, Ron was fixed.  I didn't have to worry about getting pregnant. 

Then I was told "Only have sex with a man you intend to marry".  So that meant I had to love him and marry him - at least that's how I understood it. 

I know how that makes me look. 

I knew Ron had a lot of issues, but in my manic, "love conquers all" haze I thought the accident would have "fixed" him (instead, it made most of the issues far worse and added physical limitations as well).  Had I been "straight" - I have to wonder if I would have married him.

I probably would have helped him get into assisted living, been friendly and helped him out, and run like hell.  

Anyway, after Ron started drinking he got fixated on "my" sink.  I had some rinsed, but unwashed dishes.  I would take dishes out, wash them, use them, rinse them, and put them back in the sink. 

"Ron" I told him "If you want to help me clear out that sink, help me organize some cabinets so I have a place to put this stuff."  I have a lot of trouble figuring that out.  Executive functions, thank you so much Birth Mom for drinking while pregnant.   

Even though that's been the status quo - unless I get manic, in which case I always catch up on housework.  I'm not sitting around writing all day, crafting, shopping, reading - any of that.  When I have a mania I "spend" it on getting things up to code. 

I did organize one cabinet on my own.  

Ron married me on our 11th anniversary.  He had a very good idea what to expect. 

Anyway, a lot of ugly over a very small issue. 

Like I said, I take the "Will this matter in a year?" question, into question, before I determine my response level to an "insult". 

It also helps: I called my aunt, cried, vented, and listened to her tell me "It's terrible". 

It is.