Percieved Threat

My husband's daily mood medication is a good thing.  The man before meds was quite different than the man after.  Before meds, he was a quiet, cave dwelling hermit.  He was not particularly fond of other humans.  Sometimes they're ignorant fools, sometimes they're megalomaniacs, and most just have all around bad manners.  I suppose I wasn't very fond of people either, due to a few bad apples who spoiled the whole bunch.  Over the years, we have managed to collect a few friends.  Some were momentary buddies who left us with fond memories.  Some are still hanging on by a thread, who also live hundreds of miles away.  For about seven years now, all we really had was each other, and the kids, and that's all we really needed.  WRONG!  "Familiarity breeds contempt", and we were becoming waaaay too familiar... with our house, with our kids, with each other.  All my husband could relay to me was work related, and all I had to talk about was kids, and Dr Phil.  He needed friends, but would never admit it.  I needed friends, but I had no clue as to how to make them.  Who knew that all I had to do was get my husband medicated? 

As soon as his brain chemistry began to change, so did his social life.  His, not mine.  It started off slowly, with a little extra chit chat around the water cooler.  Then he began to stay a little later at the office.  Then came the evenings when he was repeatedly distracted with text messages, to and from, one or more of his co-workers.  Our conversations then began to revolve around them.  And then came the week of company sponsored social events. 

Have I mentioned that three of his four co-workers were young, single, flirtatious women?  The first one causes me no concern.  She's a wild woman of my own generation, a cougar on the prowl for a hunk of fresh meat... and it's all just a game.  She loves the party scene, but holds herself to a different standard.  She never drinks, or smokes, and had managed to secure her virginity for decades before relinquishing it to a long term relationship.  What she lacks in appearance, she makes up for in personality, and vibe, and friendship.  The second woman is an attractive, divorced single mother; the same age as our oldest daughter, with two daughters that are the same ages as our grandsons.  On top of being a flitty, flighty flake, she has a severe case of ADD.  She has tattoos and piercings and sells lingerie and naughty toys at parties.  She's often drunk, and sexually inappropriate.  She also shares a name with my dog, and so I hear and speak it every day.  Woman number three was actually married, but that didn't seem to matter, being that she had a reputation for "hooking up" with customers.  Even the only other male employee was desperately seeking a way out of his marriage.  He and Three even confessed to having "hooked up" after a social function.

Surrounded by the people that my husband used to bitch about daily, who are now his new best friends, I felt very confused and sad, like a fourth grader watching my BFF play hopscotch with the new kid.  I saw my quiet, and usually grouchy, husband laughing and joking, and even participating in the mature insinuations, and sexual innuendo   It was intended to be humorous, but I was not amused.  I began to feel more anxious and angry, like a teenage girl catching her high school boyfriend passing notes with the new girl.  We began to socialize with them after hours, and on weekends, sometimes until the late evening became the early morning.  He began to drink more often, socially of course, but even a few beers on a Saturday night was a few more than he had in a year of Saturday nights.  Even the kids thought he was suffering a mid-life crisis.

These new people were perceived as threats to my security, and many of my typical symptoms flew into full swing.  I struggled for weeks, bouncing back and forth between a situation that screamed of impropriety to me, and truly trusting my husband.  I know I seem naive, but honestly, he's an open book for me.  When my jealousy, distrust, and fury drove me to questioning, accusing, and snooping... he calmly offered me alibis, explanations, and access to his phone, Facebook, and tablet.  Even through my doubts, his support and attentiveness never diminished.

After several weeks of smiling through the pain, I began to get to know these women, and I could then see the ridiculousness of some of my jealousy.  I could also see where my true battles lie.  I know which of my defenses to fortify, and which weapons to keep in my arsenal. 

It's been nearly a year now, and my husband's coworkers have become my friends.  Real friends.  I have friends!  Yaaay!  Even some of their friends have become our friends.  The whole situation has changed our family dynamic, and we're all better off for it.  I get to entertain in my home, once again, as we are hosting parties and meals for every and any occasion.  We've gone to the movies more times in the past ten months than we have in the five years prior.  We've sampled new restaurants, and bars, seen live bands perform, and I even got up one night and sang the karaoke!

I still have my jealous moments, but I'm willing to suffer a little anxiety, in exchange for another year of living in love and laughter.

Ups and Downs

   
About six months ago, my husband began taking a mild mood enhancing drug... prescription, of course. As it did for me, the medication helped him a great deal. His anger just melted away, making him a much more personable man, easy to talk to, funny, and just an all around great guy. The way he used to be, before our kids became teenagers, and the economy nearly wrecked his career. He even dropped a few pounds, and began taking me out socially, like he did when we were in our twenties. On top of that, he had finally given in and gotten that vasectomy we'd been talking about for years, and I had been seen my doctor about an anti-anxiety medication to help me relax.

With all of these things coming together, it was no surprise that we would find ourselves coming together, a lot more often. Not that our sex life was lacking. Chemistry, compatibility, and electric excitement had never been an issue, but the frequency of encounters had diminished. It was a shame, too, because when we have an intense sexual history. That's what comes from a deeply committed partnership between two people who truly respect each other. We've felt comfortable enough to share our secret desires, including fetishes and dark fantasies, and we brought them into our bed. This is what you get from having a deep level of trust in a relationship. Hallelujah.


So, after a couple of years of sexual frustration, brought on by stressors coming at us from random directions, we're back to hitt'in it on a regular basis. I'd even say more than most couples our age, who have been married for more than fifteen years. It's funny, because 99% of the people we know see us as such a sweet couple, as they catch us mindlessly moving in synchronization, and finishing each other's sentences.  We're Ozzie and Harriet or Rosanne and Dan.  Wouldn't they be shocked to discover our freaky side. 


We've discovered, however, that my husband's medication is causing a very unwanted side effect.  It doesn't even matter how overcome with passion he may be, or how strong his erection, his gun won't fire.  It wants to, and God knows I want it to.  It's certainly cocked and ready, but the bullet always retreats just as the trigger is pulled.  We've tried every sexual thing imaginable trying to stimulate him further, even though we've already done everything before.  We did them all again.  He's tried meditation and relaxation techniques, to no avail.  He even decided to reduce his dosage, but that led to the partial return of the grump, so that idea was tabled.  The doctor says that this may last a few months, or it could last as long as he's on the meds.  It's a wait and see situation.


Sometimes, it's nice that he doesn't fire it off for long periods of time, if at all.  That gives me a very long time to play with his assets, and to enjoy his manual labor.  Believe me, "he's got magic hands".  It doesn't help me, though, when I'm lost in a sexual frenzy, and I want nothing more than that moment of feeling his warm fluids landing on, and dripping off of, various parts of my body.  That aspect of our problem leaves me very unsatisfied.  Not only that, but several hours of having his semen held captive by his body, and teasing him with it two or three times in a night, is enough to wear a man down, and the gun goes back in it's holster.  Now, by the time that this happens, I'm usually well pleasured, and so dehydrated that it's a battle to even gasp, and pull oxygen into my desert dry mouth and throat.  We both are equally ready to quit, with nothing really to complain about, but the thought of leaving him without a release, for months at a time, makes me feel bad.   

The only solution, besides waiting it out, may be adding another medication to the mix.  I know that Viagra will create a strong and lasting erection, but can it aid in unloading a load?

Medicated

Upon the diagnosis of BiPolar Disorder, my therapist referred me to a psychiatrist to verify her findings, and to start me on the common pharmaceuticals.  The psychiatrist bore a striking resemblance to Dr. Sydney Freeman, the Sigmund Freud protege from the television series, MASH.  I liked him for this, feeling almost starstruck.

After a complete workup from him, I was off to the pharmacy!  My life's unworthiness, unhappiness, instability, and overall general craziness could be cleared up with a tiny little pill, called Zoloft.    The first two weeks were not what I expected at all.  Even though both doctors explained how Zoloft would not begin working immediately.  It takes about two weeks to really get into my system and have it's desired effect on my brain. They warned me of the side effects that could occur, but when you're in the middle of the worst, skull splitting headache, and the most uncontrollable crying jag, one tends to forget what warnings they've been given.  Being bipolar, and somewhat of a hypochondriac, I went to my regular doctor to be diagnosed with an unexpected brain tumor.  No such growth.  She patted me on the back, and reminded me of the side effects of Zoloft.  Brief increased depression, and headaches being the top two.
So I suffered, and silently wondered what I had gotten myself into.  And then, that first morning came, when I woke up, and my eyes were finally opened, and not just literally.  I felt relaxed and confident that my husband was truly at work, and not philandering around town with a hitch hiker he may have picked up, or his female boss or coworker, or the clerk at the gas station... or any number of floosies I constantly imagined he was with.  I suddenly knew that the laughter on my neighbor's porch wasn't directed at me on mine, but really was due to the antics of the cute little puppy they had just brought home.  The reflection in my mirror, was so very similar to the many millions of normal looking women around this world.  It occurred to me that I really was loved by family and friends.  Why shouldn't I be, after all?  I was worthy.
For several months, I could breath easily, and life was good.  My sails were full of this Zoloft wind, and I glided happily along.  I hadn't even realized that I was sailing right into a full blown manic episode.  Probably because this one was different, full of confidence and security.  I delved into craft work, my fingers tirelessly threading and sewing until they blistered.  I branched out into online social networks and surrounded myself with a circle of friends and became intertwined with their personal dramas, through all hours of the night.  I was up at dawn, and out in the garden, trying to raise roses out of the sand, and wrestle peppers out of the mouths of our overpopulated squirrels.  I became notorious in my family for rearranging three rooms of furniture, painting the walls, baking some cookies, creating a woven basket, and having a home manicure in one afternoon... while chatting online the whole time! 
It was the most fabulous summer I had had in a very long time.  The ideas and ambition came effortlessly, and kept right on coming, until it all started coming to fast, and I couldn't keep up.  Before I could even begin work on my first notion, my mind was already working on a plan for the third.  And when I could no longer keep up, I began feeling useless.  I slept later and later in the mornings, I watched the soaps all day, and turned my husband away at night.  My crafting supplies gathered dust, the squirrels ate the garden, and I pushed all of my chat room buddies away.  But I didn't cry.  That was different.  Instead I became irritable.  And I began to notice that, for months, every time I felt the slightest anger, even if it was warranted, my husband's first response was "did you take your medication today?".  I got so sick of hearing that phrase, that I decided to quit.  I'd rather be angry and own it, than be a prisoner of the pills. 
I've been out of treatment for eight years now, and have been doing okay.  Not great, but okay.  I had learned enough about behavior and thought control from my therapist, that I can recognize many symptoms as they set in, and with some help from my family, I can guide my reactions in healthier directions.  Some days I do consider returning to medication, but I still fear losing my identity and validity.  I do long for therapy again, but even with my insurance plan, it's just too expensive.  In the meantime, I just keep on keeping on.  That's all anybody can ever really do.