I Hate Bipolar

Today, things are playing in my head from things that my husband said to me and my children recently.

"Mommy's a liar, kids, did you know that?"
"You're not a doctor, your opinion doesn't matter.  Kids, did you know Mommy is just a nurse, not a doctor?" [I'm still puzzled at how being a nurse is an insult.]
"You must really like tatting." [said snidely about a new hobby I'm enjoying.]
"You're mean!" [because I didn't drop everything I was doing to run and get him a prescription; I was ready to go 10 minutes later, but he started a fight and told me how mean I was.  Oh, and I'd already been to the store once that day for him.]
"When you cuddle the kids at bedtime, it makes it harder for me to get them to bed the nights you're not here."  [He hated me spending any time with them. He would be incredibly jealous and come up with "reasons" why I was parenting wrong. Incidentally, these nights are few and far between since he forced me to change jobs.]

I KNOW he was just being a hurtful, hateful asshole.  And maybe the bipolar was taking over.  But you know what else I know? 

He absolutely made the choices that got us here.  He chose to go off of his medications.  He chose to belittle and berate me for calling the police during his last severe bipolar breakdown and told me he would never forgive me if I did it again.  He absolutely chose to tell me he would never go back on medications and if I pushed him, he'd never forgive me for that either.  He chose not to go to the hospital against the suggestions of therapists and his wife (who is, after all, just a nurse with no valid opinions).

He also absolutely made the choice that he would treat his bipolar with a vegan diet and tons of exercise, which lasted less than 6 months. 

He made the choices that alienated my daughter whom he adopted.  He made the choice to ruin our family vacation in August. 

He made those choices, not me.

I do remember a time when he was proud of me for being a nurse, thrilled whenever I baked, happy to see me creating beautiful things, and respectful of my time and told me how wonderful of a mother I am.

That allllll ended sometime in the last year, and unfortunately this is the reality of our relationship now.

I deserve to be treated better than that.  My children deserve to be treated better than that.  And they deserve to know that the way he has chosen to treat us is not healthy and is not OK.  That doesn't mean we have to hate him or be cruel in return, but the ability to stand up for ourselves is really a rather big deal.  And I'm glad my children are learning the difference.