The Other Man and The Other Woman

There’s another man in my life. And another woman."Two lovers?" you say. "A man AND a woman?"Let me explain. I’m not unfaithful to my husband, nor am I bisexual. And no, I do not engage in menage a tois sessions.My other man and other woman are my psychiatrist and my psychologist.Since 1997, I’ve been seeing a sweet guy named Jeffrey. He prescribes my medication for bipolar illness, and he monitors the lithium level in my blood.And since 2005, I’ve been visiting an adorable woman named Suzanne. She carries on an ongoing conversation in my life for how to promote psychological health.This man and woman are invaluable. They bear a striking resemblance to "the other man" and "the other woman." "How?" you ask.

I can call them in the middle of the night, and they'll listen to me. These two are emotionally available to me, as lovers would be. If I says it’s an emergency, I can interrupt these people’s good night’s sleep. They care about my welfare. Granted, I’m paying them to watch over me, but they are there for me whenever I need them. (Incidentally, I don’t make a habit of bothering these two at night.)

They want me to dress nicely and wear make-up at all times. Looking nice is one of the indicators of good mental health. If you walk around with uncombed hair and no make-up and yesterday’s outfit, people might judge you to be mentally unstable. My health care professionals want me to look my best, to look pretty, as lovers would. But they don’t want me to look good for their benefit, only for mine.

We've shared our tears and our laughter together. I’ve formed strong bonds with my health care workers. I not only tell them my problems; they sometimes share theirs. They seem to want me to know that everyone has problems. We commiserate together, as lovers would.

I tell secrets to them that I don't tell my husband.I tell my health care workers secrets, as I would to lovers. My husband’s life and behavior is often dissected and hashed out by us. They often know news of my mental health before my husband does.

I can lie down when I'm with them.Yes, my health care workers have couches. If I wish, I may recline, as lovers would. But, of course, there’s no hanky panky going on. Only deep analysis of my bipolar condition.

We meet at the same time in the same place--alone together again. Yes, we have "clandestine" meetings. I see Jeff, my psychiatrist, four times a year, in his office. We meet together, all alone, as lovers would. I see Suzanne once every three weeks. We always leave our clothes on.

I couldn't have had my child without them. This sounds funny, but I needed letters from both of them to adopt my child. They vouched for my stability and the remission of my bipolar illness. When we got my son, they were the first two to receive cigars.

I seek guidance from them. Like I would from lovers, I seek direction from my health care workers. They help me make important choices in my life. From where I chose to live to whether or not to have another child, these two guide me, as lovers would.

I tell them every little thing. As I would with lovers, I share my life with them. We’re intimate in every way except... They are my confidants. They watch over me.Ultimately, as lovers would, these two take care of me. Even though they receive my money as payment for their services, I love them like family members.

I have another man AND another woman. How do I juggle these "affairs?"No, it’s not like that. They make my life easier, happier and healthier.And the good thing is they coexist peacefully with my husband. My husband even approves of these two people. He knows they make our family run smoothly.I have another man and another woman.And my husband doesn’t want to divorce me.Can you say that?

(SIDEBAR)What I don’t have with my other man and woman that those carrying on affairs would have with theirs:e GuiltHey, I’m not cheating on my husband.

SexAgain, we’re not playing around at our sessions. We’re working on my mental health.

That zany feeling that comes with being "in love."I have no warm, fuzzy, lovey-dovey feelings for my man and woman.

WorryIf someone sees us together in public, I have no fear. We’re not doing anything wrong.

Unexplainable body marks such as hickeys or rope burnsOf course, we don’t tie each other up, nor do we suck on each other.

Perfume and Cologne Odor on my ClothesThere’s no strange odors on my bod. I have no need to shower after I see them.

A love childYou get the message

Hello. It's been a while. Please enjoy "Mourning Period."

Let’s face it. Being diagnosed bipolar can be a huge trauma. The diagnosis often comes with hospitalization. And, with the diagnosis usually comes medication. As the medication begins to work, you begin to go through subtle changes, changes that may save your life, but changes that cause the "old you" to disappear.
The old you is gone. You are now a labeled, medicated version of yourself. And you’re much less proud. Bipolar illness is quite humbling.
How does the body deal with the loss of the old self?
Let’s face it. Most of us go through a mourning period after we’re diagnosed.
I got very sad after I was diagnosed. It seemed as though the new me was more than I could handle. I now had a major mental illness and took lots of pills every day.
It’s simple. I was in mourning.
This period of mourning lasted a few months. It was the body getting used to the new me.
Thank goodness, after the mourning period, I noticed that acceptance of my illness began to seep in.
If you’re recently diagnosed, and you notice that you’re very sad, not necessarily depressed, just sad, you may be in a period of mourning.
There are things that can help you through this. Some ideas are below:
Be easy on yourself. You’re in a period of transition.
Talk to your friends about what’s going on in your life. Take comfort in their kind condolences.
Keep a diary of your feelings.
Go swimming early in the morning. Dive into an icy cold pool. Swim 20 laps.
When you’re grocery shopping, treat yourself to a bakery brownie.
Don’t wear black; wear hot pink.
Don’t go out of the house without make-up; you’ll feel better.
Lean on your significant other.
Don’t hang up on the charity that phones you for money.
If you’re weepy, wear sunglasses.
Take a long bike ride or a long walk. Breathe in the fresh air.
If you don’t have one, invest in a cat.
Take a short retreat at a neighborhood hotel. Check in alone or with someone you love. Luxuriate in the hotel bed; watch as much t.v. as you want; swim in the hotel pool. Eat crackers and cheese. Drink lemonade.
Invest in a facial. Pamper yourself.
Plant marigolds in Styrofoam cups like you did when you were in kindergarten; watch them grow.
Invest in some music from around the world. Dance to the exotic beats.
Go to church, any church. Pray to your higher power for strength. Offer your suffering up to the higher power. Seek acceptance of the new you.
Throw away clothes you never liked.
Open up a bank account at a new bank. Call it "vacation fund." Deposit $25.00.
Be nice to someone less fortunate than yourself. Go out of your way for them.
Investigate a European cruise. Put $20.00 into your vacation fund.
Take Spanish. At least the new you will also be bilingual.
Tell a stranger on the bus why you’re in mourning.
Send yourself flowers to commemorate the old you. Make it a big, splashy spray. Write out one of those little cards to say "You will be missed..."
If you have a fireplace, make a fire.
Go to a bipolar support group. Learn that it could be worse.
Take a two-hour bubble bath.
Get lost in a wonderful memory. Remember the time you were in Mexico in an open-air hut with a real monkey climbing around in the rafters. Remember how blue the water was. Remember the mild sunburn you got. The cream as it went on your hot, dry skin.
Drink a toast to yourself with some bubbly cider. Use a real crystal glass.
Go shopping. Buy one new outfit. If you can’t afford new clothes, take in the sights and sounds of the mall. Get yourself a fountain drink.
Get lost in a wish. That you will some day be a mother or a father; despite this illness, you will cradle an infant in your arms.
Go to some good theater. Reflect upon how theater can teach us about tragedy. Realize that you’re the star in your own heartbreaking show. Take a bow.
A memory. The warm spring air. The fresh green buds.
You will make it through this, you realize. You can feel happiness returning.
Know that with living comes change.
Deep emotion, whether happy or sad, is something to rejoice in. It means you’re human.
Take this mourning period to get adjusted to the new you, to mourn the old self.
You are simply changing.
For the better.