Monique’s Story

When my husband began cutting himself using his carefully selected knives, sterilizing them first, then slicing his arm so neatly, that was the signal that life would never be the same. He’d had depression, and anxiety, but then, after the cutting and self-mutilation began he was also diagnosed as schizophrenic, then schizo-affective, then bipolar, borderline . . . He carried his diagnoses like he carried his scars, symbols of what he had become.       

Our marriage fell apart, but for several years I was his caretaker, making sure he was safe even though we lived apart. I immersed myself in his world, taking care of him and working whenever I could fit it in around his daily schedule of whatever was going on in his world – demons, psychotic breaks, hallucinations, side effects from the meds that were prescribed to make him better. He had several goals during that time. One was to write about his experiences so other people would know what it was like, and so others would know they were not alone. Another was to build a life for himself, to recover enough to begin his life anew. And my goal, besides keeping him safe and myself sane, was to write about it as well. I fought my own battles with my mental health during that time. He did stabilize, he started to see a future for himself, and it was then that he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I saw him through that too, until the very end.

In May of 2012 I completed and published An Uncommon Friendship: a memoir of love, mental illness, and friendship, a book that combines our writing from that time period as a story not only of mental illness and what it’s like for someone who has it, and someone who takes care of someone who has it, but also a story of what we’re willing to do for those we love.      

My goal now is to let other people know there is hope, and that when things are at their worst, we need to grab on to the little pieces of  joy we can find, because sometimes that’s the very best we can do.