I’m writing this from Casco Viejo in Panama. I am doing badly. Leaving the hotel room is a struggle. Twice I have had panic attacks in public. Mental illness is very real.
This week my husband has work to do. Our romantic vacation ends tomorrow and we go to a different hotel in another part of the city. While he works, I am supposed to do activities with the other wives. One day we are supposed to go shopping at a mall. The next day, and I was really looking forward to this, we are supposed to go to the Presidential Palace and meet the First Lady. More than likely, now I will not do either of these things. Instead I will stay in my hotel room alone.
Sadness weighs me down. I long so much to be normal and do all the things normal people do, but I can’t. I feel bad for my husband, who is usually so patient with me, but even he lost his temper last night. Being married to someone with Bipolar 1 Disorder and anxiety is rough.
My physical limitations have also come into play. At the Atlanta airport Craig had to push me in a wheelchair because I was unable to walk. It was humiliating. But I can’t walk more than about a block without pain.
At the end of it all, I feel like a disappointment and a recluse.
Life at Home 