Life with Bipolar Disorder, NPD, and PTSD

Living with Bipolar Disorder (BPD) is an emotional rollercoaster. My moods swing from the dizzying heights of mania to the suffocating depths of depression, often without warning. Adding to this, both my husband Nick and I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which brings its own set of challenges. Being married to Nick, who also has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), feels like navigating a minefield while blindfolded.

When I first met Nick, neither of us was looking for a relationship. We connected online, exchanging messages that started as casual conversation and soon evolved into something deeper. We shared stories, laughed at our quirks, and slowly, without even realizing it, fell in love.

Nick's confidence and charm were magnetic. He made me feel special in a way I had never felt before. What initially seemed like strength and self-assuredness soon revealed itself to be a relentless need for admiration and control.

Nick's narcissism manifests in many ways. He needs constant validation and is quick to criticize if things aren't perfect. Any slight against him, real or perceived, leads to explosive arguments where I'm left feeling like I'm walking on eggshells. His grandiosity knows no bounds—he's convinced of his superiority and expects everyone around him to reinforce that belief. It’s exhausting, trying to keep up with his insatiable need for praise while managing my own emotional turbulence.

PTSD adds another layer of complexity. My PTSD stems from a traumatic childhood and the devastating loss of my son, Talyn, who passed away when he was only eight weeks old. Talyn was premature and sick when he was born, and losing him has left an indelible mark on my heart. Nick's PTSD, on the other hand, stems from his experiences in the war. I can't and won't discuss whatever happened to Nick in war that caused his PTSD; that is between him and the military. This shared condition should ideally foster empathy, but Nick's narcissism often prevents him from seeing beyond his own needs.

When we met, Nick's mother, who was born with schizophrenia, was still alive. I helped take care of her while Nick was at work. I did this out of love, right up until she passed away. This added responsibility deepened my connection to Nick, but it also highlighted his inability to reciprocate the care and understanding I showed him and his family.

One of the most challenging aspects of our relationship is the lack of empathy. My emotional needs often go unmet because Nick is so focused on himself. When I try to express my feelings, he either dismisses them or twists the situation to make himself the victim. It’s a constant struggle for validation, and more often than not, I end up feeling more isolated and misunderstood.

Despite these challenges, there are moments when our connection feels genuine and profound. In those fleeting times, I see glimpses of the man I fell in love with, and I cling to the hope that we can find a way to make it work. But these moments are few and far between, often overshadowed by the daily grind of managing our respective disorders.

One night, I was jolted awake by Nick shaking my shoulder. My heart raced as I tried to grasp what was happening. "Can you make me some ramen noodles?" he asked, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world at 3 AM. The first time he woke me, I did not yet know better than to question him. I didn’t know how to respond at all, as I had never had a partner act in this manner before. My initial reaction was a mix of confusion and irritation. Why couldn't he make them himself? Why wake me up for something so trivial?

But I learned quickly. Any resistance would lead to an argument that would leave me feeling even more drained. So, I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy with exhaustion, and stumbled into the kitchen. As I boiled water and prepared the noodles, a familiar sense of resentment bubbled up inside me. It wasn't just about the noodles—it was about the constant demands and the lack of consideration for my well-being.

The problem is, even after I respectfully asked him not to wake me up like that, it continues. Almost 10 years later, I'm still struggling with him waking me up at all hours for something. This kind of scenario plays out more often than I'd like to admit. Nick's needs always come first, and I'm expected to cater to them regardless of the time or my own state of mind. It's an endless cycle of give and take, where I give and he takes, leaving me depleted and emotionally spent.

A good chunk of the time, Nick asks me to spend time with him when I should be doing something else. When we get done with the quality time, and he wants something, he asks why it's not done as I am just getting started on it. I tell him I can't be in more than one place at a time. "I can't sit in the garden with you, and be expected to have dinner ready when you decide to come in after. It just doesn't work that way." He doesn't understand how I can't spend time with him and get anything done at the same time, when all he wants to do when off work is sit around.

Nick refuses to seek therapy, counseling, or even a psychiatrist. He believes there is nothing wrong with him and that psychiatric drugs would take away his ability to work with the licenses he carries for his job. I believe intervention would be a game changer, but Nick thinks he can self-medicate with Budweiser and Newports. His denial of the need for professional help is one of the biggest obstacles in our relationship.

What frustrates me even more is that everything I complain to him about, he continues to do, even though he knows I am furious about his behavior. For instance, he leaves plates of food on the table in the bedroom when he leaves for work in the morning. This isn't just breakfast either. Most of the time, it's food he didn't finish eating the night before and fell asleep eating. He always falls asleep eating something. He refuses to eat during the day, in anticipation of falling asleep after eating. I'm really getting sick and tired of cleaning up after his messes.

The psychosocial dynamic of our relationship is a delicate balance. My mood swings, characteristic of bipolar disorder, keep me tethered to Nick despite the emotional toll. During my manic phases, I feel invincible and capable of handling anything, including Nick's demands. But during depressive episodes, his constant need for attention and validation becomes unbearable, further deepening my sense of helplessness.

In therapy, I've learned about the importance of boundaries and self-care, but implementing these lessons is a daily challenge. Setting boundaries with someone like Nick often leads to more conflict, and my need for self-preservation sometimes outweighs the effort required to set those boundaries. Yet, I'm determined to find a way to coexist without losing myself in the process.

Living with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, and being married to someone with NPD is a constant test of resilience. Every day brings new challenges and emotional hurdles, but I'm learning to navigate them one step at a time. The path is far from easy, but with each small victory—whether it's standing up for myself or finding a moment of peace—I move a little closer to reclaiming my sense of self.

Managing my disorders while supporting someone with NPD and PTSD is draining, but it has also taught me a lot about my own strengths and limits. I've learned to find moments of solace in small things, like a quiet morning coffee or a walk in the park. These moments remind me that I am more than my diagnosis and my marriage. They remind me that, despite the exhaustion and the turmoil, there is hope for a better, more balanced future.

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