When I was 23, I was into fortune-telling and mysticism. An acquaintance predicted a meeting with a guy.
I met him in the student dormitory. I was attracted to him by his charisma, intelligence, intelligence, interest in everything mysterious. I really fell in love with him for his inner world. He told me about his difficult fate, his evil stepfather, who wanted to take away his real estate, about the difficulties of life. He said he could read the tarot, was fond of chiromancy and the otherworldliness. He knew history perfectly, knew about psychology and philosophy. But he constantly kept me in suspense: “then I’m in destiny, then not. And then it turned out that he had schizophrenia. But he said that his relatives sent him to a psychiatric hospital on purpose.
He helped me with my thesis, we could talk for hours about everything. I convinced him to get married, thinking that our love could overcome everything. I tried to support him, even though I also have a complicated character. There were a lot of conflicts with his relatives. The apotheosis was my refusal to take pills and my hospitalization in a mental hospital. After a year again.
And now, two months later, I am trying to work and pray for him. But it pains me so much to listen to his insults and revealing that he regrets that he met me. Constant complaints about me. I did everything for him – cleaning, taking out the trash, buying groceries and trying to get him to take his medication. Sometimes I really feel like it was my fault for insisting on registering the marriage.
Today they took him away again for involuntary hospitalization, and I’m crying. Mentally I realize that I could go there too, but in my heart I want to continue the journey with this man who helped me through a difficult time in my life. And it hurt me to hear him insult me. And we have a married couple. And I’ve been carrying heavy bags to the mental hospital.
I don’t know what that spectrum of feelings is: love, addictive addiction, addiction, pity? I feel guilty that I couldn’t keep track of my medication. But I can’t always be in control. I still have a second college degree and need to prepare for a session. And I wanted to cry so badly when he wouldn’t even look at me at the dispensary. I mean, I tried so hard to be supportive. But I’m not ironclad. And I feel that my psyche is on the edge.
What to do, I don’t know.