Cussedness Corner

"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane

Patterns of insanity?


Although I have read a great deal on mental health and taken a couple of basic college courses in psychology, I can only make guesses about a lot of things.

H had patterns that I only recognized as patterns after I had been free of him for many years. It took time and distance to begin to figure out what had actually been going on.

He cried at movies, cared for animals, and wrote Sovay christmas stories. Each December, on the first of the month, he would write a new ‘chapter’ of a story that featured her stuffed animals, adding another chapter each morning, and by Christmas morning the story would be complete and the stuffed animals would save Christmas. He did that from the time she was four until she was ten. We left him successfully three months after she turned eleven so, of course, there was never another story.

It delighted her.

I was married to him for fifteen years. He had cycles, just like a bi-polar, but instead of them taking days, weeks, or months; they took years. Nothing I have been able to find in researching this in the years since we parted matches up with it.

All that I can do is describe the pattern. At one end of the swing, he was sweet, caring, almost vulnerable. At the other end of the pattern, H was a raging maniac, destroying everything around him in a borderline delusional fit, certain that anything he wished to do was right and just.

As far as I can tell, the swings progressed from the bottom of the curve to the top for periods of around two to three years, cycled down and came up again. So it took years to make the complete circuit. There was always a major disaster when he hit the top of the curve.

It has been postulated that because H was a transsexual, what I was really seeing was the outward manifestations of his inner war between the female and male sides of his personality, with one half being ascendant over the other at various periods. This may well be true, and somewhere in this is the key to it all.

Certainly, once he had fully become she, the anger and rages ceased. But that happened long after we broke up. Five years ago, I received a weeping apology from H, which went on for hours. She hated the person that had been H, as much as I did at the end.

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This entry was posted on May 6, 2008 by in legion of nitwits, memoir and tagged , , , , .

Janrae Frank

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