Two plates have been broken in this house in the past week and neither of them were by my doing. The first one tweaked my o.c.d. more than anything because now I have three of that kind instead of four. Bummer. This one though…
Hand painted by a high school friend with a tiger lily on it and a quote from Bob Marley. It was beautiful. I had four hand painted plates, three by friends, one by me. Now I have three. I am literally mourning the loss of a plate right now. I’ve had it for ten years and I’m so disappointed in my husband for leaving it where he did and it getting knocked down by my dog.
Of course he is turning this on me. Blaming me for not better disciplining the dog and preventing the whole thing in the first place. Neither of us were in the room when it happened but of course now I recall the exact moment I heard it drop to the ground and what my mind warped that sound into thinking it was. Now my husband is going to bed mad at me and I’m out in the living room writing.
Why is a plate important? Well. It has a story. My very first manic episode, three full years before diagnosis of bipolar disorder and having my second one, this plate was made. When you’re manic you are on top of the world in your mind and boy was I flying high. I was 19 and I literally moved out of my parents home for the first time, bought a VW van with my estranged uncle’s money, and begin planning a trip with friends in said van. Thing was, I needed money, so we started making plates to sell.
At this time I think people thought I was just finally breaking out of my shell. I was sucking people into my world and dreams instead of raising eyebrows and causing worrying. I had a lot of support. I sold some of the plates but I wound up keeping four and I’ve had them ever since.
I didn’t go on the trip. I sold the van. I got my first dangerous taste of being an adult and paying bills and it wasn’t pretty. So parts of this plate story are good, parts are bad, but with some things… I just have an attachment… and when it’s been in my kitchen for ten years through five moves I just feel so sad that in five seconds it was destroyed.
I feel slightly manipulated by my husband right now as I often do, if I’m being honest. He turns things on me. He shifts the blame. Yes, it was the dog technically, but he left food on it and had it within his reach. I’m not even going to try to talk to him about this because I think he will just find a way to make me feel shitty.
I question my marriage sometimes and it’s usually when/during fighting and what happens afterwards. I may have a two year college degree but being bipolar and having been on the multitude of medications over the years I struggle with my memory sometimes. I think he knows that and uses it to his advantage. He can confuse me in a heart beat and I’m left feeling overwhelmed and not knowing what to say.
Sometimes I don’t even try to fight. I shut down and go hide in my bed. It’s almost worse because then he won’t leave me alone. He can actually be really intimidating when he won’t stop talking and I’m just laying there, blank.
I’m working hard to control my emotions these days as my medications are changing. I don’t want any pointed fingers saying I shouldn’t be changing them because of behaviors that I might be showing. I think I’m doing great and I’m proud of myself for how I handled this really, but yes, I blamed my husband for this second broken plate (and the first) and I’m not sorry… I just wish he would have been.