Is this the way Co-Parenting Is Supposed to Be?

It was the best of nights, it was the worst of nights. I was on an emotional high because I went to a meeting where I didn’t feel threatened, I felt accepted. At the same time, with what has happened over the past few days, that got shot down in a matter of moments. My new victory, was now, called back, due to a penalty on the play. I had went to my first, of I what now know, won’t be the last of my manic depressive support groups, also known as bipolar disorder. I found it through the, meetup, website. Chalk one up for social media. In my meeting we did the whole go around the table getting to know you thing and from there it was my turn. I went through yet another re-hashing of my Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner bit, telling my story, not the complete blow by blow, but just a simple highlight reel. Now again, no one in this group is a licensed practitioner of psychology or a psychiatrist. People in my meeting looked just like me, ordinary. Nothing spectacular, its just a collection of people who are wrestling with, living with, and most important, becoming the master of their disorder. First, I never knew how blessed I was in the sense that, despite all the hell I have gone through, I get out my apartment. I will go out and in the community. I will go to the bookstore, I will go to the gym, I will go to the movies. Some people I met tonight are in some cases waking from their hibernatetive state. I mean that as it sounds because depression, if unabated, can turn your house into an edifice for an emotional prison in some cases a mausoleum. It was so odd hearing the question come up, how many of you thought about killing yourselves this week. About 25% of the hands in the room went up. I am glad they are here to joke about it but the reality is bipolar disorder does have a high suicide rate. It will rip a family apart. Again, Jean doesn’t have a diagnosis. But after presenting some of the episodes I experienced, the jury came back quick; your ex spouse needs and assessment. I didn’t want my experiences to dominate the conversation so, I did something which is hard for me, I listened. I felt like Jack Klugman’s Quincy character because I was on the outside trying to find more information about something I couldn’t control, life and possible death. In one story, a mother’s son, killed himself, which then put her into a state of psychosis, and thus she became manic-depressive. In another case, a woman who was married to her alcoholic husband for 28 years, came home to find out he decided to end his life. Going around the room, one person, who lost their baby, their marriage, a lucrative career, tried to OD on zanax. One person, his story shook me the most. He had thoughts of killing himself but what stopped him was that he didn’t want to leave a mess for his partner to clean up. Going into this world, if only for a moment, opened my eyes yet again to the need for some type of health care reform. Most HMOs don’t address mental illness. My God. But if you do get a doctor, their fees are just cost prohibitive in today’s economic climate. Like I said, my doctor, he’s going to have to take a pay-cut. $120.00 per hour, damn. As I listened to these folks, I was on the outside looking in. Some of their stories shocked me; others made me laugh. What I was impressed with the most was this: they listened to me, and no while they could not offer a diagnosis, they did help to confirm my suspicions and were just there, if only for the moment, allowed me to feel I wasn’t alone. That said, there is a part that left me trembling. In most cases, the one who may get the diagnosis, well before they realize they need help, they will bottom out. Marriages are destroyed meaning the one person with the disorder in fact may experience multiple marriages, all destroyed. One may loose their job and become do debilitated to the point where looking for another job is impossible because they are entombed by depression. There are some times I don’t know what to say. In the meeting, I raised the question, did I bring this on my wife. You see one who has bipolar, well they are the ultimate tale of Jekyll and Hyde. It just takes a trigger to bring out the monster of mania within. Here is what I learned. I am not a trigger-man. Triggers exist, they are out there, but no one person, particularly a loved one should be considered one’s trigger. The one who has the disorder ultimately is responsible for their behavior and treatment. Until they accept that, they will at best be mastered by the disorder. One thing they were all of the opinion of. When a person is in a manic state, be it euphoric or angry, they can become a danger to themselves.
Hearing that, coupled with a series of evasive communiqués from Jean I think brought me down to a level where I was not too happy with myself. Basically, there was another miscommuniqué . I’m feeling that way because I, for this week, was to have RedChief for our regular visit. Mind you, Jean and I had a disagreement where before, I felt the need to assert boundaries. Why did I do that? I just felt that it was time that RedChief knew that he had a home with dad too. (Granted it’s a work in progress) I felt strongly that Jean was not working to facilitate a smooth transition for him. In fact, looking at one of my texts on separation and divorce, these actions could be called “creating frustrating contact with the other parent.” Saturday was no exception. Though we had talked about when the vacations would begin, we never had a straight-up agreement. Then looking further at it, her actions really seemed more vindictive, almost punitive. On top of that, my senses were just working overtime. I tried at first to appeal to her sense of logic and fair-play. This was met with limited success. Sunday was no better. When I was able to communicate with RedChief the communication was just horrible. The phone was placed in front of him, while he was watching television. I can’t be mad at him, he’s just a kid, trapped between two damn foolish parents who love him,. The next day, I hold to my position, expecting our son to be at the designated spot for parental exchanges. No Go. In fact, Jean tells me in email and text that I will not be seeing my son, regardless of the custody agreement. Its here where I almost start to cry, because I am having flashbacks to when all this started. If you ever have your child taken from you, you can easily drown in the emotions. One woman told me last night that when their child was in her custody, the child placed a handprint on the television. Every time the sun shines, that handprint comes into full focus. Then she is inundated by emotions. The same is true for me with the film curious George. I see George in the Jungle, causing mischief basically being a kid in the jungle. All the other kids liked him, but the adults were pissed, and I see George go alone into his pile of leaves in a tree, and the song goes, “Is this how life is supposed to be.” I see George, I see RedChief, and then I see myself as a little boy, then come the tears. Why is it that kids are the recipients of such stupid ass treatment by adults. My mom wanted me but was she ill-equipped to handle me. We both want RedChief but are we emotionally equipped?
On to my night ride of last night. After my meeting, after numerous failed attempts to locate him, after hearing him on the phone in what appeared to be a depressed state, I was not going to be satisfied until I put my eyes on him in the flesh. Again, there is so much distrust between both of us. Evasive answers going across the board. Actions in my mind which equate to irrational thinking. The poor communication, I had had my fill. I was to the point last night where I was not going to be satisfied until I saw the boy. This brought me to the house. Against my better judgment, I knock on the door, no answer. I knocked again on the door, no answer. I left got some food and I got a phone call from Jean, we can meet you at 8:30, I am like why would I do that when I am the one saying 8:30 he needs to be in bed. After hanging up, the detective in my mind shows up and guess what, I’m putting two and two together and I am like, why didn’t you answer the door when I knocked on the door earlier. By this time I am upset. I feel lied to, I feel frustrated. I am like I want to see him! Why is it we set up a meeting to see him, there is always a damn excuse. Why. Well needless to say, I’m nervous and frustrated and I am back at the house because of the numerous broken promises and miss communiqués. Finally I am able to see the boy, face to face and he looks like he is in good spirits. But on the way home, I was feeling like a first class heel. I didn’t like the person I was right then. This isn’t me. Of course I got a text from Jean saying I’m glad you could see RedChief, could you just call before you come. This is one of those moments you really have to not give into your impulses. I am happy to say I didn’t. “I just responded by saying, I am beside myself. Though I was happy to see our son, I was not happy with the context nor the methods involved.” Is this the way co-parenting is supposed to be?