Mental illness makes you selfish. You become focused on your own pain and what’s going on in your own mind. It’s understandable — you’re in a battle for survival. But it takes a toll on others.

It was only when I recovered from a two-decade-long struggle with PTSD and schizophrenia that I realized how much my loved ones had tolerated. They had molded their lives around me and my illness.

This is why so many mentally ill people are lonely. The strain on those around them is too great. The only good thing about my illnesses was that they showed me who loved me. The people that stuck around would likely be with me forever. Many people aren’t lucky enough to find these saints among us. They end up isolated, with only the demons to keep them company.

. . .

It’s all about routine.

I met my girlfriend in 2004. I developed PTSD in 2003. She spent 20 years with me without ever seeing me healthy.

In the last year, I’ve laid even more of my demons to rest, and my mental health has rocketed upwards. When you recover from mental illness, there’s a painful moment when you have to review the debris. Mental illness causes damage. If you’re lucky, the damage is minimal. If not, the guilt can kill you. This is often the problem in high-security mental hospitals. If the patient recovers, they are brought face to face with what they’ve done. The guilt can be greater than they can bear.

Until recently, my remorse was based on all those wasted years. All that time, I sat in my room and did nothing. I lost some of the best years of my life, and I felt cheated. I also felt pathetic. It’s hard to remember how incapacitated I was.

Now, my remorse has grown as I became aware of my girlfriend’s sacrifices.

One way to cope with the chaos in my mind has been to create rigid routines. I battle to maintain order in a world where there is none.

I wake up at the same time every day. I follow the same morning routine (brushing my teeth, showering, and getting dressed). I write, watch TV, and go to the gym at the same time. I eat similar foods every week and at the same times every day. I sleep at 2:30 am and follow the same routine of door-checking to ensure everything is locked.

This routine has always been rigid enough to become an obsession. My girlfriend told me recently that she’s been nervous about talking to me at certain times because I might accuse her of ruining my routine.

I was horrified. I love her more than words can say and would do anything for her. I took it for granted that she knew that, but my actions told her differently. She’s been keeping problems to herself for years to maintain my stupid routine.

. . .

My never-ending list of triggers.

My loved ones have maintained a mental checklist of things that trigger me:

• Certain locations trigger PTSD
• Incidents like my past traumas
• Implying that anyone is doing something to “get one over on me”
• Sometimes I am defensive of my former police colleagues, other times I hate them. My loved ones are expected to keep up
• Upsetting things have to be kept from me
• Worrying things have to be kept from me
• My girlfriend can’t talk about us moving house because I see my house as security

There are likely many more that others could tell you better than me. As I look at this list and as my loved ones have made me aware of my trigger list, I feel like an overgrown child.

I’m a former police officer. I’m a black-belt martial artist. I’m 6ft tall and weigh 280lbs. I’ve done everything I can to appear tough on the outside. Yet, I act like a moody little kid. It must be tiresome to always tiptoe around me, always thinking of my wants and needs.

This is all changing now. I’ve torn up that list and thrown it in the trash. But it takes some adjustments.

. . .

Everything has to be done my way.

My partner is very sociable. She likes meeting her friends (she has many) and going to new places.

I’m the complete opposite. I don’t like people much, and I’m happiest at home. Crowds and people overwhelm me.

None of Amy’s friends have ever been to our house because the thought of anyone in my protected space terrifies me. I even have trouble sleeping if we call a plumber or electrician.

None of Amy’s friends have even met me. I’ve been around for 20 years, and they know me by name only. I’ve met her immediate family, but many family members have never met me either.

As far as I know, everyone is understanding. They know I have “mental health issues.” But, for the newly healed me, this is yet another example of Amy adapting her lifestyle to accommodate me.

. . .

Placating and protecting me.

Recently, we had a hobo move into the garage underneath our house. He was the brother of a neighbor. Addicted to drugs and an alcoholic, my neighbor had washed his hands of him but allowed him to stay in the garage.

One morning, he confronted Amy as she was leaving for work. He wasn’t aggressive, but she found it jarring that he had appeared in our driveway at 7 am, slurring his words.

Yet Amy felt unable to tell me about it. Instead, she told my mum, who agreed to keep it from me. They thought I’d overreact and get stressed and angry. I found out a day later when I saw him for myself, but this is one of many examples of my loved ones keeping things from me. Again, Amy protected me when it should have been the other way around.

. . .

The burden of recovery.

These things only haunt me now that I’m recovering. I was too ill to notice or care before. The problem now is that everyone is used to communicating with the old me. While it was painful and one-sided, it’s what people know. Now, they have to get used to communicating with a whole new me — a new person. It’s better, but it’s not easy.

My job now is to reassure people I love that they can share their troubles with me. They need to know I won’t break under the slightest pressure and that I’m here for them like they have been there for me.

Amy and I will soon see a therapist to help us communicate under the “new rules.” She needs reassurance that I am ok and I need to find ways to provide that reassurance.

People think when you recover from mental illness everything slots back into place. That somehow, we know how to talk to mentally healthy people and mentally ill people and can switch between the two.

The reality is mental illness leaves scars. Part of recovery is finding those old wounds and learning to heal them. Your loved ones need to be a part of that journey.

Mental illness is selfish and insular, but recovery isn’t just about you. The angels that never gave up on you must come with you on your journey.

. . .

Grab my NEW and FREE ebook titled “Mental Health: Myths, Realities, and Hope. I address common myths, help you understand mental illness, and provide resources for further support.

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This post was previously published on Speaker Bipolar.

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