My boyfriend and I met a year ago and from the very beginning, I was honest and blunt about my struggles with cPTSD and my past. He began very supportive. He soothed my nightmares, dried my tears, listened to me vent, and was there to encourage me through every day. In return, I supported him the best I could, but I knew I was the weaker link.
By the time we reached 8 months his patience was beginning to wear thin, so I decided to start trying some new therapies and medications with his support. Each affected me differently and it ended up being a few months of getting on high dosages too fast and coming off them too fast. While some of them were helpful, they were often accompanied by unbearable side effects which continued the cycle of altering the medicine. Those were some tough times. My mood and symptoms were a roller coaster--some days were wonderful, but soon I'd be taken off and faced some dark days.
He tried to be kind and patience but slowly he started saying things like "I can't help you" and "I don't know what to tell you" before he made some lame excuse to have to leave our visits early. I didn't expect him to know what to do, but I did expect that the reassurance, love and support continue as he had promised me it would. From there he turned to avoiding me, stopped asking about my health and appointments, stopped really listening when I spoke and stopped coming when I called.
On my last medication change, my doctor warned me that I would endure a hellish week. I had to cut one med and introduce an even higher dosage of another over the course of 8 days...ironically, during my university final exam period when I was also expected to keep up with two part-time jobs. I broke down from the loneliness, the side-effects, the stress and all I wanted was a hand to hold and my best friend (my boyfriend) to lay down with me and tell me it was going to be ok. He was giving nothing, but reassured me he hadn't given up on me, he loved me but it was still an "inconvenient time" for him to help. I wanted to believe that, but my gut told me he really had given up on me.
Two days later, before my final exam, he left me. The person I had shared everything with sat in front of me with a straight face and said "I'm done, I can't handle all of this anymore". This was the same man who said no illness could scare him away, the same man that cried when I confided my story and hugged me tight through night terrors and triggers.
Weeks earlier, when I was on a stable dose of meds, he said he'd never been happier. He called me "Chill Jill" and said that he needed this version of me all of the time. When medications wavered, he wavered. When we cut meds cold turkey and changed over, he changed his mind. Now its been a few weeks and I'm back to that "chill" person he loved, but he's not willing to give it any more thought. I think he made a mistake in the heat of the moment. I'm not sure if I'm sad, regretful, mad at him, or if I just want to move on. I'm in shock still I guess.
Has anyone had a similar experience? Could it be the medication fluctuation that caused me to struggle so much which ended us? Will I ever be able to hold down a relationship?
By the time we reached 8 months his patience was beginning to wear thin, so I decided to start trying some new therapies and medications with his support. Each affected me differently and it ended up being a few months of getting on high dosages too fast and coming off them too fast. While some of them were helpful, they were often accompanied by unbearable side effects which continued the cycle of altering the medicine. Those were some tough times. My mood and symptoms were a roller coaster--some days were wonderful, but soon I'd be taken off and faced some dark days.
He tried to be kind and patience but slowly he started saying things like "I can't help you" and "I don't know what to tell you" before he made some lame excuse to have to leave our visits early. I didn't expect him to know what to do, but I did expect that the reassurance, love and support continue as he had promised me it would. From there he turned to avoiding me, stopped asking about my health and appointments, stopped really listening when I spoke and stopped coming when I called.
On my last medication change, my doctor warned me that I would endure a hellish week. I had to cut one med and introduce an even higher dosage of another over the course of 8 days...ironically, during my university final exam period when I was also expected to keep up with two part-time jobs. I broke down from the loneliness, the side-effects, the stress and all I wanted was a hand to hold and my best friend (my boyfriend) to lay down with me and tell me it was going to be ok. He was giving nothing, but reassured me he hadn't given up on me, he loved me but it was still an "inconvenient time" for him to help. I wanted to believe that, but my gut told me he really had given up on me.
Two days later, before my final exam, he left me. The person I had shared everything with sat in front of me with a straight face and said "I'm done, I can't handle all of this anymore". This was the same man who said no illness could scare him away, the same man that cried when I confided my story and hugged me tight through night terrors and triggers.
Weeks earlier, when I was on a stable dose of meds, he said he'd never been happier. He called me "Chill Jill" and said that he needed this version of me all of the time. When medications wavered, he wavered. When we cut meds cold turkey and changed over, he changed his mind. Now its been a few weeks and I'm back to that "chill" person he loved, but he's not willing to give it any more thought. I think he made a mistake in the heat of the moment. I'm not sure if I'm sad, regretful, mad at him, or if I just want to move on. I'm in shock still I guess.
Has anyone had a similar experience? Could it be the medication fluctuation that caused me to struggle so much which ended us? Will I ever be able to hold down a relationship?
