It is physically painful for me to watch dh try to paint. I can't bear to even think about it. Imagine a man who has good bearing and sense (I said he has them, not that he always uses them) suddenly going slack-jawed, slumped, one hand in a pocket (it drives me crazy to see someone with hand/s in a pocket) and smearing a paint brush over, and over, and over, the same area until it's a sticky, lumpy mess. He makes a simple task so much work. I love to paint. I spend hours on prep; removing everything (nails, electrical plates, lighting fixtures). I clean, and Swiffer, and tape. I put down plastic sheets and tape them to the floor. I set up my paint station with everything I could possible need laid out on the stand like surgical instruments. Then the next day I begin the painting. I use primer; I cut in, and do the "W" with the roller, apply thin coats, and am through in no time at all. I'll brag; I'm a damn fine painter. It's just that I go slowly and spend far more time with prep and staging than I do in the actual applying of the paint. He wants to grab a can of paint and start smearing. I am the painter in the house. He will, after I've done all the prep, sometimes help with the roller parts, but I have to keep reminding him to not go over the area that already has paint. He can't "see" how it pulls up. So, I do the painting or hire a helper. The one lady that does the best work, even better than mine, is 72. Watching her paint is like seeing poetry. I love her to death. I do the fetch and carry for her, clean her brushes, fix her lunch, and learn at the feet of the master! So, never, ever try to paint with a husband. God made Man; then he made Woman. He made them attractive to one another. Then he sat back and had a good, long chuckle.

Well i dont know as to how many i shud be posting...but ours was an arrange marriage and have been married for 3 yrs. I have really tried to change him by talking to him but there r things that makes life difficult. His eating habbits are our of control. He is too lazy to excercise or walk. He is so moody that i wil never come to know wht he really wants from me or from life. His life is just office and laptop. Rest he is least bothered. I have made a different routine fro myself so that i dont frustrate my self and him. On weekends we will definately talk something that wil upset him so much that both the days there will be a dead silence in the house. He is affetced a lot by the fact that I and his parenst dont get along so well. He is too logical and wants me to always talk with a reason. I shud be talking to him in a certain manner that wud please him and if i dont then he is upset. I am always worried abt his health. His laziness and boringness botheres me a lot. He loves to keep silent and only talk when he has to. He wants me to dress uo in a certain manner where nothing shud be visible. I get grossed out by a lot of his habbits . Well i guess i can go on forever. Amazingly enuf i guess I wil go on like this.Coz i know he is not the type to change for me .Still never concedered separation ...wondering shud i .

I hope it didn't sound like I don't have compassion for the mentally ill, Oakley. I very much do, which is why I work with that population. And I know that not all bipolar sufferers are aggressive or at all dangerous to be around, even when manic. Brittney's father may control her funds, but even if it was court ordered, Brittney's case is an outlier. Most "regular" people don't have the resources to contain a seriously mentally ill adult child. Even if they have the legal right to compel the ill person to live in a particular place and take meds, etc., they have no physical way to make that happen if the person wants to leave or refuses medication. I've had clients who routinely skip out the bedroom window, prostitute themselves, run away, use illegal drugs, participate in very dangerous behaviors, and the legal guardian has the right to call the police and report that the person is gone without permission and off their meds. That doesn't make the client magically appear safely back in the house, palm held out and eager to take their meds. I work with families who go through this regularly. They can't afford henchmen to keep the ill person contained or under observation. They can't always physically withstand the ill person as they tear out the door. Etc. Brittney's father has resources that many do not. I certainly do hope the OP's friend has compassion for her husband. I also don't think having compassion for him means you want to play roulette with his genes if you don't have to. I may be a grump about it because of all the stuff I see at work. I have no rainbows and unicorn stories but lots of terrified and worn out family members. NAMI.org support groups are a lifesaver for some of them.

This is an old post, but found it and wanted to share two things that happened to me. Sorry, this is long. I had a friend and neighbor for 30 years, but I had moved 20 miles away. We kept in touch, but I hadn't heard from him for awhile, or contacted him, so called one day, and his phone had been disconnected. He was in his 60's at the time and not the best health. I thought he had died, and no one had told me. So I went to see about him. I knocked on his door and he came to the door, and he looked terrible. Always was a slim build, but he looked like he had lost more weight, and he had a long beard...whereas he had used to always be clean shaven. To make a long story short, he was very depressed. I had been just about his only contact, being very much a loner. He hadn't picked up his mail or paid any bills...so phone was cut off. He wasn't even aware of it. He had no edible food in his house....a couple of moldy burritos in his fridge, and wine bottles stacked like cordwood in all the cabinets. I picked up his mail, got him to write checks to pay his bills, bought groceries for him....and wine and cigarettes, since that was what he mainly existed on, and by going to to the liquor store for him, it kept him from driving. I straightened up his house and did his laundry. I promised I would look after him until he died. He had been diagnosed with emphysema years prior, and his family doctor had chastised him for smoking. He had said he would quit...even bought some nicotine patches, but never used them. He didn't quit smoking and he never went back to the doctor. How long could he possibly last? A few weeks? A couple of months? He lived 8 years!! Every day I went to see him, and brought food for him...which he seldom ate, I didn't try to make him do anything, but every day I asked him if he wanted to go to the doctor or did he want me to contact his family. He always said no. I think he lived so long because I am very healthy, and I haven't been sick in years, and he never left his house the last four years of his life. I took care of everything for him...his yard, house, even getting someone to come in and cut his hair. Once in a blue moon, he would shave. I was there every day, sometimes twice a day, and a couple of times, 4 times. I slept on his floor a couple of times when I thought death was near. Remember...it was a 40 mile round trip to where I lived. I furnished him with books and magazines and movies to watch. Got him interested in talk radio to give him a little diversion. In other words, I did everything I could to make him happy. He was a very intelligent man and a voracious reader. We had many long talks over the years. We both knew he didn't have long to live. I asked him if he would contact me if he could, after he passed. He didn't believe in an afterlife and told me so. Still, every so often, I would ask him again. I think to shut me up, he finally agreed. Still, I would sometimes remind him. I was with him when he died. He went quickly when his time came. I went in the kitche to get him a Gatorade, which he had said he wanted, and came back...two short breaths and he was gone. After he died, I dreamed about him several times. In one dream he was taIking to me on the phone, and he asked me why I didn't come see him any more. I hated to tell him that he had died, and the niece he didn't like was living in his house. But, I did tell him, and he said, so incredulous...like he had never considered it. "Are you sure about that?" It was exactly like something he would say if we were having a conversation before he passed. For several weeks, I didn't dream about him any more, and then I had a dream and he told me he had something to tell me....but before I found out what it was, I woke up. I tried to go back to sleep, hoping to finish the dream, but I couldn't. I finally got up and when I walked around the foot of the bed, there was the letter K (his name was Ken). It was made out of dozens of little drops of water. I was home alone. My husband was away at work for two weeks. No water in the room. No pets. Completely alone. I can't even say I was shocked. I knew it was Ken. I knew he would contact me if he could. I started to not even take a picture of it. He was a very private person, and he wouldn't have liked that I took a picture and showed it to anyone, but I did, and sadly I lost it when I lost my phone. So you will have to take my word for it, and of course, you don't know me, but it is the truth. So here is the second one: My husband had a terminal illness. He had asbestosis and pulmonary fibrosis. We lived on a bayou, and flooded badly during Hurricane Harvey. Lost just about everything...8' of water in the yard and 4' in the house. He could no longer work, and since I have horses, he wanted me to have a place that made taking care of them easier. So we moved 175 miles away, to east Texas. He passed away about 18 months later. I asked him to contact me if he could. Unlike Ken, I didn't have to talk him into it. He said he would. (However, I did remind him a few times}. About two weeks after he died, my niece sent me a gift...it was a clip with his name on it, the year he was born, the year he died, and the words...."Your wings were ready, but my heart was not." I knew it was a clip of some kind but not what it was for. A couple of days later, someone told me it was a visor clip for your vehicle. Oh. So I was going to go out and put it in my truck. But I couldn't find it. It had been laying on the kitchen counter. I looked everywhere for it. Under the furniture....never found it. I felt terrible. I had moved away, and would probably not see my niece again, but if I did...I wouldn't have it. I felt terrible. I even considered ordering one just like it, in case I did see her again. Six weeks passed. Covid restrictions let up here....I was glad to be able to be out and about again. I went to the thrift shop that had just re-opened. I had indigestion. I knew I had a bottle of Tums in my truck. It has bucket seats, and I thought the bottle had fallen between the console and the seat. I got down and looked under the seat on the driver's side. Not there. I went around to the passenger side, looked under that seat...there they were. Took two and went in the shop. Came out about an hour later, opened the door on the driver's side, and there was the clip. First thing I saw when I opened the door. It wasn't there when I went in...I would have seen it, especially since I got down and looked under the seat. You may think I had taken it to the truck and forgotten about it, but if I had done that I would have put it on the visor, and I didn't even know what it was for until someone told me, and then I couldn't find it. So those are my signs. I had asked my husband for something specific. I live in the country. There are milions of butterflies and cardinals here. I wanted something to be sure. It has given me a lot of comfort. I still miss him terribly and sometimes the grief catches me by surprise and is so painful again, but this tells me, he is okay, and he is near.