When Ashley met James, she thought bipolar meant changeable. After all, people called the weather bipolar all the time. That didn’t sound too hard to deal with, and love could cover the rest. She hadn’t expected his lows to be as deep and long as regular depression. And the highs…
She couldn’t keep up with the highs.
James’s manic episode had started a few days ago with a frenzy of energy that he poured into creating wooden figures. He carved all night, feeling no need for sleep. At dinner, he barely touched his food as he told her his plans to start a woodworking business. (While he’d always carved as a hobby, he’d never shown an interest in turning it into a business before.) The words rushed out of his mouth as fast as he could say them.
When he started describing how it would bring enough money that Ashley could quit her job at the law firm, she cut in. “Let’s take it one step at a time, yeah? Do you have a plan for how you’re going to sell your carvings?”
“I’ll set up a website.”
“It takes more than that. What about marketing?”
“I don’t need marketing. It’ll go viral! In fact, I need to get more wood so I can keep up with demand.”
“Wait! Shouldn’t we discuss a budget?”
James ran out the door, leaving behind his half-eaten tacos, one of his favorite meals. He returned hours later with armloads of wood and tools. He took them straight to the garage and continued working.
The next day, Ashley pulled in to the gas station on her way back from work. An excuse to delay returning home to James’s constant talking and carving. She mechanically punched through the options on the pump. There had to be a way to persuade James to talk to his psychiatrist. But so far, he’d dismissed her concerns. How could there be something wrong with him when he felt on top of the world?
The gas pump beeped and spat her card back out. Declined for insufficient funds.
Ashley’s breath caught. Of the two of them, James was the stricter one with their budget. Usually. If he’d maxed out the credit card, his spending was vastly outstripping the fun money they’d allocated him. She switched to her debit card and breathed a sigh of relief when it was accepted. But how long would that last, if he continued spending without a plan? If he cleaned out their checking account, how would they pay for rent? Groceries?
She started the gas, then pressed a fist to her forehead. “Father, what do I do?”
Separate your finances from his.
Ashley’s breath caught at how immediate and clear the prompting came into her mind. But how could that be the answer? In Young Women’s, a teacher had once insisted that if a wife opened a bank account separate from her husband, she would be on the path to divorce. “Aren’t I supposed to trust him?”
You don’t trust his illness.
That’s right. She didn’t. Overspending was a common symptom of mania. When James’s last episode had ended, he’d apologized, and returned most of his purchases to salvage their finances. But once he cut into the wood, it would be impossible to return. Selling his carvings wouldn’t guarantee a profit.
Separate your finances. If he can’t protect your family, then you need to.
Right now, their family only consisted of the two of them. If they had kids, she wouldn’t hesitate to ensure that they had a roof over their heads and food to eat. If their rent money was secure, she would feel a lot less anxious.
The gas pump clicked off. Ashley re-cradled the pump, then sat in the driver’s seat, her stomach twisted with guilt. If she followed this prompting, she’d be betraying James by changing their finances without consulting him. But how could she reason with him when the mania hampered his ability to recognize logic?
She pulled out her phone. Though her stomach remained twisted, her heart was at peace, and her head clear. She clicked on the search bar and typed, “banks near me.”
She would do whatever it took to protect her family.
Annaliese (rhymes with pizza) Lemmon likes to eat, play board games, and collect virtual creatures. Her fiction has been a finalist in the Mormon Lit Blitz multiple times, and has appeared in Mysterion, The Arcanist, and Flash Fiction Press. She lives with her husband and three children in Arizona. Find her online at annalieselemmon.com.
