The other day, my husband was putting together a magnifying lamp that I had bought to help me repair some jewelry. I was trying to adjust the lamp to a height where it would be usable and comfortable. The lamp was a cheap piece of shit and it broke.
Instantly, I apologized. The clamp broke. I apologized again. It turned out that the pin holding the clamp together broke. I apologized again. My husband determined that it was not fixable as it was. Guess what I did? That’s right — said, “I’m sorry.” I said I was sorry for ordering the cheap thing. I said I was sorry for wasting money. I was sorry for wasting my husband’s time. I was sorry for everything.
The week before, I wanted to go to an art house in a nearby town to see the documentary about Joan Baez. The whole way there, I was nervous — about the route we were taking, whether we would find parking near enough to the theater, whether we should eat dinner before or after the movie. And especially whether Dan would like the film. On the way home, I kept asking him, “Was that okay? Did you like it? Is it okay that I chose the movie? Is it okay that I chose that movie?”
On the way home, he reassured me. He liked the movie. He learned things he hadn’t known about Joan Baez. We were lucky to find the parking place so near the theater. It was a nice evening for a drive.
Then he said, “Where’s all this coming from?”
“I chose the movie and the time and bought the tickets and decided which theater to see it at. If anything went wrong, it was all my fault.”
“Ah. Old tapes.”
In these recent cases, things went right. Dan figured out a way to fix the magnifying lamp by cannibalizing another lamp. We got to the movie on time and got good seats. We found a handicapped parking spot open right across from the theater. The movie was great. I felt better after we got home.
Dan was right, though. The excessive apologies started in my past — not with Dan — further back in time than that. If something was my choice, and it didn’t turn out great, it was wrecked. I realize this is all-or-nothing thinking, which is counterproductive.
Even before the old tapes, though, I had a habit of feeling sorry for everything and saying so. I apologized for everything. And I punished myself. If I said something “wrong” or even a tiny bit off-color, I tapped my cheek with an open hand, symbolically slapping myself for doing something bad. (I think it’s important to note that my parents never slapped me as a child, so I don’t know where that came from.)
And I apologized endlessly. For everything. My friends noticed. They asked why I did it. They let me know that it was annoying. I tried consciously to stop. And after a while, after having friends who stuck with me, after practice, I did stop. For a while.
Then I got in a relationship with a gaslighter and again felt guilty for everything. He blamed me for things I did and things I didn’t do. Once, he even claimed that when I did something wrong in front of company, I had offended his honor. And of course, if I selected anything — where we went, what we ate, what music we listened to, I was at fault. I was at fault for liking mayo on my sandwiches and for not offering him a bite of my sandwich. I was seriously wrong not to wait for him even though he was past the time for a meet-up with friends. Wrong to hook up with a friend while he was hooking up with one of mine in the next room. Eventually, I shut down, afraid to do anything.
Years later, I got past the apologizing, for the most part. The past two weeks, I’ve been backsliding. I think it may be because money has been extra tight, which makes me extremely nervous, and I’ve had to tell Dan he can’t make some purchases now. That feels treacherous, even though he doesn’t complain or blame or shame me. But it puts me back into the mindset of blaming myself before someone else can. It’s not comfortable for either of us. It’s all I can do not to apologize for feeling this way, for my disorder having this effect.
I’m hoping that writing about it will help me work out how I feel. And maybe make the apologies back off. At least for a while.
Janet Coburn
Bipolar Me 
Comments on: "I’m Sorry" (3)
I sincerely hope writing about it helps. I’ve been doing a lot of mea culpas to myself lately. I went to a car dealership, even knowing I shouldn’t, just because I was curious about what a particular vehicle cost. They wouldn’t give me an idea unless I came in. Well, I ended up leasing an electric vehicle and gave them my old Corolla for a trade-in. The Corolla was a 2001, but it only had 66,000 miles on it. I was concerned, however, that it didn’t have a lot of life left in it. The A/C barely worked, the radio and clock didn’t work, etc. So, I convinced myself that I needed a new car. The terms seemed reasonable and I thought I was doing my part in saving the environment. (I’m an environmental scientist, so I was really excited!) What I wasn’t prepared for was for my car insurance to skyrocket. I had no idea how expensive it would be to register it, either. Suffice it to say, I can’t afford it and I should have done a lot more due diligence before jumping into leasing the damned thing. It takes two hours to charge it up to 50 miles. That means I have to spend more than 4 hours charging it to go to the bigger town near me. If I was going to get a new car, the least I could have done was get a hybrid! So, I’m blaming my bipolar disorder for rushing into buying something I didn’t need. I’m trying to get into Section 8 housing to offset the cost, but the waiting lists are long. I was counting on my school loan to help pay for it, but I’m getting half of what I expected. I’m definitely beating myself up over it. Of course, I spent all the money I got back from my previous loans, even when I swore I would save all of it. Ugh. I’ve managed, for the last 5 years, to repair my credit and not overspend. One splurge and it’s probably going to ruin my credit.
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I sympathize. I’m similarly struggling with finances due to an ill-advised loan. It does wear on the nerves.
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Dan sounds wise. I also didn’t grow up with an abusive family, but post bipolar got the mentality of having been in one. I think constant guilt and self loathing, along with suicidal ideation and black and white thinking are some of the highlights of this disorder. I mean good meds, therapy, and self awareness help, but they’re like nasty little cockroaches always waiting to skittle back in. Gag.
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