Nine months after our fairytale wedding, my husband was arrested at gunpoint… and I learned the troubling truth about who I married

‘Laura! We found him!’ My neighbor’s voice cracked through the phone, urgency flooding every word.

She and her boyfriend had spotted my husband Cody at the Blockbuster video store parking lot.

‘He’s climbing in and out of people’s cars. You need to come quickly.’

Cody and I had been married only nine months when things began to unravel. One morning I woke up to him hiding behind a curtain and peering out our sliding glass door. He was staring across the street at a convenience store.

When I asked what he was doing, he replied that the DEA (drug enforcement agency) had an agent stationed across the street who was spying on him.

Not knowing what to say, I just said nothing but in my head I couldn’t understand how this would be the case when my husband didn’t use hard drugs.

Later that day, he went on a hike with one of our neighbor friends. The friend told me that he was acting weird, talking fast and jumping from topic to topic.

Then came the insomnia. His sleepless nights weren’t just random; they were fueled by escalating paranoia, though I didn’t realize the connection at the time.

One day I caught him talking to himself and when he noticed me watching, he asked me to sit down because he had something important to tell me. He looked me in the eyes and said solemnly that the Holy Spirit told him we were going to lead the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It was completely out of left field.

He became increasingly irritable and we were fighting what seemed like nonstop.

Then, on the morning of April 1, 2006, I woke up to a bucket of water being dumped on an open bed space next to where I was laying. Cody was laughing with a local radio DJ who was live on the air.

It was his idea of an April Fools’ prank and I was the butt of the joke.

I was livid. It was so unlike him, and, in my opinion, cruel.

That night, we went upstairs to hang out with some friends. Cody was unusually quiet and distant. He stared through me, not at me. He absently stroked my hair but kept catching on my earrings, hurting me repeatedly, unaware he was doing so.

Then, without a word, he abruptly walked out.

I figured he went downstairs to bed, but he wasn’t there. His phone and keys were still inside. Panic set in.

I called my neighbors and asked them to keep an eye out. I walked to the convenience store across the street and asked the guy if he’d seen Cody. He hadn’t, not since earlier that day. I left my number.

Time passed. Anxiety bloomed. Then, the call came from my neighbor: ‘He’s climbing in and out of people’s cars. You need to come quickly.’

When I finally found him, he was in pajama pants, barefoot, sitting on the ground surrounded by police who all had their guns drawn on him. It was terrifying. It was confusing. And it was just the beginning.

‘April Fools! April Fools!’ he kept crying.

Cody was taken to the hospital by ambulance. I rode up front. In the back, he was in agony.

Confused. Delusional. He kept calling for his grandmother who died earlier that year. He was begging her to save him.

I’d never seen him like this. He was clearly mentally suffering but I didn’t understand why. The doctors suggested drugs but the toxicology report came back clean.

The ER was a whirlwind in the worst way. Sometime in the middle of the night, a psychiatrist called me in for a meeting. She diagnosed him with schizophrenia. Everything after she said those words was static.

When the meeting was over, I burst into tears. I had been so strong but everything bubbled out of me. It didn’t make any sense. Not to me. Cody had never acted like this before. Not in the four years I’d known him. This wasn’t a pattern; it was a sudden storm.

Also, what even was schizophrenia? The only experience I had with it was being told to stay away from a certain house in my neighborhood because the guy living there was schizophrenic. What did that even mean? Was Cody dangerous now?

Fear gripped me. I had just married the man of my dreams. My best friend. Was our hoped-for future now gone?

He was eventually transferred to an inpatient psychiatric unit, where he received a different diagnosis, the one that would stick for the rest of his life and would be reconfirmed in numerous manic episodes to come. Bipolar 1 with psychotic features.

Looking back, there were many signs we missed. His lack of sleeping, increased irritability and pressured and disorganized speech were symptoms of mania. 

His belief we would lead the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints together and his paranoia that the DEA was after him were likely symptoms of psychosis. 

It is estimated that up to 14 million Americans live with bipolar disorder. And, while many of them won’t experience the kind of psychotic episodes that affected Cody, it is believed that as many as 69 percent are misdiagnosed – some for as long as 10 years. 

Instead, they might be told they are suffering from depression or anxiety, ADHD or borderline personality disorder. 

Armed with the correct diagnosis, we have now navigated the illness together for the past 20 years. 

Often, it has felt like being lost at sea without a compass. But, through the years, we found our sea legs. 

We both have had therapy. We both educated ourselves on the illness. I joined support groups and devoured as much knowledge and information as I could via books and articles. I learned how to separate Cody from the illness and how to set boundaries when his illness would rage out of control. 

Cody also had to accept his diagnosis and commit to treatment. He had to acknowledge that managing his illness meant staying on medication.

Had he not done these things, I don’t think our marriage would have survived.

Bipolar has brought highs, lows, heartbreak and healing. Our story is one with a lot of pain, but an even greater love. Episodes have tested us both and brought us and our relationship to the brink.

However, when they were over, they also brought us closer together. I hope that by sharing our story, I can humanize this highly stigmatized mental illness and help families and loved ones feel seen and less alone.

Laura Baskall-Smith is the author of the recently published book When Bipolar Moved Into Our Marriage.