So this past weekend I spent it with a very dear friend. We dated many many many moons ago, and I was a dirtbag to her. I treated her so bad while we were together and my illness is mostly responsible.
I remember being so hardheaded and stubborn to accept my diagnosis, that I did a lot of shit out of spite. She never did anything to me to deserve it, but me being evil, unmedicated, unstable, and just an all-around asshole took everything in my life out on her.
During the weekend, we got to talking about the future and what we felt was holding us both back from happiness. Hearing her words, made me realize that I had yet to apologize. I let her finish, then I broke down and did something I should have done ten if not more years ago.
I really wasn’t a good person back then. I was all about what could be done for me. My manic episodes were very real, but I didn’t know what they were. I put the blame on her when all she ever tried to do was love me. When things didn’t go my way, I would flip. Luckily, my manic side never got physical. I’m sure it could have, but the rational side of me could never see me hurting her in that manner.
Even still now, 17 years after we first met, after I first laid eyes on her, she still takes my breath away. I know she doesn’t see herself the way I do, but I’ve always compared everyone to her. Looks, corniness, silliness, and a numerous number of other qualities she has. I don’t think I ever have had anyone who is so vivid in my memories as she is. I remember the first day I kissed her. The way I tricked her into letting me do it. The first time I touched her in the garage of my friends parents house on the couch watching Twins … I remember it all like it was yesterday.
But enough of the sappy shit. This is about my disorder not a trip down memory lane. Being bipolar, caused me to lose the best thing ever to happen to me (well at that time in my life). I lashed out when unnecessary, I caused hurt, pain, and anger by cheating. By saying I would do things, knowing it would make her come running and feel sorry for me. I probably threatened suicide more than a few times. I did try a few times, I never told her that. I was distraught. If I couldn’t be with her, I didn’t want to live. I’ve got a few notches on my arm because of my love for her.
My disorder I think became more prevalent while I was in the service overseas b/c I couldn’t call her when I was depressed. I would think of everything I had lost, that I lost her, that I could just not want to ever go on, and if I had died over there, she probably wouldn’t have come. I fell into a dark spiral, for almost two years. It took a lot out of me. But I kept at it. I kept trying to live on the low side.
My disorder was finally coming to the forefront of my life. I wanted to hate myself. I wanted to hate my genes. It’s my uterus incubator’s fault I have this. She has it, she passed it on to her kids. I started therapy. Group, counseling, individual, puzzle, mental, every type there is. I tried to sleep it away, I tried to fuck it away. But nothing could bring me out of the deep dark pit of hell I had put myself in. In the back of my mind was always her. I knew I had wronged her, but I didn’t and wasn’t mature enough to apologize then. I was still a child in an adults body doing adult things and playing children’s games.
A few years after my discharge, I thought I was good. I didn’t need meds, or so I thought. I tried to reach out. I failed. I fell back into the same evil trait I had before. I was diagnosed but I still hadn’t accepted my fate. I didn’t believe in medication. I didn’t want therapy anymore. It made me feel even crazier than I already was. I was losing it. A few more attempts later, I finally felt the lowest pit ever. I had dated another girl, and she cheated on me. The pain was horrific. I lost everything. I didn’t want life, I wanted her, my first love. I wanted her to comfort me. But I still hadn’t apologized and still wasn’t ready to do it.
Instead I went to the Veterans Affairs Hospital. I told the doctor what was going on. I left out the recent suicide attempt, but I cried. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I felt like the world was spinning and I was in a hole that never ended. I cried and cried and cried. I locked myself in my apartment for two weeks. I didn’t shower, I barely ate, I didn’t attend school, I didn’t make calls, I never turned on the tv, I just sat in the dark for two weeks. I slept and slept and slept. I had been comatose it seems. I took more pills, I drained every bottle in my house. There was a liquor store up the corner, I walked to get a big bottle of anything. I came home. I wondered how long it would take them to find me. It had been two weeks and no one had come or came by yet.
But yet an amazing thing happened. Someone did notice. I got a knock on the door. I finally got up, and faced the darkness. The police were there, someone made a courtesy call. After that, I headed back to the VA, and demanded help. I didn’t want to be depressed any more.
At that point, I started my therapy and started to come out of my shell barely. I began to make amends with a few folks there where I was, but I still hadn’t made my amends to her.
My life at that point, was trying to get better. I started going back to class, getting out the house, and being alive. I graduated with my first degree. I was so excited about it, I called her. I still hadn’t apologized but she was still there. No matter what I had done to her, she was still my friend. She dropped what she was doing, and drove. She was there to see me. She was a supporter. She came to see me walk across the stage, get my degree, and then like every other time, I let my disorder fuck up a good thing. I went to see her for a celebratory weekend and got jealous. I wanted her, and couldn’t accept that she no longer wanted me. I stopped my meds, I started drinking again. I became the person I had worked so hard in therapy to not be.
More years passed, and I finally got myself together. I started therapy again. My best friend of many years has been my personal therapist outside of our friendship. My meds I started them again. I went back to school, got another degree, landed my “dream job” and still I hadn’t apologized.
I stayed away from her for the longest. We only communicated on birthdays and holidays. Then this year, I said I’ve got to change. My life has got to be better. We have an orange cheeto in the Oval Office, this may be my last shot. I invited her up for a birthday celebration.
We talked, we hung out, and I finally got to apologize. I needed to get it out. I feel better now that I’ve got it out. Now the hard work begins. I have to keep my hard work up. Stay in therapy, continue meds, and stay sane.