Bipolar….what’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that term??
I’ll tell you what is most likely to be thought and heard…I’ll go based off what I thought when I first heard it many years ago before I was diagnosed.
- Crazy
- Deranged
- Psycho
- Nuts
- Looney
- Not someone I want to date
- Belong in a crazy house
- Padded walls
- Full of meds
- Not someone I want to deal with
- Up and down mood swings
- Doctors
- Suicidal
- Cutter
- Depressed
- Manic
- Broke
- Liar
You get the idea right…well now that I’ve been diagnosed and have been dealing with this for about 15-ish years…here is what I hear now when it comes through my ear canals:
- A call for help
- Someone who wants help and has most likely sought it
- Someone who is under the medical care of a doctor
- Mood swings, but under control
- Medicated but stable
- Someone who understands me
- Depression or manic episodes but aware of the triggers
- Not needing to be locked up, but a few close friends
- Good doctors that understand and want to help
You see, I’m the second group of words. I was never the first group. When I first heard the term bipolar, it was in reference to my mother. I use that term lightly, bc in my mind, I don’t really have one physically. I have adopted mothers. But the one who allowed me to utilize her uterus for 9 months, had mental health issues. Her family had mental health issues. They passed those to me. They passed them through our genes, so it has touched a bit of everyone in the family.
Mine laid dormant until I decided to go Active Duty in the Army. Truthfully I never believed that I had it. I denied it as long as possible. By denying it, I allowed myself to date as freely as possible because I didn’t have to disclose anything. I didn’t have to have anyone looking at me like I had a third eye. I was just a cute being in a military uniform. I was fit, in shape, and willing to smash whatever came my way. I was young, dumb, and didn’t care.
Well…fast forward to 2007…I was freshly out of a year-long relationship that was supposed to be the one for me. I was ready to propose to her, be a wife, to have kids, to be a family, to be everything. But she cheated on me. I was distraught, I was lost, I didn’t know which way was up, which way was down. I was spinning in ways unheard of. I fell into a deep depression. I had everything I wanted one day, and the next day, my heart was ripped out of my chest. I didn’t want to go on. I wasn’t sure what to do with my life. I had planned everything with her. I was 28, and had nothing left to live for … at least in my mind I didn’t. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I exiled myself from everyone. School, work, friends, what little bit of family (or those I considered family)…everyone!!! I locked myself in my apartment. I made no calls, I answered no calls, I didn’t answer the door, I didn’t bathe, I didn’t do anything. I stayed in my bed, I didn’t eat. I just slept the day away. Bad for me, I lived down the street from a liquor store. It was the only time I left my apartment. To replenish my stock. I slept and drank. I’m sure I lost weight, I wasn’t checking. More calls and knocks went unanswered. My rent got paid, I was lucky, I’m a disabled vet, so I had money coming in. My boss, lucky enough, was a very cool person. She knew I was a troubled individual.
So I eventually go tired of drinking and living and wondering what I did wrong to make her cheat on me. I couldn’t look at the pictures of “us” anymore. I called my best friend knowing she would be at work and couldn’t answer. I left her a message and told her I couldn’t take it anymore. That I loved her, and her parents for accepting me, but I couldn’t do it. Then I swallowed a bottle of pills, and bottle of some liquor. Stupid me…forgot..she worked for 911 dispatch. Within an hour there were two cops banging on my door doing a wellness check on me. Needless to say, the pills and liquor…didn’t take. My body laughed at me…it had been the 6th or 7th time I had tried it…I should have known it wasn’t going to work.
After that…I finally accepted help, I accepted my fate…I accepted my diagnois..I accepted that I was bipolar. I knew there was something wrong with me. I knew there was something but I was afraid that it going to take me and put me in a box. But I got lucky and through the course of the last ten years, several therapist, several psychologist, many different medications and dosages, my savior and therapy cat, Tobie, several other suicide attempts (and failures) … I’m still here.
But most of all….I’m still single.
But that brings me to the point of this blog…Dating and Mental disorders…
It’s hard to date when you have a mental disorder. People hear that you have some sort of issue with your brain and run for the hills faster than Cheeto coming with his little hands and a short skirt hitched to the high heavens.
You see, the problem comes for me when I decide when is the best time to divulge that I have this disorder. When is the right time to tell them that I am bipolar. Do I wait until they really like me, then watch them run or get ghost. Or do I tell them up front and then they never get the chance to know me?
Then it’s also, will they meet me during a good time, when I’m stable and feeling good about life? When I’m not feeling depressed or manic? Or will they meet me on a good day, then the next day I fall into a depressed mood and then they be like … wtf .. then the next week when I’m feeling better I call and try to explain that it wasn’t them it was me? At that point they are like…uh yeah..i’m good.
There are so many struggles when it comes to dating as someone with a disorder. I met this one girl, she was perfect!!! But just like above..I was having a great week, then just out the blue, I had an episode, flipped out. I was afraid to disclose to her. I told her I needed some space for a moment, work had stressed me out. Went to call her back a week later…she wouldn’t return my calls or text. Fast forward a year later, she finally text me…she says her brother passed away the next week after my flip out. I say my condolences, explain my flip out. She says oh..then proceeds to say we can just be friends.
I meet another girl, I’m upfront with her, she flat-out says…well…no, I can’t deal with it. I explain, I’m in a good place. I’m on meds, I’ve been stable for two years, been seeing a doc for two years, with minor episodes, etc etc…she says no. Blocks me. Disappears.
Another girl approaches me, I don’t mention anything, this girl however, isn’t really my type, but I say what the hell. No one else is biting the line right?? Well…after a few conversations it’s obvious why she isn’t my type. It doesn’t go far. I cut it short because I can see her being a trigger I don’t need. I’m in a good space, and she would be a manic episode from hell.
Meet a trans man. I’m upfront with him, because he’s upfront with me. No dating, just hanging out. We chill for about 5 months, things are good, but in time, I see that it’s not going to work. I believe in priorities, they need to be set in order, and his were all screwed up. I tell him to get his life together and then come see me. I didn’t want to be the reason that his life got put on hold. I didn’t want him blaming me for anything nothing the way it needed to.
But it always boils down to…do I tell or do I not tell. Do I keep it to myself, or do I let them know. Will it hurt me or will it help me. Will they support me or will they hurt me?
Dating is also a matter of how will this other person react to my episodes (that’s what I call them). Just recently was Turkey Day. I always have episodes during the holidays. This recent one was no different. I had an extremely bad time dealing with it this year. I knew I had Friday off. What I wanted was to go on Wednesday after I got off work to the hospital and commit myself for help. But I was worried that I wouldn’t get out in time for work on Monday. I have deadlines this week. I cried myself to sleep Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Monday and Tuesday were just bad because I couldn’t get certain things off my mind. I was a wreck. I couldn’t do anything. It’s a good thing I have a job that I can work from home when I need to. I spent the week in the same clothes, depressed, not eating, not bathing, nothing. I didn’t leave my house. My cars didn’t move. I went from my bed to my home office, to my couch, to my bed. Then when I didn’t have to work, from the bed to the couch to the bed. No liquor store near by, so just bed couch bed. Same sweats, same socks, same durag. No food, lost 8 pounds by Saturday morning when I finally dragged my ass out of bed before noon and into the shower. Mind you, I wasn’t sleeping, just laying there in the dark/wanna be dark/covers over my head. My therapy animal understood. He just laid there with me snuggling the whole week. He didn’t care that I smelled, or had the same thing on. He loved that I still smelled like him and he didn’t need to rub on me and put his scent on me repeatedly over and over again. I was in the shower for an hour. Scrubbing, washing my locs, changing my clothes, changing sheets. No need to clean, i didn’t do anything. I cooked, i ate, I left the house, checked the mail, moved the car. Went to the store. Finally answered a text.
Will a person I’m dating be able to handle this? Or will an episode like this put them off and make them leave? It’s not like it’s every day. It’s maybe once every other two/three months. But can they handle it?? Can they deal with it? Will they try to understand? Or will they just chuck everything we’ve built down the toilet? I’m not asking them to get a degree in psychology, but to be willing to understand and ask questions instead of passing judgement is all I want. Go to a few therapy sessions with me. Talk with me, express their opinions.
I’m also a person that doesn’t bite their tongue. I also don’t have much when it comes to emotions, so I’m a lot to deal with. So it’s a bit to be with me, a lot of patience…but if they are willing, the end result is a lifetime of happiness.
Yes, dating someone with a mental illness is hard…but it’s even harder being the person with the mental illness and trying to date.
It’s so hard…that I’ve all about just given up on doing it. It’s a struggle. Happiness…it doesn’t seem to exist for people like me. Everyone says just wait it’s coming…I’m almost 40. How much longer should I wait? My illness…I know won’t let me see 50. Each episode gets worse and worse. Hell…this last one is the verge of being committed. I don’t know how much time I honestly have left on this planet. I’m trying to stick around for my nieces, nephews, and godkids…but everyday is hard as hell.
~~ The Bipolar Bear