still breathing
So. More than one person has prompted me to write about Saturday's meeting with S, which is really heartwarming. Ya'll payin' attention. But really, it's nice to know there's some concern (or just plain curiosity) pointed in my direction. I get a little stuck in my own brain sometimes (don't we all).
I tried not to have a nerve-wracking morning, so practiced some yoga, meditated, and chanted. Then S texted me that he had a hangover and I lost my shit for a second. Of course he was nervous about meeting me, but damn, that does not mean one can or should go on a bender. Not cool. I knew it was now or never, so I put it to him and wrote something to the effect that he knows better than to drink on his meds and why is he sabotaging this. He said he had no excuses, and would still meet, but later. Fine, I said. 3:30. And drink some water!
More yoga and chanting ensued... I think I chanted for a half hour or so, right up until my doorbell rang. (Considering S's hangover, it seemed a good call to meet at my place rather than the Botanical Gardens--much too much.) I was focused on the truth and asking for clarity, and all points came back to being accepting and understanding--treating him how I'd want to be treated. I'm glad I had a whole month to come around to this, because if we had met sooner I would have still been full of hurt, anger, betrayal, distrust, spite... all that. I was smart and tenacious to say, "No, you can't just leave--take a month and we'll reconvene," but I was really foolish to let those ugly feelings run amok. Oh, and going on a few dates... that was careless and selfish. I was in no place to spend time with other people, but my stupid ego needed to feel desired. Ugh.
Anyway, I met him at the door with a long, warm hug. We just held each other for a few minutes, not saying anything. Then we sat down and talked for several hours. Face to face. No flinching.
As for that burning question... It seems that right after S and I broke up, a (female) friend of his came to visit from out-of-town. I knew she was coming, but I never thought to ask where she was staying. Then he calls it off, and the timing was just too suspicious. Next thing you know she'd posted what appeared to be a flirtatious message on his Facebook wall (oh Stalkbook, you medium for disaster) thanking him for his hospitality. In my mind, I was damn certain they slept together. Sucker-punched by the jealous/angry/hurt/crazy monster, I was. I was bent about it for a full week, but finally decided that I'd never know unless I asked, and I HAD to ask--in person.
It turns out that she did stay with him, but they're JUST friends, other people stayed over at the same time during her visit, bla bla etc. He wished I had asked him sooner I didn't make myself sick about it. You know, I believe him. I'm not the best lie detector, but within the context of our very honest conversation, I don't doubt he's telling the truth. While we were on the subject, I told him I had been on a few dates; he was bummed, but evenhanded--he broke up with me, after all. In fact, we admitted all kinds of things that we've never said before. We even talked about the Christmas present snafu and me withholding sex. Good, authentic stuff. Cathartic too.
As for his mental state, I was really surprised how present and lucid he was--I was talking to the old S, the one I fell for. When we first started dating we truly spoke the same language, but as his depression set in (and I got shut out/confused/hurt), that was lost and we became strangers to each other. Saturday though, there it was again--our language; several times he said things in exactly the way I wanted to put it, but couldn't, or vise versa. We were on the same brainwave again. Beautiful! I really didn't think that was ever going to happen again--big time doubts and sadness on that front. Also, S was very frank about his condition and medication. A recent diagnosis is that he's type B bipolar. It runs in the family, so he can see why, but it's not a condition anyone would be comfortable with, of course. I can accept this. I'm not an expert on mental illness, nor am I particularly experienced, but I have resources (friends in similar situations, reading material, talking frankly with S) and I'm willing to accept this as part of him. What won't fly, however, is if he drinks on these meds--that's going to be a struggle for him, but he's understands how imperative it is to his mind and liver (and me). It's important for me to be patient and level. Pah! HOW do I stay patient and level? Chant about it. Gotta start somewhere.
So yeah. We're going to give this another try--this time with communication and honesty-- and I'm elated. S is the kind of human being I've always hoped for. He's kind, gentle, creative, accountable (yes, really), deep and brilliant; he loves nature and doesn't eat animals. Also, I don't think I've ever been respected and adored on this level before. It's as if every other person wasn't quite right because they weren't him. They didn't speak my language. I realize that sounds super sappy and barfy, but I'm being real.
If you told me three years ago that I'd have a bf with bipolar disorder, I'd say, "Like hell!" If you told me that a year ago, I'd say, "So?" And today? "Yes, he does. It's part of him just like my sexual abuse is part of me. We didn't choose this, but we can certainly choose how we live every day. I'm glad we're in this together." I really am.
I tried not to have a nerve-wracking morning, so practiced some yoga, meditated, and chanted. Then S texted me that he had a hangover and I lost my shit for a second. Of course he was nervous about meeting me, but damn, that does not mean one can or should go on a bender. Not cool. I knew it was now or never, so I put it to him and wrote something to the effect that he knows better than to drink on his meds and why is he sabotaging this. He said he had no excuses, and would still meet, but later. Fine, I said. 3:30. And drink some water!
More yoga and chanting ensued... I think I chanted for a half hour or so, right up until my doorbell rang. (Considering S's hangover, it seemed a good call to meet at my place rather than the Botanical Gardens--much too much.) I was focused on the truth and asking for clarity, and all points came back to being accepting and understanding--treating him how I'd want to be treated. I'm glad I had a whole month to come around to this, because if we had met sooner I would have still been full of hurt, anger, betrayal, distrust, spite... all that. I was smart and tenacious to say, "No, you can't just leave--take a month and we'll reconvene," but I was really foolish to let those ugly feelings run amok. Oh, and going on a few dates... that was careless and selfish. I was in no place to spend time with other people, but my stupid ego needed to feel desired. Ugh.
Anyway, I met him at the door with a long, warm hug. We just held each other for a few minutes, not saying anything. Then we sat down and talked for several hours. Face to face. No flinching.
As for that burning question... It seems that right after S and I broke up, a (female) friend of his came to visit from out-of-town. I knew she was coming, but I never thought to ask where she was staying. Then he calls it off, and the timing was just too suspicious. Next thing you know she'd posted what appeared to be a flirtatious message on his Facebook wall (oh Stalkbook, you medium for disaster) thanking him for his hospitality. In my mind, I was damn certain they slept together. Sucker-punched by the jealous/angry/hurt/crazy monster, I was. I was bent about it for a full week, but finally decided that I'd never know unless I asked, and I HAD to ask--in person.
It turns out that she did stay with him, but they're JUST friends, other people stayed over at the same time during her visit, bla bla etc. He wished I had asked him sooner I didn't make myself sick about it. You know, I believe him. I'm not the best lie detector, but within the context of our very honest conversation, I don't doubt he's telling the truth. While we were on the subject, I told him I had been on a few dates; he was bummed, but evenhanded--he broke up with me, after all. In fact, we admitted all kinds of things that we've never said before. We even talked about the Christmas present snafu and me withholding sex. Good, authentic stuff. Cathartic too.
As for his mental state, I was really surprised how present and lucid he was--I was talking to the old S, the one I fell for. When we first started dating we truly spoke the same language, but as his depression set in (and I got shut out/confused/hurt), that was lost and we became strangers to each other. Saturday though, there it was again--our language; several times he said things in exactly the way I wanted to put it, but couldn't, or vise versa. We were on the same brainwave again. Beautiful! I really didn't think that was ever going to happen again--big time doubts and sadness on that front. Also, S was very frank about his condition and medication. A recent diagnosis is that he's type B bipolar. It runs in the family, so he can see why, but it's not a condition anyone would be comfortable with, of course. I can accept this. I'm not an expert on mental illness, nor am I particularly experienced, but I have resources (friends in similar situations, reading material, talking frankly with S) and I'm willing to accept this as part of him. What won't fly, however, is if he drinks on these meds--that's going to be a struggle for him, but he's understands how imperative it is to his mind and liver (and me). It's important for me to be patient and level. Pah! HOW do I stay patient and level? Chant about it. Gotta start somewhere.
So yeah. We're going to give this another try--this time with communication and honesty-- and I'm elated. S is the kind of human being I've always hoped for. He's kind, gentle, creative, accountable (yes, really), deep and brilliant; he loves nature and doesn't eat animals. Also, I don't think I've ever been respected and adored on this level before. It's as if every other person wasn't quite right because they weren't him. They didn't speak my language. I realize that sounds super sappy and barfy, but I'm being real.
If you told me three years ago that I'd have a bf with bipolar disorder, I'd say, "Like hell!" If you told me that a year ago, I'd say, "So?" And today? "Yes, he does. It's part of him just like my sexual abuse is part of me. We didn't choose this, but we can certainly choose how we live every day. I'm glad we're in this together." I really am.