Live Mental--Life With Bipolar Disorder, Among Other Things: Almost single

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Almost single

Well you read the title. No secrets now! I'm almost single. Only he doesn't know yet. I'm waiting for something. Not sure what. I've reached that point after three years where I don't give a damn any more. I've been pushed, pulled, stretched and just plain stabbed for long enough.

Here's a thought. Men and their children. I always thought a man who had children would be great if he loved and really valued them. The problem with that is when you aren't the mother, this invisible tug-o-war begins over the attentions of his heart. You are NEVER a priority. Now I guess it takes a greater woman than I to put up with all the prioritizing not to mention mother (s) of the children sticking their oar(s) in.

What's funny is that I actually really like being single. I love my freedom. I love not having to account for what I do and I rather like behaving badly without have to recount what I've done.

Still, I love this man. He's a lot of things about him and in him that are great. I'm just getting old I guess. I don't romanticize things like I did when I was younger. It is what it is. So we'll see what happens here in the next few days. I don't see any big miracles taking place for us. I'm just slowly acclimating myself to the hole that will develop in my life once he's really gone. I hate that part.

I'm sure I'll have more on this later. For now, suffice to say, "Fed up" is enough of an incentive to drive past the pain of letting go of the love I have for someone who may or may not deserve it.

1 comments:

ScoobyinWY said...: Oh hon! I do understand what you are feeling and going through. I am there for you if you need a shoulder to lean on or a someone to just vent with. :o) Sending many, many hugs your way!!!; March 16, 2009 9:31 PM

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Life' s little ironies

I sat on a stool at the end of the counter watching my friend, inventory merchandise she had just received for her natural foods store. We were just catching up on all the gossip in small town Powell when the door was flung wide and a woman who looked to have wandered far and away from the red light district of some other state (none of the towns in Wyoming are big enough to have red light districts) made a rather dramatic entrance.

“Sarah, where is your mother,” she asked, though it sounded more like an exclamation than a question as she hurled the words like small pebbles at my friend. She stepped forward slamming the door shut behind her, its little jingly bells that announced a new caller sounding wildly with the force. The woman took another step forward toward the counter glancing briefly my way, and then dismissing me once she had determined me of no use to her. I heard Sarah answer but what she said was lost to me as I stared in fascination at the woman.

Her hair was a very yellowed bleached blonde with dark roots of about two inches. Her makeup was thickly caked on her face, her eyes painted with frosty baby blue eye shadow. She wore a white tank top that was low cut and kept falling off one shoulder. She had on a wide black belt over her hot pink miniskirt, which was so short it hardly qualified as one. Leopard tights and high-heeled boots completed the ensemble. She was tall and thin and I had the impression of taffy having been pulled to distortion.

But it wasn’t the ensemble that had me entranced. No. It was something else. There was an energy emanating from her; a kind of frenetic-ness that had me both fascinated and frightened. She was hurling words at my friend so fast and with such force, I expected to see Sarah thrown backward from the impact as if hit by bullets. I realized I was staring openly, my mouth ajar, and quickly shut it. I felt as though I was watching a human bomb detonating right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t even concentrate on what she was saying, or even understand it for that matter. I marveled at Sarah’s composure and ability to decipher what the woman was saying, such was the speed of her dialogue.

In my mind it seems as though the conversation was lengthy, but in reality I believe it only lasted a few minutes. The woman left in the same manner she had come, throwing the door open. It swung shut with a swoosh of air, leaving a final benediction of the small jingling bells. I looked at Sarah and said, “What was the matter with that woman? She acts like she’s on drugs.”

Sarah smiled calmly, “No she’s not on drugs. She’s a friend of my mom’s. She has a mental illness called manic-depression.” (bipolar disorder)

I stared out the glass door, still able to see the woman’s retreating form. I sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment feeling drained and thinking, “I am so glad I don’t have that.” I was frightened by what I had witnessed and I was so relieved to know I wasn’t like her.

It wasn’t too many years later as I sat in a doctor’s office looking at the ceiling that I remembered the incident with the woman in Sarah’s shop. I was in a psychiatrist’s office and he was in the process of diagnosing me with bipolar disorder, otherwise known as manic-depression. Generally I appreciate irony in life. It is often amusing. In this particular case, though, I was not amused.

Live Mental--Life With Bipolar Disorder, Among Other Things

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Almost single

1 comments:

Life' s little ironies

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