love in the time of bipolar

Love is hard, it’s really fucking hard when your worst enemy is your own brain.

I’ve been married (and divorced) three times. All told that spanned the years of my life from 18 until 39. I don’t regret the second husband as much as the other two, but still, not the man for me. And that was something that had to be learned the hard way.

Some of what I’ve learned is that if I’m going to be happy I need to feel like it’s ok to be true to who I am. I need to be able to express myself and participate in the hobbies I enjoy, eat the food I like, and spend time with my friends. I also need to be able to look like “me,” whatever that means at the time.

I’ve also realized that it’s important that the person I’m with includes me in their life. I need to meet some friends, family, learn about their interests and be included where possible.

But it’s not always easy to love someone like me. I have the ability to experience every human emotion at the same time. I’m capable of mentally moving at frightening speeds, and then coming to a crashing halt. I shake terribly some days, able to feed myself only with a spoon. My memory is shot.

The right person sees past all of the necessary medications, doctor visits, therapy sessions, crying for no apparent reason, laughing like a loon… Looks past all of that to the soul inside and sees the need to be held and loved and comforted.

At the end of the day I think we all want the same thing. A hug, a kiss on the forehead, and someone to tell us that we’re loved.

2 thoughts on “love in the time of bipolar”

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