Welcome to today’s edition of “what in the actual fuck is this bitch doing?” I’m glad y’all could join me as I completely lose my fucking mind.
If you’re just joining us, see Brian at the door for the synopsis of how I manage to completely fuck up anything that resembles a healthy relationship, because it’s what I do. You can also purchase some “what in the actual fuck is this bitch doing?” merchandise, all proceeds go to my general “someone save this stupid bitch from herself” fund.
So, he called me. He is out of the facility. He is medicated. He sounds like my heart, like my guy, like the absolute beat of my heart, again. He sounds healthy. Apparently, he went directly into another facility after his Baker Act, and nobody in his family felt I needed to know that information, I should just sit around willing myself to die for thirty days (33) instead.
Really fucking appreciate that.
But, hateful bitches aside, I will address the huge fucked up question that everyone needs to be acknowledged; can it be worth it to deal with mental health issues, with all of the insanity that shit can quickly devolve into?
Let me say this much. At the height of his breakdown, when I looked in his eyes and there was a different man in front of me, he was never violent. He never tried to hurt me, as other men have done while in their right mind and stone-cold sober. He just isn’t that guy. At his core, he isn’t bad. He was just broken, in his mind. His mind took a brief vacation and forgot to tell the rest of him the itinerary.
In my heart, I know that there will never be a time that he will ask me to come, and I won’t. I would face down small armies to be close to him, and we ain’t talking no punk ass militias, I mean, the real fucking deal. I might toe to toe with a unit of Marines for this man, and by might, I mean, bring your asses on.
So, he’s been given mood stabilizers and anti psychotics, he tells me, and I am literally lost in my head about it right now. I’m at that mythical crossroads that I so often have left out of heading in the complete wrong direction, with no destination in mind, just rolling until the tread has completely worn through.
I don’t know how equipped I am to deal with this level of mental illness. I have my own mental illness that I have tried to keep hermetically sealed for freshness since the age of 15. I battle anxiety every day as a result of PTSD. I am not emotionally healthy.
But, I know that when I was with him, I stood taller. I burned brighter. I laughed harder and I felt more deeply than any other time in my life. I have never been more comfortable in my own skin than when it was standing in front of him, and I appreciate him for that and at least 9 million other things.
So, today, I will continue to live as I have been living. But if he should happen to ask me if I want to be the rest of his life, I cannot tell you that my answer wouldn’t be “what in the actual fuck took you so long?” There isn’t a psychosis strong enough, or a medication schedule hectic enough that could erase the way life felt when I lived it with him. When everything was finally in perspective. When everything finally made sense.
It took the crazy in my loves mind to make the world make sense to me, and that speaks to my own mentality. There isn’t a crazy strong enough to scare me, because I would bare knuckle box with that USMC unit right now to make it back to fumbling my way through love with him.
It a raw painful job you're pondering, ma'am. That he never laid hands is a plus, and you might ponder educating yourself on his disease before agreeing to anything. It's cyclical and, no matter what the shrinks claim, not well understood.
Drug regimens WILL, suddenly and for no good reason, just quit working and have to be reset often from scratch. Also ponder how the family covered up like a cat who just crapped on the tile in that mix.. they have shown they WON'T back you when (not if) it goes south again.
The key question you have to reckon for yourself is whether the good outweighs the bad patches that will be coming and, sometimes are, but may not be temporary.
I've haven't been around very long, so you don't know me as well as the others, if at all. It sounds like y'all are a pair. That when his mental health is right, it's the shit we all dream of. You are your best self, more than your best self. And April, you don't find that everyday. No you don't. You are experiencing the pain right now, but haven't lost your core self through all of it. I don't know what the mental illness is, don't breed to, but consider this: what if it never happens again? The breakdown, or whatever it was? What if you bail and it never happens again, and you have to kick your own ass for losing out on this guy who brings out your best, very best. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, not famous for making the best choices, but I've never given up hope. Don't get me wrong, I don't fart glitter and rainbows, get way dooooown sometimes, but I'm never out. So I guess put me in the column of "grabbing happiness while it's there". BTW, imo, if he cracked his egg, didn't put hands on you, and got himself right, he's a winner!!!! His family? Pshaw, screw his family, you don't have to love them- mild to no tolerance will get you through that family shit. Just my .02