It really doesn’t matter
Those words were coming out of my mouth one way or another
I know myself too well to think that I could keep it in or hold it back or let it simply fester inside of me
I know myself too well to think that my secret was going to stay put and be silent and just retreat to the back of my mind
Somethings have to be said
Somethings have to be shouted
Somethings have to be screamed
Somethings have to be typed out via text message and sent out through the Wi-Fi with no idea of the damage they will cause
It really doesn’t matter
At least it happened when I had even the slightest bit of control over it
I had a chance to preface and explain and then even provide an epilogue
Which is much better than how it almost happened last night
But regardless of how it came out, it was said
Whether it’s understood or not is no longer in my hands
A lot of things aren’t in my hands anymore, all of them really
But in the end…
It really doesn’t matter
The alternative was not advisable or even likely
It had to come out and whether it was today or tomorrow or next year, it would have happened
The fall out will fall and in the end, I will look back on this with the wisdom of the experience of saying what I was eventually going to say
Hypomania can be a beautiful thing. For all of the downsides of bipolar, hypomania, a softer form of traditional mania, can make you feel really fucking alive. You have tons of energy, you feel great about yourself, you’re more daring, inhibitions are lowered, you experience the world faster and stronger than ever before. Emotions become more than just simple feelings. You can eat them, breathe them, survive off of them.
I’ve been hypomanic before, but never when I was dating. I quickly found that this dip in your appropriateness filters added with overconfidence and feeling emotions so much more strongly than before can lead you down a very dark path indeed. I told someone that I loved them when it really wasn’t advisable. The resulting wake up call to what an insanely bad idea it was left me crashing for several days, completely devoid of all of the feelings that I had had previously.
When one of my friends posted an article on my Facebook wall about the feeling of being in love being very similar to mania and hypomania, in fact, so similar, that the average hypomanic person would have no way to tell the difference, things started making much more sense than they should have. I found it strange that I went from, in one instance, feeling something so complete and consuming, to only hours later feeling completely different. But I chalked it up to the regular bipolar stuff.
But now that I know there’s a link between feeling like you’re in love and being hypomanic, I was determined not to even go there again for a really long time. Until someone said it to me. I didn’t say it back at first. I was confused by it, to be honest. Confused both by what I was feeling for the man in question and by what I currently thought that love was.
Love, like marriage, for me had become a very negative thing. Love was something that had bound me to an abuser and keep me in a bad relationship. So why in the world would I want anything to do with it now? When he said it to me, I didn’t say it back. Even when he mentioned it again, I still didn’t reciprocate. I was so unsure of what I felt that I couldn’t possibly imagine telling someone that had, in the past, been so incredibly problematic.
But when I got home and I was once again in my element (text messaging), I finally responded. I responded because I knew it didn’t change anything. The type of love we were expressing wasn’t what had gotten me into trouble before. It wasn’t possessive, jealous, abusive or manipulative. It was a different kind of attachment that I couldn’t even define.
And yes, I was also hypomanic and didn’t care. How much of that confession of love was me and how much was the bipolar talking, I have no clue. But I impulsively texted it back because I felt something for him. Something strong and I wanted to express it in the same terms that he had used with me. What will happen from here, I have no idea. Bipolar is the roller coaster ride that you can’t get off.
Maybe it’s not real
Maybe it’s all a chemical reaction inside of my diseased brain
Maybe nothing I’ve felt, from our first touch, to our first kiss, to the first time you heard me moan your name, was even real
There’s no way to know now
There’s no way to know for an undisclosed amount of time. Until the haze wears off and the excitement is gone and normality returns
Even then, I think we should all agree that I should never be made the arbitrator of reality
But while I’m here, while this is now
While everything is a rush of unmitigated pleasure, I’m going to say it
Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s not, maybe it doesn’t matter
Maybe love is what you feel, laying in bed with his arms around you, knowing that someone else was laying in this spot the previous night, a third person will be in it the next night, but not caring because of where you are now
Maybe that’s all there is to love
Maybe it doesn’t need strings or commitment or demands or possessiveness
Maybe love is the feeling of trust that lets him do these things to me
Maybe that’s all I need love to be for right now