I believe that we can be loved for, not in spite of, some of our deepest faults. One's flaws, the fundamental difficulties in one's personality that one grapples with all of his or her life, can actually be embraced by their loved ones (or maybe its just the struggle that is embraced). I love people for their tempers, their stubbornness, their loudness, their insistence, the pain they have endured.
When you're bipolar, your personality (or something) comes with a distinct set of faults. I am obsessive, angry, paranoid, high energy, hyper excited, furious, and delusional a few days about every month. For a few days each month I am sad, angry, have no noticeable sense of self worth, am clingy, and am sure that no one likes me. I can't blame this all on my illness. There are no doubt bipolar people more pleasant than I. But the consistent inconsistency, the cycles, are part of my disease, and they are confusing, scary, and difficult to those around me.
I live in constant fear of the people I love walking away. I live in constant fear that one day, that which was too much for me for several years will become too much for them. I live in constant fear that they will start to believe, as I sometimes do, that they can find someone to love who has all my good qualities and not this cyclic demon. And, I live in constant fear that these fears stem not from my illness, but from something core and dirty in my personality from which I can never escape. Not that that matters, as my illness in in fact something core and dirty that I cannot escape from.
I do not believe that people can love me for my illness, and that makes it exceedingly difficult to believe that anyone can love me at all. I believe that if someone is to love me, he will need to love me so much that he can somehow overlook this accident of biology, circumstance, and temperament. He will need to love me so much that I can express and share my volatile moods, my struggles with medication, my ambiguity about my past, present, and future. He will need to love me in spite of, and in spite of what: An elephant, a tiger, a poison.
Makes dating tough.
When you're bipolar, your personality (or something) comes with a distinct set of faults. I am obsessive, angry, paranoid, high energy, hyper excited, furious, and delusional a few days about every month. For a few days each month I am sad, angry, have no noticeable sense of self worth, am clingy, and am sure that no one likes me. I can't blame this all on my illness. There are no doubt bipolar people more pleasant than I. But the consistent inconsistency, the cycles, are part of my disease, and they are confusing, scary, and difficult to those around me.
I live in constant fear of the people I love walking away. I live in constant fear that one day, that which was too much for me for several years will become too much for them. I live in constant fear that they will start to believe, as I sometimes do, that they can find someone to love who has all my good qualities and not this cyclic demon. And, I live in constant fear that these fears stem not from my illness, but from something core and dirty in my personality from which I can never escape. Not that that matters, as my illness in in fact something core and dirty that I cannot escape from.
I do not believe that people can love me for my illness, and that makes it exceedingly difficult to believe that anyone can love me at all. I believe that if someone is to love me, he will need to love me so much that he can somehow overlook this accident of biology, circumstance, and temperament. He will need to love me so much that I can express and share my volatile moods, my struggles with medication, my ambiguity about my past, present, and future. He will need to love me in spite of, and in spite of what: An elephant, a tiger, a poison.
Makes dating tough.
Hmmmm, I can not speak directly to what you are experiencing, except to say that I know I, and I would speculate that each of us, has a fear of not being accepted and loved for who we are. What I can speak to is loving someone so wholly that his elephant has become what I love most about him. In the early years it is what caught my attention; then there were the years that I wrestled with the elephant; and now there is an endearing acceptance and almost light hearted bantering of naming the elephant in the room. The elephant is there, but it seems to be sitting in the chair and drinking tea more often than not. Naming it, calling it an elephant no longer makes it defensive. It just is. It is separate from me; but I fully realize it is not separate from him.
ReplyDeleteI don't pretend to know your struggle, nor to philosophize and spin an answer or antidotal feel good perspective on depression. But what I do know is your are loveable, beyond comprehension actually. That in the layers and the messy bits is a soul being forged who is and will profoundly contribute to every life you touch.
Love of self and love of other, in its deepest embodiment is more vast then we can plan for.
No one is perfect! Just perfect for one other human being who will then choose to walk in life alongside you.
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