"Manic Pixie Dream Girl"

Photo by Gabriel Matula on Unsplash

I've spent most of my adult life in a romantic relationship, or looking for one, or thinking about one. I've heard it's part and parcel of the conditions I have... along with choosing ill-suited partners, which (I assume from my personal experience only) probably comes from the desperate desire to be seen, understood and wanted when the entire world basically seems to have no interest in doing so.

So, I dated.

I won't lie, the chemical reactions involved with "love" and lust are very intense, extremely desirable. As with drugs, I can feel the dopamine or serotonin or whatever it is flooding my veins in a far more literal and less poetic way than it may sound. But, I digress.

So, I dated. I mentioned in my last blog that for a long time I've felt like half of a person.

I have now realised that, actually, that is so far from true. As I also mentioned in that post, I've spent a great deal of my life feeling like I'm two entire people trapped in one body. So how can both be true? Right now, as I'm writing this post fuelled by sleep-drunken 4am ramblings... I did not feel like half a person.

I've been treated like half of a person.

There are a surprising number of people that I've been with to whom I was nothing more than an idea. It seems a cruel thing to say; they certainly thought they loved me. But actually, they only loved part of me. Now I know that the "second half" of bipolar is not what one would call lovable. I mean, I live on the inside of this hurricane; I get it. But the way my past lovers have treated the paranoid, hysterical side of me is like... something they wait for to pass. Something that isn't "the real me."

No, no - according to certain minds I was the manic pixie dream girl you see above you, and nothing more. All that other stuff? Well, it'll blow over eventually.

Technically that's true. The darker episodes do blow over.

When I'm in those episodes, I'm one of the lucky number of people who have enough consciousness at the time to be able to explain to others that I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm like this. I make sure not to hurl insults at innocent people, not to break things when I fly into a(n often triggered) rage. My control isn't perfect, but I do try, and it's always evident. (It took an immense amount of self-awareness, constant fighting and therapy to get to this point, but even with those things, for some people, it's impossible to remain lucid in these states. Those people still deserve love and respect and understanding and if you can't give it to them, leave them alone so they can find someone who can.)

But these episodes, however unsavoury, are an actual part of me. My special cocktail of conditions is a whole package. And yeah, it's not for everyone. Heck, it might not be for anyone. That's okay too. But I am never going to let someone love, or at least believe in, only half of me again.

Please do not misunderstand me: loving someone does not mean pandering to them. It is not putting up with abuse, or mistreatment, or anything. It's just supporting people when they're going through shit and, in my case, understanding that this is shit they're going to go through on a regular basis - and never dismissing it as just "something that happens I guess." It's not even a matter of "well if it's real to them, it's real enough." These symptoms are real, and they affect my life, all of the time. A life with me is a life shared with my illnesses.

I've had a few partners envision a future with me... one, and I quote saw "the white picket fence" type future. And actually, the other two I'm thinking of saw pretty much the same thing. But, none of them - and for very different reasons - actually saw me. They all saw my "darker times" ...but those dark times didn't fit into their rosy futures...

Which means, neither did I.

I'm aware that as I continue therapy I will learn to manage my symptoms with increasing effectiveness. With every passing year, month, moment, I become more equipped to talk myself down from emotional ledges.

Don't get me wrong, I had a catastrophic breakdown in the first week of this year, so. I'm not exactly all peaches and gravy.

And the thing is, maybe I never will be. I certainly never have been. I want to be better, always, but I don't want a picket fence. I want a rickety fence in the woods. I want a brightly-painted caravan in the heart of a tiny thicket of forest, and I want a lover (or three) who have their own caravans or cabins or tents somewhere in the same forest, just out of sight.

I am more than half of a person. And I am much, much more than your idea of me.

I also think this applies to anyone and everyone who's dating, really. We live in a society that values attention over things of actual value. People are obsessed with beauty, acceptance and companionship to the point that (and I should know) they will compromise who they are... and then wonder why they're unhappy, why their relationships aren't working out.

So I urge you to be authentic, and never, ever let "the world" or another person dictate who you are. Because in the end you can only be who you are; pretence doesn't last for very long. I've cut myself down to fit into other people's ideals, I've thought that only half of me is worth love. But that simply isn't true.

Remember that you're an entire person,

flaws and all.

Forever with love,

Aurora-Jak