Content warning: This story contains details about depression and suicidal thoughts.
On the first sunny day of April 2021, I sat at a tattoo parlor in east London watching an artist ink the letters “EIC” and a small semicolon on the side of my ring and middle fingers, slightly frowned. “EIC” stands for “everything is a copy,” a nod to Nora Ephron’s iconic quote that everything is storytelling material. The semicolon was, of course, a boon to the English language, but it also had a deeper meaning. It was a reminder that I had reached the light at the end of a very dark and noisy tunnel. This is something I really couldn’t have imagined him doing in a year. half a minute ago. Both were celebrations of my recent book deal, but even more so, of the fact that I survived.
In the fall of 2019, I collapsed. I came to the end of an incredibly toxic 18 month relationship with no gas left in the tank. you won’t, Love me — and I didn’t know how to put myself and the pieces of my life back together. I felt trapped and at the same time aimlessly floating, struggling to find connection on this side of my existence. So I decided that I wanted to end my life.
Luckily my attempt didn’t work. Instead, I was in a hospital room with a close friend and a medical team, answering questions about my current emotional state and mental health history, and trying to find out a plan for the future. We decided to take time off from work and contact the nurses daily so they could monitor my emotions and behavior. I also met with a psychiatrist who thought my life and relationships would change dramatically at the time, but it was not for the better and I was diagnosed with Bipolar II. I got the news that there is.
In a roundabout way, this mental health crisis ended up saving my life. I’ve always known that I have manic-depressive tendencies, but I thought I might have bipolar disorder and that there were treatments available to address the specific challenges I was facing. I never thought about having sex before.Until this psychiatrist showed up (then another psychiatrist, and another A psychiatrist) evaluated me and uttered these simple words: know– You have bipolar disorder. My breakup was a trigger point, a catalyst, but it wasn’t the cause of my suicide attempt. The disease was just diagnosed. And I was able to treat it. it could be better.
It was liberating, almost a relief. And it made sense to me. I wasn’t exactly “textbook”, but finding out I was bipolar explained a lot of my behavior and shed new light on my past experiences. From small projects at work to conversations on dating apps. The depressing depression I experienced a few weeks after that, crying in the office bathroom when I was criticized for minor things by higher ups, crying in my friend’s arms after being ghosted.
But this news took me by surprise. When I found out I was bipolar, I felt like I was destined to wear the scarlet letter. It’s a bright, flashing warning sign for all future partners, one that says, “Stay away from this person.” “She was so hurt, she was so sick, she had bipolar disorder.” Now, I have a new emotional load to navigate through this already rocky terrain. I imagined myself revealing my diagnosis during a weighty conversation with a potential love interest. After that, who would you want to date? no one,I thought.
Many of the depictions of bipolar disorder we see, especially single women, are severe and one-sided. They’re talking a mile a minute, then screaming and brandishing knives. They are a threat to themselves and others. They are not free at all. (Think: Erin Silver 90210 Or an Anne Hathaway character modern love.) Having grown up with close friends and family members who also have bipolar disorder, I knew these were exaggerated depictions.that is absolutely It is possible to manage this disease. But I wasn’t sure the people I dated were so understanding. There is still a lot of stigma surrounding mental illness, and I was convinced that even the most thoughtful and compassionate person would probably consider mental illness a burden on their partner.
To clarify, bipolar disorder (a mental health condition in which people tend to have extreme mood swings, such as extreme mood swings and dips) is a powerful diagnosis. Those experiencing it and those closest to them should take this seriously. For me, finding out I have bipolar disorder meant seeking additional individualized treatment, spending months with my psychiatrist finding and adjusting the right combination of medications. also meant But it wasn’t, and isn’t, the proverbial nail of my romantic life as I thought it would be.
For various reasons, I didn’t immediately go back to dating after my breakup (and subsequent diagnosis). I was still tender from my past relationships and knew that not only did I need time to lick my wounds, but I also had to make myself a priority for change. I needed to focus my energies on being healthy in every sense of the word, through therapy, talking to friends, and taking medication. When I dipped my feet into the dating pool again, I did so relatively casually and without any expectations. I was more self-conscious and dating with a more acute understanding of the dangers involved in over-investing in others, especially those who were not equally invested in me, romantically or otherwise. rice field. I dated here and there. There was nothing significant that I felt needed to clarify my recent diagnosis. However, one man told me without prompting that he doesn’t think mental health is as important as physical health. It made my stomach nervous and pounding. Do all the people I’ve dated feel this way?
Then I met Ian. We met on a dating app in September 2020 but, apparently for pandemic-related reasons, didn’t meet in person until April 2021, instead exchanging memes and jokes on WhatsApp for months. . As soon as we met in person, I knew I was at my worst.
Ian was kind, intelligent, dimpled and charming, thoughtful and kind, adaptable, and just as excited to befriend a stranger’s dog as I was. Naturally, the moment he found out I was battling mental illness, I was terrified that he would magically disappear as quickly as he appeared. Not because he didn’t seem to have empathy or understanding, but because he could surely date anyone — why would he choose to date (I thought)?
I did not do it felt “Crazy” – if anything, the post-diagnosis treatment plan made me feel more sane than ever. But then again, I thought that telling a potential partner about my bipolar disorder meant showing them the bright red letter “B” around my neck, and not letting him overlook it. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to He was a wonderful person, but what if he also had preconceived notions about bipolar disorder? What if it changed his perception of me? My experience with relationships has taught me that men use all sorts of excuses to avoid commitments. The fact that he found out that he had the disease of which he was often blamed must have been reason enough to make me quit.
I hid my truth near my vest until about our sixth or seventh date, when Ian asked about the semicolon that had just gotten on my finger. We hadn’t talked much about mental health before, but I knew him well enough and felt I could trust him. I also knew that he was a warm, open-minded person, and that being with him felt like melting butter on toast…so I had two tattoos. I told him that it means a lot. I’m talking about a recent book deal and a recent suicide attempt.
“The writers could have chosen to end the sentence, but they continued,” I explained.
Ian nodded politely, took my hand, apologized for making me feel so down, and thanked me for still being here. It put me at ease, at ease, and later that night I was able to share that my suicidal thoughts were actually a symptom of bipolar disorder. Again, he completely understood and nodded completely unconcerned.
Our conversation allowed me to rewrite the story in my head a bit, and made me realize that being bipolar doesn’t encompass or define everything. It was simply her one element of who I was (and still is). If Ian wants to date me, he will get a kind and supportive girlfriend. again I happened to have bipolar disorder. It couldn’t be more complicated than that.
It’s been over two years since I told Ian about my diagnosis, and he and I are still together. He saw me through my best and my worst, and always reminded me that he loved me for who I am, in the dark and the light. I’m still learning how to manage my bipolar disorder, but it wasn’t the big, nasty stain that once concerned our relationship and me. It didn’t stop me from being a supportive and reliable partner, nor did it stop me from finding a partner in Ian.
From my past relationships, I believed that love and affection were conditional. To win their devotion and adoration, you must show up exactly what they want, no more, no less. But even in those early silly text conversations, Ian put me at ease, made me feel at home in his company, and made me feel like he could just be himself. He was extra worried that finding out I was bipolar would hurt his view of me, but it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Because no matter how condemned the condition is, a worthy partner will accept every part of you and love you completely. That’s how you deserve to be loved.
If you or someone you know is struggling with mental illness, please contact the Department of Mental Health Services National Helpline at 800-662-HELP or visit: FindSupport.gov.
Genevieve Wheeler (She/Her) is a freelance writer covering pop culture, dating, travel and everything in between (including: how to have sex on a plane-you’re welcome). Her byline is featured in: deputy, vogue business, teen vogue, elite daily, business insider, mashableand PopSugar have cited her work and words. new york times, voxBBC, cheddar news, Jezebel, from. her debut novel, Adelaidewill be available from St. Martin’s Press in April 2023.
