I'm really sad today. I'm just sad in general right now. I'm thinking about a lot of things--dwelling really. I think I'm getting depressed again. I want to fight it, but I'm getting to that place where fighting it hurts more than living it. All I can do is keep going and keep on top of the things that need done. I'm kind of happy I have Chi Omega right now, because I have a reason to wake up and actually shower and take care of myself. Through recruitment we need to represent Chi Omega well. All I want to do is sleep.
So, apparently I wasn't a rebound. But the fact of the matter is I was too much for him. Right now he needs someone that doesn't need to be taken care of because he needs to take care of himself... whatever. It made me think, though: am I just too messed up for a relationship? I've already cut myself off from boys for a while now. I know how bad they are for me, and I know I was looking, which is never good. Love should come to me, I think. Today James said, "My grandma used to say that we live to find love, we don't love to find life. I think that's what you need." He's so right. And that resonated with me after a little time in the car gave me time to process that. I was looking. But I couldn't help but wonder if I am just too much for someone else to take care of. Am I so difficult that I'm one of those project relationships--will people take me on to try to fix me? Because I know how poorly those turn out. So, after that thought, the first thing I considered was just waiting. Maybe in time I'll have my life better together and I'll be good for someone. But then that disquieting word--maybe--slapped me in the face. What if I'm never better than I am right now? What if my whole life will be this roller coaster of ups and downs? What if when I need medication adjustments I become too much to take? What if I always struggle with self harm? What if I spend my whole life falling in love with people who are scared of me?
I thought of all these things as I was driving away from camp with NPR playing quietly in the background, only to make me feel less alone. I've never known someone with bipolar that had a positive, healthy romantic relationship. Bipolar people are great for some things. They are writers and actors. They're movers and shakers... but they never seem to have love. And that thought scares me. I'm working on being okay alone, which is hard, but I can't help but try to look to the future and hope that I find someone. I can't help but hope that I'll have that camp wedding I always dream of, and that I'll have babies that don't have to have bipolar disorder. I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone right now.
He wanted me back Friday, after he dumped me Thursday. He told me that he missed me, Madeline Webster, Queen of the Gollywhops. He said I made him believe in love again. He said he'd made a terrible mistake, and he couldn't believe he'd let me go. But Wednesday night... he was with someone else. So I knew those feelings had to have a parallel conflict he didn't want me to see. So, against the calls of my heart, I said no. I said no even though he wanted me to believe that he wanted me. And today, Labor Day, four days later, he again doesn't want me. I see it was a wise decision to hold strong. Because no matter how much he "loves me," he doesn't love me enough to withstand my bipolar disorder. And maybe it's just the place he is in his life--I can accept that. But when love is real, none of that matters. When love is real, you can't imagine your life without someone. When love is real, you don't even consider loving someone else. When love is real, you're willing to take anything thrown your way: distance, stress, mental illness...
So, he dumped me Thursday. I'd planned on meeting his family this weekend, and so I hadn't signed up to work at Waycross for Family Camp. But when it happened, I knew I needed camp. I knew that I needed support, distraction, exercise, and music. So I emailed Eric, and he let me work, but I didn't get paid. I spent a total of $65 dollars in gas to get there and back and make my runs in Brown County. But I didn't even care. I was just so happy to be there. It was so good for me. The thought of Jacob still hurt a lot, but I managed to make it through the weekend with growth and a greater sense of peace. I think it'll take a while to heal now. I'm still very hateful towards him.
I'm maddest because he was the one that wanted to look so far ahead. Somehow that assured me, because he was willing to believe in long term when Drew wouldn't even commit to now. We seemed so good for each other. He promised to love me despite everything I was afraid he'd leave me for; everything I'm still afraid I'll be left for. And after rushing so quickly into things, he dumped me so quickly. I'm mad because even after he played on my emotions trying to get me back, he managed to change his mind so quickly again. I can exist as a fleeting thing. He can want me and not want me three times in the course of a weekend. I was mad because I felt deceived. But I have to catch myself when I'm mad at him for not wanting me. That really isn't fair. In that instance I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at my fear that no one will look far enough past my crazy to love me. Because honestly, at this point I'm not grieving him.
If he doesn't want me, he doesn't. And I have almost entirely retrained my brain to not want him anymore too. I can't even imagine myself ever being desperate enough to make that mistake. But I am grieving the hope I've lost. I think when I was looking, like I'd said before, I was looking for assurance that I was lovable despite my mood swings, and my scars, and my depression... and I thought I'd found that in Jacob. But I was wrong. And that's why it hurt so much. Because the very thing I was looking for in love, was the very reason I lost it.
I'm getting sick. My throat is sore, my head hurts... I'm just miserable really. I'm disgusting and I need a shower. I miss camp. But here I am, back at school, fretting about this homework I need to scan and email, and looking at the mess in my room fearing that I don't have the will to pick it up. It's going to take everything I have to shower and get to the library. I'm listening to Peter Paul & Mary, which is practically my camp soundtrack. 500 Miles just played. And I think it's true. I have no idea how many miles camp is from me right now, but it's too many. And not just camp, but those people who make camp what it is. They're my home too. And it's all so far away that it physically hurts. I feel it in my bones that there is where I belong. And soon I'll return to clear trails, or fix bikes, or work on the new archery field... and I'll find peace again. And maybe someday I'll learn to bring that peace home.