Dear Mr A
I know that you did not sign up for a wife with bipolar I disorder that needs medications to function but even then her mood is tenuous. I know you signed up for love, and that is what I can offer, and you know that underneath everything in my episodes that I am madly in love with you.
When we met at the age of seventeen while folding ladies underwear on the tables every Saturday and Sunday at a lowly retail store in Canberra, only one of us was thinking of a shared future. The other person was so steeped in self-loathing that they were an insidious mess of reality and their life was playing to the tune of Jewel’s song entitled ‘Who will Save Our Souls’. Not that I believed in souls anymore back then than I now, but the message behind the song of outward yearning for inner peace really strikes me as the place that I was in back then. We spent some of our time together outside of work, catching up in the clubs, mostly, bopping and jiving, bumping and grinding to the late 90s trance with strobe lights bouncing off the walls like a retro rainbow on steroids.
I felt at ease with you, and safe.
Fast forward a few years and multiple home moves and I was back in Canberra for a brief time and we reconnected, but this time it was at a whole other level. I realised that (sorry I need to stop for a moment I am overwhelmed with feeling about our love) our connection was more than the friendship we had maintained across great distances, and in fact I found you rather attractive in another sense. Without embarrassing you with the details we ‘got together’ and took our relationship to the next stage and out of the friend zone.
Or so I had thought.
While I was in the desert and dreaming of you, an update came through from your Facebook status that you were ‘in a relationship’ which came as a surprise to me as I thought that our hooking up each time I returned to Canberra was a relationship… of sorts. You cleared your throat with obvious discomfort when I tried to confront you on the phone about it, but dissatisfied with the response about who this other woman was, I did was all Generation Y females did back then and I wiped you from my social and electronic media. I took your photo off the wall and willed you into the past.
And for two years, it worked. If you want to read more about my two year cycles read bipolar disorder and the home.
It was Christmas in 2011 and I received a text message from an unknown number that just said ‘Merry Christmas Reg’. I replied, ‘who is this?’ to which the reply was ‘it’s Adam’.
My heart stopped. I started quivering a little as I remembered the transgressions (supposed) and thought for a long ten minutes about whether I was ready for restarting this friendship. I decided to dive in and that was the beginning of everything. When I moved back to Canberra I initially shacked up with you, and then when you moved to Sydney you would travel to Canberra almost every weekend to visit me. We broke up a couple of times (every two years, probably) and then you put a ring on my finger in 2014.
I had shown cycles over the years we had been together, and you shared this information with my doctors when I was having a psychotic episode after the birth of our son, Master X. I am almost certain that you considered leaving me as my condition worsened because I was not being medicated properly. I sensed your exacerbation but my manic self did not care. I did not care about anything other than running away in a hope to stop the voices.
I know that you did not sign up for this manic who write feverishly and forgets to take her medication. I did not sign up for this either. But we both are invested in our love, and we did literally sign up on paper to declare our love in front of our close family and friends. I sign up for you, to love you with whatever I can, even when I am not well. It breaks my heart to shatter you with my mania, but I can see that you did sign up for this love that I offer. And look at the amazing little people we are creating and bringing into our fold of love.
We are amazing.