On Friday night I had a crash. Not spectacular by my standards but a descent into a pretty dark place.
I was halfway through icing 100-plus gingerbread men for my family’s Christmas in July dinner (last night when he met them). Icing bag poised in mid-air, I couldn’t breathe. I dropped the bag into the bowl and fell to the kitchen floor. The cracks I had felt forming since Sunday broke open. Not crying over him, but for myself, being back in this place after so many months of having my shit together.
I wanted to call him. He was my boyfriend, apparently, after all. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to hear me like this, to be witness to the crazy that I can’t always control. So I rang a friend, who didn’t answer, and I rang another. She listened and then finally shared these paraphrased words with me:
“That’s the thing with mental health; we think having feelings makes us crazy. It’s OK to feel the way you do but because of our mental health issues, we somehow think we’re not entitled to lose it now and then over something other people would lose it over. Your feelings are valid. Your feelings are real and not ridiculous.”
I’m always apologising for my crashes, apologising when I lose control of my emotions. Despite the outwardly professed support and understanding for mental health, there’s still a long way to go in reality.
The more I think about what happened last night – much as I’ve tried to escape it – the more convinced I am that it was my telling him before dinner about how tough this week has been for me. I disclosed everything and it was too much, for him. He didn’t want this level of crazy. And he bailed. And while I’m pretty fucking devastated right now, and I’m struggling hard, he would never have accepted me.
Do I want someone who only wanted my good parts? Or is this a self-delusion as well. Maybe, he just wasn’t into me. I mean, into me enough to go away with me last weekend, request money from me for the plans for next weekend, but not enough to take someone who occasionally hates herself so much she wants to die. Fair I guess. It’s such a fucking drama after all.
I wouldn’t want me either.
But here’s the kicker: I thought he did. I really, really did. Such. A. Fool.