mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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Two Faced

It takes massive effort on my part to remember that I have other things going on in my life besides my oh-so-turbulent relationship with Matt. I also have friends I love, employees I loathe, a house to make into a home, and exciting plans for my future. I mean, really, I do have a lot on my plate at the moment.
BUT
This entry is going to be about my relationship. I have said, about ninety gigazillion times, that I know that my love is no different from anybody else's love, that I understood that everybody who has ever fallen in love has thought that they invented it, it just feels earth-shaking and new. I'm not sure I can say the same now. Loving somebody with bipolar is different. It is still love, but it is tinged with dread, and hope, and often self-pity, and occasionally just the regular kind of pity, and sometimes... sometimes it is mixed with something that isn't love at all. There are rough moments when I look at Matt and I see a monster. I see a face that I love but it is twisted with anger and despair and the words that come out of it can hurt in a way that Normal Matt's never would. There are moments when he looks so heartbroken that I would do anything, ANYTHING, in my power to make him smile again. There are times when he is a sad, scared little boy that I want to cover and protect with my life. And then there are times when I think, just, "Why?" Why have I chosen this? Why can't I fix him? Why doesn't he love me anough to change? Why do I stay? Bipolar love is special; I go to sleep each night next to an amazing, funny, bright, caring, loving man, and I would happily spend the rest of my life with him. I wake up some days to a guy I wouldn't wish on anyone, he stretches me so thin that I am sure I will snap into two brittle pieces at any second. I wake up other days to a grey, sorry creature who is tear-soaked and self-medicated, stubbornly refusing to be anything other than desperately sad. I have to love every single Matt that lives in that one body, I have to live with them all. I have to give him space when he is mean and snarling and I have to hold his head when he is crumpled and tiny and I get the pleasure of being happy, myself, when he is happy. It gets so taxing. I have thought to myself many times that I wished I had never gotten this involved with him, that I had never met him at all, never fallen in love or moved in together, never kissed, never anythinged. And then he takes me back up again and it is like I am bipolar, too, down and up and down and up. Sometimes I feel sorry for him and other times I hate him but mostly, I love him and hope that someday soon, he can find a way to get his illness under control.

9:29 p.m. - 2009-03-06

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