Dating is Crazy (and so am I!)

I am dating again. I am both excited and terrified to be dating again. I’m excited because this feels like the right time. I’m very content as a single person, but now I want a partner and am ready for him, so I joined a dating website. Saying I have not had the best of luck with online dating is a major understatement, but I refuse to sink into cynicism and despair: “Maybe, just MAYBE this time will be good!”

 

This is also the right time because I really have my shit together. I’ve got a very healthy mindset; I engage in healthy practices; I’m taking great steps toward my career goals—in other words, I’m a catch! I think I would make a great partner to the right person. Of course that all depends on the one GIANT INESCAPABLE BLARING HORN OF A QUESTION: Can he deal with my bipolar?

 

I am terrified to be dating again because of this question. I agonize over that question and the various what ifs that come along with it.

 

Here’s one: What if my date asks me point blank why I am living with my parents? (If you don’t know, though I think you could guess, the reason is I had a really major breakdown [well, several over a couple of years] and as such am unable to work and support myself. My parents extremely generously took me in and now we’ve got a pretty happy, healthy communion going on.)

 

What if I try to answer him with at least some honesty? Even if I soften the blows of “major” and “breakdown,” he might want to follow up with a direct question about just what exactly happened that made me have to live with my parents. What if I don’t want to lie? I might feel compelled to reveal my disorder, which I ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DO NOT WANT TO DO. Not for a while, anyway.

 

If I say nothing at all, or say “You know, it’s pretty personal. I’d rather not talk about it just yet” would he find that mysterious, alluring, and not necessarily a red flag, or would he be worried by what that could mean? To him, it could mean any number of things. (I murdered someone and I’m in hiding at my parents’ house! Katie is not even my real name! They’re not really my parents!) He would then have to sit, wait, and ruminate about that until I was ready to tell him—assuming he stuck around that long. What if I finally tell him and the news is worse than he imagined?

 

What if the news is not worse than he imagined and he is totally okay with it, in fact so okay with it, that he completely doesn’t understand the severity of my condition? (This has happened to me before. Afterall, I really have my shit together. If you don’t know me well, you might be lulled into a false sense of security in my sanity.)

 

Now, all those what ifs cover only one facet of my nervousness. The big what if questions multiply and branch out all over the place, like a giant tree of fucked-up-ness. For example, in addition to being anxious about revealing my disorder, I’m also incredibly nervous about my appearance.

 

One particular antidepressant I took for many years, Abilify, did some major damage in weight gain. Weight gain is its most common side effect, in fact. When I started taking Abilify, the shitty-ness of weight gain was dwarfed by the hope that this drug would help stop me from being suicidal. It did help. A lot. But it also helped me gain weight. Now, to be fair, I haven’t always had the best eating habits, and until recently I haven’t gotten regular exercise, but my doctor believes that the major cause of my weight gain was the Abilify. Eventually, I got to a point where my doctor felt it was safe to switch Abilify out for a different drug to keep my weight gain from getting worse.

 

I’m going to go out on a limb here and admit something embarrassing in the hopes that this might help/inspire someone somewhere someday: at my highest I weighed 192 pounds. I was almost 200 pounds! Holy shit! Keep in mind that at my heaviest in college I was under 140.

 

After the Abilify was out of my system completely, I lost some weight, and then when I started dieting and doing Cto5K I lost some more. Right now I’m between 168 and 172. So big improvement, but I’m still overweight and very self-conscious about my body. I’m afraid my lack of self-confidence will come across on a date and that can’t be sexy.

 

Having bipolar disorder drastically changed my identity and enforced many limitations on me. In college, right after I got sick, I was constantly butting my head against those limitations because I couldn’t accept that my life would be forever different. I tried to keep doing the things I was doing before I got sick and kept dropping the ball and failing miserably. And that completely shot my self-esteem. I have made great strides since then in regaining some confidence in my capabilities, but I am not quite the confident, forward, driven, proud person I used to be.

 

Long, long, long, story short, I have many reasons to be anxious about dating. Honestly, I could go on further about all the little paranoid what if questions that keep worming themselves into my brain, even as my mind attempts to combat them with phrases like “Just wait and see,” “Don’t have any expectations,” and “The right person will accept and support you the way you are.” My mini mantras are helpful, but right now the ratio of anxious thoughts to positive affirmations is depressing. All I can do is push forward and hold on to the one mantra that has helped me more than any other: “I can stand it.” Even if this whole experience is awful, I can stand it. Even if I am rejected and it lowers my confidence more, I can stand it. If the first date I have tonight is so horrible I burst into tears and have to flee the scene, I can stand it.

 

Wish me luck!

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3 thoughts on “Dating is Crazy (and so am I!)

  1. I suggest that you make up increasingly lurid and dramatic tales about why you live with your parents. Say you’re actually an ex-spy living in protective custody. Say you’re a genetic engineering experiment and your parents are your scientific observers. Say that they are the only ones who can understand “my secret.”

    And if you’ve got a little extra jiggle in your wiggle, know that you’re in good company (hooray for antidepressants mingling with estrogen pills!) and still gorgeous despite it all.

    Good luck!

    Like

  2. Dating is horrible. It’s good to know that a successful suicide means you no longer have to date.

    It’s something a lot of guys learn the hard way – FUKITOL. Take chances, look at rejection in the face and laugh at it. There’s no other way. Unless you’re a pretty woman or a super-confident guy who had sex from the age of 5, the game is rigged against you. It’s tough, yes. You have to learn to live with failure. Be open and let it all hang out.

    “I got bipolar disorder.”
    “Oh no, I’m not dating bipolar disorder!”
    “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

    Like

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