Dating and Mental Health
I’m the kinda girl who used to get naked on the first date.
Figuratively.
I’d lay that shi out on the table off the rip. It be like, “So boom! Look, I’m bipolar and I suffer from severe anxiety and intermittent sleep disorder. There. Let’s get to know each other now.”
Deception was never my thing, neither was pretense or hypocrisy. I’m too lazy for that. And keeping it real is always my MO. So, I thought, let’s put the uncomfortable hard to deal with parts of who I am on the forefront– so, 1: someone’ll know what they’re getting themselves into, and 2: I’ll know if they want to get to know me for all the right reasons.
There are a few reactions to this, one more common than the others.
The most common response is, “Aight cool. I can hang.” You see, I think I’m very good at communicating, and I pride myself on garnering a full understanding of the emotional intelligence thing. So I try to be as clear as possible without imposing my “issues” on anyone to deal with, but just share in an open and honest way so they can make a decision on how to proceed in this very delicate but fun journey of getting to know me.
Another response is an attempt to trauma bond. This is very dangerous and could exasperate both situations. Another reaction is fetishizing my illness. The good ol’ “Awww let me fix you, poor damsel in distress.” Then we have the toxic ones who are like “Yea, I like crazy girls. Let’s do this.” Then my all time favorite “Ah shit. Peace. I’m out”.
Let’s talk about these. “Mr. Aight Cool, I can hang, it doesn’t seem that bad.” That was a boyfriend of mine for a year. My pandemic boyfriend actually. I don’t know any other way to say this nicely, but that was a complete and utter disaster.
That relationship taught me so many things though. I find that first impressions do last. So much so, that people can be so stuck on the fantasized version of the you they have in their heads, tell themselves that’s the real you, and there is absolutely nothing the real you could do to convince them otherwise. So they spend the whole time demonizing the real you, forcing their idea of you on you, then are bitter and angry when the real you refuses to be suppressed by their counterfeit idea.
Such was the case in my situation.
I explicitly and articulately told this man about my illness, told him how serious it is, what to expect, what contingency plans I have in place to deal with them, how fragile my situation was. He said it’s fine, he could handle it. At the first challenge of me struggling with these said illnesses in the relationship, my implied support system folded like seaweed on a sushi roll. He then turned bitter and angry at me for biting off more than he could chew. Clearly suffering from a mental health challenge himself called narcissism, which I have compassion for, but that’s a different story for a different time.
“Mr. Aww Let Me Fix You. Poor damsel in distress.” Insert face palm emoji and long sigh. This I have zero tolerance and patience for. This good mister does not possess the ability to see me, to see women, to even begin to have any kind of understanding.
This good sir has got a deeper issue of seeing women as sexual objects, but he’s very unaware and thinks he’s the “good guy.” He obviously also struggles with codependency that he somehow romanticized. Because he thinks he’s “Nice,” and women who aren’t self aware themselves will fall for it. This addresses a deeper issue of a man believing that women are feeble, weak, need rescuing and only his big strong self could save them. And it feeds into his fantasized idea of that inferior romanticized damsel in distress in the movies. Thank you Hollywood for this.
Run. There is no “help” here for mental illnesses. He’ll keep you sick so you’ll always need him.
“Mr. Trauma Bonding.” See, this one I dated right after “I can handle it” pandemic bae. This was unexpected and caught me off guard, and by the time that I realized we bonded and “connected” over trauma I was in deep.
This was scary. We didn’t bond over our morals and values, our goals, we bonded because we were both hurting and understood each other’s pain.
That could be good right? Someone who understands what you’re going through? Who suffers from some of the same mental challenges as yourself? Someone who knows thoroughly what PTSD, anxiety and not having supportive partners feel like? For sure that could be a great thing, but definitely not when you’re still smack in the middle of the trauma figuring out how to deal with it with absolutely no tools.
This is very dangerous and sneakily destructive. It’s like two bombs hugging not realizing the imminent threat of explosion from the friction, but telling themselves there is comfort there.
“Mr. I Like Crazy Girls.” Straight up, he just wants sex. He thinks the illness is sexy and funny. He wants no part of dealing with it, he just likes that it excites him sexually. Toxic isn’t an adequate description of homie. He’s just the devil. He will provoke you, hurt you, trigger you just to get him off. Then try to comfort you with sex. This is all a game to him. Get the fuck outta there and leave him a note to “get help.”
My favorite– “Mr. Ah Shit. Peace. I’m out.” I like him. He’s honest. Honesty I can handle. He’s harsh, but honest. He’s saying, “this is too much for me, I don’t have the tools to deal with this, and I’m making a decision that this is not something I want any part of.” I fuck with this. I lay my shit out on the table, and he does too. Then a decision is made.
There’s a part of discussing our mental health as women that is hardly talked about, and that’s emotional intelligence and responsibility to protect one’s self. Be aware. Do not impose and do not force anyone to be a support system to you. Not only is it destructive to yourself and unsafe, but it’s unfair and unreasonable to do that to others.
These days, I don’t get naked on the first date or even the first few dates anymore. I wait. I take the time to get to know him before I know if it’s safe enough to undress. Until I’m sure they can handle this naked me. The vulnerable me. This beautiful but flawed me. These imperfect complicated features. I wait to see if I’ll be embraced when I’m naked, and not be ravished like a rag doll because my nakedness excites them. I wait to see if my bravery to be naked isn’t intimidating and scary and will make them run away.
These days I wait to see if it’s safe before I talk about my mental health. Because protecting your mental health I now learn is an integral part of self care and self love.
