Being single presents its own problems when wanting to date. Add to that a touch or a wild streak of mental illness and you’ve got yourself what may be a lethal cocktail. Having been single my whole adult life, I have a dating story for every occasion: weddings, funerals, promotions, layoffs… well, everything but a true pregnancy.
I’ve dated a myriad of men from poets and musicians to engineers and attorneys. In my search for true equality I’ve romanced dark and light skinned men, from Philippino, Chinese and Mexican to the plain, old-fashioned Southern white male. The poor and millionaire alike, I’ve broken up with the best (and worst) of them, never fearless enough to settle down (not going to dive into my own personal psyche here). So it’s no surprise I’ve started dating those with similar diagnoses. Started, then stopped.
Let me explain.
I met N. at an on-line dating site for the mentally ill. He was in my area, so we met, but I was not impressed. It wan’t his bipolar diagnosis, but his demeanor that turned me off. My friends encouraged me to “give it go” see what happens. “C’mon, give the guy a chance” one male friend begged. I reluctantly put aside that small voice in my head that said this is a bad idea, after all, who I am I to judge? He could be a nice guy, right? Right?
After the obligatory courtship period, we decided to give it go. I should have stuck to poetry and drinking alone on weekends.
After a few drinks…
“Wow, that’s the ugliest ingrown hair I’ve ever seen.” I frown at his pubes.
“That’s not an ingrown hair.” he quips.
Pushing away I gasp, “What the FUCK?! When were you going to tell me THAT? Didn’t you find that tidbit relevant?”
“Well,” he said calmly, “That’s what you get for being a whore.”
He sent the last text message:
“Why did you leave so fast last night? Was something wrong?”
“Yah, your disease and your attitude toward women.”
“What did I say?” (Nevermind him skipping over the STD as a huge warning sign.)
“You called me a whore!”
“No I didn’t. You must be DELUSIONAL.”
And that’s when I knew he had a screw loose and it was sane to run.
One year later
It’s not the ups and downs of his bipolar that scared me. Ultimately it was the bumps of disease that did me in. I don’t know if he was joking, but who the hell actually jokes about STDs and calls a woman a “whore” these days? There’s insane and then there’s twisted.