Bear Mental Health My Dating Life 

But That’s Life, Right?


A couple of you lovely lot have sent me messages lately asking if I’m okay as I’ve been a bit … well, missing, I guess? I have, you’re right, and it’s because I don’t really know what to say. I feel so out the loop too, desperately trying to catch up with what everyone else has been up to and failing miserably. I just … don’t know what to say?

What I want to say and what I mean are two different things. Because what I mean is nothing like what I’m about to say. That doesn’t make sense, I know, but it does to me. Maybe you’ll see?

At times, just like today, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to be with a schizophrenic someone with Borderline Personality Disorder. Bear’s mood swings have been diabolical lately, and it seems the torrent of hatred coming from his mouth is getting nastier and nastier. And we all know how well I cope when people say nasty things to me … Not very.

We had the CT scan and MRI scan for Bear’s dementia assessment, and now we’re waiting for results. We’re also waiting for a mental health assessment. A proper one. I keep brushing things under the carpet, putting it down to him having a bad time because of all the shit that’s been going on. Between family dramas and worrying about whether or not my boyfriend has dementia, there has been an awful lot of shit. Too much of it, in fact.

I’m struggling to cope. 

We’re arguing a lot. Bear’s Son went away with family people for ten days … leaving Bear and I alone. We were both really looking forward to it, I think, the time that we would have together. But it didn’t go quite how we’d hoped. We didn’t pull the mattress into the living room like we said we were going to, and we didn’t tick anything off our respective to-do lists. He didn’t paint my face again. We didn’t tattoo me half as much as we said we were going to. I didn’t catch up on the things I said I would while BS is away, and neither did Bear. It started arguments, on top of everything else already going on. Getting this stuff done kinda means getting paid, seeing as we’re both self-employed and all.

When he’s good, he’s very, very good. But when he’s bad, Bear’s a fucking monster. A bit like me really, except I’ve definitely got a better handle on things than he is. When I look at him sometimes, and the way he reacts and copes with certain situations, it reminds me very much of a younger, dumber version of myself. I understand the motions behind whatever he says or does because I once went through them myself. I know how easy it is to let your head run away with itself. I’ve been doing it my entire life, and definitely for the five or six years I’ve been writing this blog. You must have read some of it? I’m nuts. Or, at least, I was nuts.

Bear doesn’t have a handle on it though, and it’s starting to really get to me. He’s also starting to go above the point of controlling that I was comfortable with. This is something he acknowledges and then doesn’t acknowledge at all, dependant on his mood. He reads me snippets of text about narcissistic sociopaths, asking me if he’s like that. He pulls a face as he’s reading it out loud and asking me too, so he knows what my answer will be before I’ve had a chance to process the question. Yet, later on, when I bring the controlling point up again, he refuses to acknowledge it happens at all. I’m then a cunt, to him. A word that seems to fall out of his mouth more and more frequently these days.

I can be sitting at my desk, happily Pinteresting away, and he’ll accuse me of texting other men. In fact, while we’re on the subject of other men, I should probably share a few of the blog posts I’ve not dared to share yet. In short, he’s lost the plot about each and every guy I’ve tried to have in my life. Yet another point that he’ll agree with / not agree with, changing like the wind.

Texting my mother, same thing. Tapping away doing work stuff, same questions. Editing photos, videos, blog posts, whatever, it doesn’t matter. If I’m on my phone or laptop, there’s a chance, to him, that I’m cheating. I got so engrossed in a game the other day that I ended up taking it with me while I went for a quick wee. I’ve never done this before so, of course, I was met with the same questions.

Am I texting other men? 

Who am I talking to? 

Have I gone off him? 

Is he enough for me? 

The answers are also the same — No. No one. I’m working. No, I haven’t gone off you. Yes, you are enough for me.

Every. Single. Time. 

Turn things around the other way, on the other hand, and the story reads a little differently.

“Who you texting, babe? You keep smiling to yourself and I’m feeling not-funny.”

Like Bear, my half-serious questions are always thinly-veiled with humour.

“Oh, no one. Work stuff.” 

Whenever he says that I know it’s a girl. If it’s a guy, he instantly tells me their name, as if to prove he’s not texting a girl.

“Okay … Client? New booking?”

“Erm, yeah, something like that.”

“Okay … I can shut up if you want?”

“No, no, two secs, I’ll just finish off here.”

Cue frantic closing down of EVERY app he’s had open, locking the phone and placing firmly in pocket …

What makes it crazier is that I’ve never really had an issue with other women in his life. Well, apart from the crazy bitch who pulled her bra strap down in front of him (and me), of course, but I think that’s to be expected. I’ve kinda gotten over my jealousy patch, taking it in my stride that, because of his work, he’s going to get up-close-and-personal with other women sometimes and there’s not very much I can do about it. I certainly don’t sit around and watch …

(Lesson learned.)

That was, of course, until Bear changed strategy, out of nowhere. And for seemingly no reason, I must point out.

“I’m working on so-and-so later, but she’s a real dog. You’ve got nothing to worry about!”

I’ve had to explain to him that putting other women down doesn’t make me feel any better. That’s even more so the case when I actually meet these women and they’re not HALF as dog-like as he made them out to be. Quite the opposite, in fact, which then makes me wonder why he’s lying. Even more frustratingly, some of these girls are actually quite nice but it feels like Bear makes it weird before I get the chance to find out for myself.

Now, before we go around accusing this guy of cheating, I actually don’t think he’d have the chance. Between me, his son, work, and life, he has very little time to play away. At worst, he’d be having a cheeky bit of text chat with someone and even then, I’m almost 100% sure that’s not the case.

I don’t know what’s going on here, but I do know that between him accusing me, him accusing himself and then blaming me for doing it, and the really spiteful fights … It’s starting to feel a little like I’ve lost control of my life again. I’m drowning. It’s just a whirlwind of waking up, trying not to be angry myself (which is tough first thing in the morning for me), figuring out whether or not he’s angry, and then being fine OR ducking for cover, dependant on the morning mood assessment.

Oh, and that’s before we talk about the sex-thing, which is back with a vengeance. Or, rather, not back at all.

I need a fucking break. Just, in general.

Do I want to leave? No, of course not. I just have to say some stuff that I probably won’t even post again. It kinda feels like I got egg on my face.

Oh, look at her, happy in her relationship and boasting about it and shit. 

Yeah, now look at me. I haven’t gotten dressed in two days, and I left my first dinner in three days on the table because Bear and I started fighting again. I didn’t know what else to do so I just stood up and walked out. I’m actually grateful. With the exception of that one day I ate an entire Tesco chocolate gateaux to myself for dinner, I can’t even think about eating. I have no idea where my appetite has gone.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this? It feels like I’m continually walking on egg shells, waiting for him to blow up again. I’m just losing my fucking mind. Everything I do is picked apart, especially if he’s not right in the very centre of it. I’m sure he’s not usually like this. Not this bad, at least. It’s been a year … Surely it hasn’t been *this* bad the entire time? It can’t have been?

Do want to leave? No, absolutely not. Because it’s not this bad. Shit, I know I sound deluded and all, but it’s really not. It’s just so up and down right now, and part of that is down to the waiting game.

How will his mental health assessment pan out? 

Does he need new drugs?

Does he have dementia? 

What the fuck is going to happen to us? 

I love this man, but this is HARD. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to work on some days. On others, we’re the best thing in the world. We’re holding hands and snuggling up on the sofa, being vomit-inducingly cute and having this little team. Me and him (and his son, obviously) versus the rest of the world.

I took a break. Well, I didn’t really, I’ve worked non-stop. I took a break from NSSITC though. I figured I needed to work this shit out in my head before I go inviting you all in to have an opinion. Because once I’m done posting all these slightly out-of-date blog posts, I’m sure the only thing you’re going to say is, “Leave him!”

I’m sorry, but I’ve worked with this man for too long and too hard to just walk away now. I want you to trust me when I tell that he has come so far, but every now and again, out comes the crazy, angry schizophrenic. And, damn, he’s mean. But we’re working on it. In between those far-apart appointments, we’re working on it. It just feels like when one problem has been solved, another pops up in its place.

But that’s life, right?

P.S. It was our one year anniversary a few days ago. To balance this post out a little bit, I love this man more than I ever did. 

Original featured image by hamiltonjch from Pixabay

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One Thought to “But That’s Life, Right?”

  1. *It feels like I’m continually walking on egg shells, waiting for him to blow up again.*

    Abusive relationship. Right there.

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