Misinterpretation
It’s funny, the little things that get misinterpreted in a relationship. A hastily scribbled note, for example, or a text message from someone who wants to send you samples of stuff to try and review. Both of these things have wreaked havoc in my relationship over the last few days and I feel it’s about time I talked about it.
We lost the Apple TV remote. That’s how it all started. In fact, that’s not how it all started. It all started when some guy got in touch to send me some stuff to review. I reviewed it, he said thanks. It wasn’t a great review but he appreciated my honesty. And then he sent a kiss at the end of his message.
Okay, that’s not even how it started either.
Fucking hell. Let’s go right back to the beginning …
Someone sent me a message on Twitter asking if I could try some stuff and let them know what I thought. (Not sex-related, sorry.) I said yes. That person said their name was one thing and I presumed it was a woman. That person then complimented the way I looked and said that they were nervous about my review. They wanted me to like their stuff. In fact, they piled on the compliments.
It wasn’t until some time later that I investigated this person on social media [translation: stalked] and realised it was a dude, not a chick. He’d given me his nickname, not his real name. The female-sounding nickname was also on Facebook, so it’s not a name he’d only given to me, but all of a sudden, the compliments he’d given me earlier seemed a little inappropriate. I don’t know why they would have been okay from a woman and not a man, but that’s just how I felt. The name he’d given me had suggested he was a girl, and the way he’d spoken to me made me believe he was a girl, but then when I stalked and realised he was a married guy, things just felt a little weird. I’m pretty sure these were the words I said to Bear:
“Oh, I feel like I’ve been duped! I genuinely believed that was a girl! If I’d have known that was a guy, I would have said that was flirting for sure.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that, in hindsight. But, you know me. The words just fall right out of my mouth because I’m a fucking idiot. I live with Bear now so he’s starting to appreciate that side of me. Appreciate is probably the wrong word …
Anyway, there was a bad review, and then a better review, and then he [the girl that was actually a guy] sent me a message saying thanks, and that message had a kiss on the end of it. And then there was an invitation to an event. The invitation was for me and Bear, but the first thing that came out of Bear’s mouth was this:
“Well, the invitation might be for you and me, but you know when we both turn up only one of us can get in for one reason or another and he’s going to be all over you like a rash. Even you said he was getting flirty.”
Right, well, that’s not quite what I said, is it? But fine, whatever. I dug my own grave as far as the flirting comment was concerned, so I took that one on the chin. Invitation politely declined, bullshit excuse given, I didn’t hear from the guy again. Well, until a couple of days later when he told me he was going to send me more stuff to review. And then he sent me his phone number … you know, about that invitation. It’s still for both Bear and I, just so you know. Bear’s ticket hasn’t been rescinded. And no, I haven’t responded or contacted him. I didn’t even save the guy’s number.
Long story short (not that I’ve done that so far), Bear is pissed off and now utterly convinced this guy wants to have sex with me. I’m a bit resentful that I don’t get to accept the invitation even though I don’t even really want to go. We’re fighting. Fighting is the wrong word; we’re two stroppy teenagers that are fine with each other one minute, slamming doors and shouting, “Oh, fuck off!” the next, back to hardcore making out again on the couch, twenty minutes after that. I lied about the last part. There’s been no hardcore making out for a while now. I’m back to not knowing where my libido has gone again.
But the kiss at the end of the text message, oooft, it wreaked havoc. Bear is walking around like a … well, like a bear with a sore head.
And then he found a hastily scribbled note under the bed …
We lost the Apple TV remote. It’s this stupid little silver thing and we always lose it. My kingsize duvet over his double bed = too much duvet. We’re always losing stuff in it. He was crawling under the bed, looking for the remote, and he happened to come across a little piece of paper that had obviously fallen out of one of my notepads. It was a note I’d assumed I’d written in the midst of a blog-frenzy because it simply said:
“The big reveal. Bear. It’s all true. But was he my happy ending?”
Somehow, in some way, Bear’s twisted mind had turned the hasty scribblings into me not thinking he was right for me. He was convinced that I thought we weren’t right for each other, that I was going to do this big reveal to him, showing that we weren’t compatible with each other as I was walked out the door … or something like that anyway.
He was still in angry Bear mode after the whole review-dude-girl-thing, and his mind was twisting and turning things, just like it always does. The piece of paper was actually an idea for the NaNoWriMo thing, I think, and something I never even got around to starting, let along finishing. It was just a book story, that’s all.
We’re always misinterpreting things, though. He’ll be mock-mad and I think he’s real mad, and then I get annoyed and he laughs, and then … you get the gist. It’s a bloody nightmare. We seem to be a little out of sync right now. I can’t get my sex-on, mostly because I’m working 17 hours a day, but he’s feeling mischievous and playful. He’s a frustrated little bunny. I don’t get always get his jokes, and mostly I just get pissed off with him. I feel for him, I really do, but at some point, he needs to start rationalising his crazy thoughts. I know he can’t help it because he’s got his mental problems and all, but c’mon.
Dating a paranoid schizophrenic someone with borderline personality disorder … not quite as easy as I thought it was going to be.
Go figure.
But we’re getting there, still. I’m still not mad enough at him to throw in the towel, and I actually think we might just be falling a little deeper in love. I know I am with him. We’re both getting chonky too. We’ve both put on weight. I’m starting to get a little concerned. I threw on some size ten jeans with leg splits the other day and they were so tight on me, I split the leg-split even further. All I did was sit down. I should work on this. I’ve gained a boyfriend and ten pounds. Someone pry the Easter eggs from my grubby little hands right now.
How are you lot? I’ve been Twitter-neglectful recently and I’m not up to date with blogs. Send me your latest in the comments below. Show me what I’m missing while I’m working my ass off and neglecting my boyfriend.
K, thanks! xo
Featured image by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash
I still don’t see the schizophrenia. You talk about paranoia, but there have been no signs of lack of connection to reality – and that is where the essence of schizophrenia is.
There are many problems with psychiatric diagnosis, and the lack of markers (ways to distinguish one illness form another) is only one. The lack of agreement between psychiatrists, or even between one psychiatrist on a different day – they all point to the problem of dealing with human distress in a medical way.
Thoma Szasz is a psychiatrist you might want to read. Or indeed RD Laing, who had some unique persepctives on schizophrenia. Basically, even if you have a mental illness, you shouldn’t blame everything on that – it isn’t a free pass. I’m not saying wither you or Bear are doing this, but it is something to ponder. Would you tolerate his behaviour if he didn’t have a diagnosis? (Yeah, I would have too at your age). Would he act that way if he didn’t have a diagnosis? If he can be honest with himself, that question could change a whole lot.