It’s 5:53AM and there is a boy in my apartment. The one I’m kinda sorta dating. Don’t worry, I told him he could be here.
(Backstory: He came up to visit me, but lives two hours away, so I told him he could sleep on my couch. And trust me, he slept on the couch.)
It wasn’t an impulsive decision, and the only reason I say that is because this is so out of character for me. It was part feeling bad that he had to drive so far, part I think/thought I liked him, and large part fascination that this guy was still interested in me in spite of the fact that I’m quiet and have kept him at arms length for a large part of this.
Now I realize that there was another large part of this. I want to feel normal. I want to have people around me. I want to sit and watch a movie with a guy. I want to do things that normal people do.
I know I’m not normal, and frankly never will be, not with Bipolar hanging over my head anyways. But that doesn’t mean I don’t crave normalcy.
Don’t ask me how I feel about the boy, because I don’t know. It’s too easy for me to go through the motions now that anxiety isn’t kicking my butt anymore. I need time to think and I’m glad he lives so far away, because that means I have time to sort myself out.
But I think I just want to prove to myself that some part of my life can be normal–that I can feel normal things without having to figure out if Bipolar is screwing with me or not.
I’m not sure that’s possible.