Welcome back, me.

This sporadic posting is really quite silly, and I wish that didn’t rhyme. This idea I’ve had for so long, of being a poet? I really do know better.

And that’s not the tone I was hoping to start all this up with, but there we have it. I’m not feeling the optimism and this isn’t the place for faking it. A year ago I felt optimistic, grateful, and surprisingly stable, despite all the upheaval in my life. I was willing to face the upheaval, to initiate all those positive changes, because I felt so stable and centered. Now I’m reeling from one extreme to another in the span of minutes, but I don’t think it’s anything as simple as regression. That calm, sedate outlook of a year ago wasn’t an escape from my emotional instability; it’s what my depression looks like, reduced by a couple orders of magnitude. I was still stuck deep in the middle of it, even as I was surrounded by so much goodness, and it left me just a bit slow to respond to all the stimuli in my life. Which can look a whole lot like stoicism and stability, but really isn’t.

And now? Another manic phase. Not in the sense of being genuinely bipolar, just in the sense that all people tend to vary across the spectrum of emotional intensity throughout their lives, and me more than most. So what does my mania look like, reduced and held in check and not completely ruling me? Typical feminine hysterics. I’m kinda disgusted with myself. There’s been crying these past few weeks, and the occasional desire to scream at the people around me, especially the ones I care about. I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep again, fighting down anger more often than not and sometimes for the silliest reasons. I have a surprising reserve of energy, both emotional and physical, and a restless sense of being unfulfilled in pretty much everything I do. I don’t trust any of my happiness, though I spend a bit more time trying to ensure it than maybe I should. And in retrospect those two should be joined by an “obviously,” not that contrary, denying “though.”

The big news this month: David and I are a couple. An item, a unit, together in our togetherness. He is my boyfriend. I hate that word now more than I ever have. I’m pushing 25, which is still quite young, but boyfriend sounds entirely juvenile, the appropriate word for teenage histrionics and fumbled, clumsy first kisses. But our coupledom is more or less official now, mutually agreed upon, and our language hasn’t evolved quickly enough to accommodate the modern variety of romantic attachments. To be perfectly frank, I don’t trust it. He’s gotten close and run away so many times, and though the past couple weeks have been entirely new and different, I can’t seem to convince myself, emotionally, that this will last. That I’ll get to hold on to this, to him, or even get the chance to ruin it in typical self-sabotage and clumsiness.

But, all my doubting and mixed emotions aside, he’s joined the ranks of my boyfriends. Ryan, Jacob, Ben, and now, David. Such common names. I like to think they were uncommon men, but on closer inspection I’m not so sure that’s the case. Ryan is mean in a very old fashioned sense of the word. Ignoble, small-minded, petty, base, sordid, and vile. (Thank you dictionary.com, for saying what I’ve been afraid to say.) I love him dearly to this day, think about him more than I’d like to admit and I wish all the time that I could see him, play some part in his life, but I don’t want to get anywhere near the life he’s chosen. He had a remarkable intelligence, but he’s slowly burned it away in his desperation to escape reality. Turns out heroin isn’t so great for neurological health, nor are cocaine, acid, meth and the myriad others I’m sure he’s tried that I don’t know the first thing about. He’s reduced himself to something so small: another prisoner, petty thief, mean, low-life young man. Heartbreaking and common, pitiable in no small part because the story is so very mundane.

Jacob has a remarkable kindness, an absolutely unique virtue, and I often think that I was lucky just to touch him, to get to play any role in his life. He was, in my life, quite extraordinary, largely because he taught me what genuine respect looks like, how it feels to be treated with consideration and compassion. But observed from a greater distance, these things are rather common, though not as much so as they ought to be. He was the perfect Baptist boy, grown up into a respectful young man with a respectable career, a pretty, darling wife and a neat, tidy life. His wedding was excruciating for me. I had to watch this radiant, joyful woman and not let on how I was comparing myself to her, my knowledge that I in no way measure up to her and am utterly unworthy of the life she’ll find with him. Surrounded by so much joy and I wanted to just be happy for him, not jealous and resentful that I couldn’t measure up to this simple goodness. And then to admit to myself that even if somehow I could immerse myself in it I’d feel bored and stifled in the space of a minute. He is good and admirable and worthy of immense respect. And common in all the best ways, all the ways I was never able to conform myself to.

Ben? Common in the most negative sense of the word. Utterly lacking in ambition or really anything in the way of distinguishing qualities. Two years with him taught me just how much I disdain commonness, how incredibly stifling it is to strive for mediocrity. My mother taught me that disdain and I’ve worked very hard to get past her condescension and pretension, to dial down the judgment and see the people around me as people, not graduations to measure myself against. But with Ben I realized I need to set higher standards in seeking out a partner. If I want a relationship that will hold my attention, I need someone who fascinates and confounds me. If I want to grow with someone, I need him to accept me in all my strength and challenge me. If I want to go anywhere worth going, I need someone approaches life with tenacity and ambition. Ben did none of these things.

Does David do any of these things? Is he any less common than any other failed relationship? I adore him, can’t help but smile when he smiles and want nothing but happiness for him, want desperately to be part of that happiness. He does fascinate and confound me, with his wit and sensitivity and stubborn reluctance to share himself with the world around him, me included. He reminds me quite a bit of Ryan in that. He challenges me with his gentleness, which is entirely new and surprising. I’ve always been gentle, even given my occasional pig-headed stubbornness and flaring temper; I’ve rarely met anyone who challenged me to greater compassion. Jacob did, and David has a kindness about him, a sense of virtue and fair play that I can only compare to Jacob. And he has next to no ambition. The dreams are there, sure, but they’re little more than dreams. He’s not willing to face any kind of adversity to achieve them, and more and more that reminds me of Ben. He has all these strengths, but these weaknesses too, and I’ve gone and accepted all of that in all its messiness. I’ve fallen in love with him and now I have to wait and see if it’ll rip my heart out or slowly fizzle to disappointment or drag on too long into biting resentment and regret.

I know this won’t work. I absolutely know it won’t. I’m not anywhere close to being mature enough for any real happiness, and I didn’t choose him wisely, didn’t work out ahead of time what sort of strengths I need to challenge me, what weaknesses I can accept with grace and patience. Do I really need to be challenged to greater compassion when it's such a struggle for me to assert myself? And much like Ben, he can’t and won’t handle my extremes, my outbursts of passion and defiance and stubbornness. It’s good to be tempered and held to a higher standard of self-control, but so often it feels like rounding off all the sharp edges, softening myself until I’m safe and utterly predictable, giving up my strengths right along with my weaknesses. He tries my patience and I don’t know if I can support him the way he deserves to be supported. He can’t read my emotions, can’t tell when I’m hiding hurt and frustration, is so often distant and distracted, that I doubt he’ll be much good at supporting me. And I already love him, have committed to trying this with him, so I'm hesitant to say any of this to him for fear that it'll just stir up trouble, make it that much harder to be happy together.

And in another couple hours I know I’ll be glowing with affection again, grateful for him and my place in his life. I feel so crazy right now, unmoored and feminine in the worst ways. Where’d my reason and hard-won self control get off to?