There is a quality of mine I don’t like. Being honest, it’s a skill. And it’s particularly only one half of this skill I don’t like.

Clare enjoyed calling it “Word Art” and when used for fun or goofy desctiptive detail, it was good times for all. One of the more recent Word Arts she liked was commenting that the new ART stations on Central look like a Tinkertoy set with a condom pulled over it.

Word Art is also a shitty beast. In a very specifc combination, it’s a weapon of purest hurt. There is no better illustration of just this than the article I removed almost a month ago already that expressed the bullshit of “Let’s be friends” after Clare and I split. The article very accurately expressed the hurt, confusion, paranoia, and delusions of a severe psychotic episode BROUGHT ON BY HYPOKALEMIA, NOT BIPOLAR.

Word Art in this form is fueled by rapid cycling, impulsivity, and fear. I even sent something like this to my PO. Awareness was gone.

I don’t like hurting people. I hurt Clare. And that I hurt the woman I love… she and I talked for nearly seven hours about how my escalating erratic and impulsive behavior was showing just how ill I was already.

She didn’t have to ask me to remove the article. I had days prior.

This allowed for us to hold each other, to laugh, to talk, and to plan. Clare invited me over and sat for seven hours where we had decided together I needed to go inpatient, to be safe, to be away from communication, to be where Hurtful Word Art wasn’t possible.

We agreed I’d go inpatient on communication blackout, and when discharged we’d give it one week in the real world with real world stressors, and in that time begin working towards our life together again.

Clare smiled, laughed, said “You would!!!”, and we felt hopeful together for the first time in weeks. And was feeling aware again, that’s what we determined.

I had to get the impulsive communication under control. Because this is a symptom of my mental health diagnoses, Clare and I had all confidence I could do it. So I worked hard inpatient, and when my providers said “You’ve got it. Want to go home?” … yes?

Something very sad happened when I was inpatient. Clare became very ill. Emotionally, physically, psychologically. Friday, I took the initiative to reach her, and we were able to talk about how my inpatient stay seems to be having good results, she was able to tell me she always loved me, I said I loved her since Day One, and loving her was effortless… it is the conversation we had planned on October 1 and continued on October 2.

Very sadly, there is turmoil within some of Clare’s loved ones I don’t understand that keeps me from visiting her, although she indicates she wants to see me. This is causing a great amount of real world stress, and when Sarah and I chose to leave Pres yesterday for fear of being drawn into an unwanted argument that would hurt Clare, a girl I met briefly once threatened Sarah and I while we waited for the elevator. Earlier, she threatened to keep me from my Molina mental Health services. You don’t do that in front of a witness. It scared me a lot.

“They don’t want you here. Fucking leave.”

I replied, “I’m not talking to you.”

“I’m fucking talking to you, asshole.”

I repeated, “I’m not talking to you.”

So she stepped at me to physically threaten me.

Sarah took me to the stairs instead.

Clare, honey, I know you wanted to see me again. I can’t be party to this confusing animosity. We both love each other, we were both looking forward to our life together, the conversations we had before going inpatient, I want you to know this and feel this.

I kept my promise to you.

I felt no impulsive reflexive jolt to use my Word Art to shred the girl threatening me. My head is clear once again.

Be proud of me because I’m proud of myself.

If I failed this unwanted test, if I would have used words to hurt her like she was hurting me, I would have sent word to you I wasn’t well enough to deserve you.

Clare, We talked all night to close off September. We made plans, I made promises, we rediscovered hope for each other. And we had to smilingly admit we love each other.

Be proud of me. I’m proud of me.

Rest happy knowing we were going to be great. We did it.