I would like to tell you that things have been amative and blissful with Zoe and myself, alas such is not exactly the case. There has been a lurking tension stalking me as I find myself in her home, in her space and among her family. I am an interloper, a squatter with no real role nor space to call my own. Subconsciously this and other things have been weighing on me and I have not been myself. I have been actually downright hostile. I have gone so far as to shout and call her names, even in front of her children. I have grouched at the toddler. I am not particularly proud of this and I am regretful immediately the moment I have done it. The strangest thing about it is that I feel like I am a passenger watching these events occur as a third party. I feel embarrassed more than guilty (though I do feel guilty) as you would for someone else who lost their temper like a fool for no reason. I have been depressed and I have difficulty determining if it is because of my disorder or just general malaise.
Zoe and I went out this weekend with some friends and there was an incident where some hooligans catcalled and harassed her as we were walking home from the bar. Normally I suppose you might ignore this or shout something back like: “Get bent, loser!” As a bipolar and a male feminist I actually always go a little bit further. I always make it personal. I went to address these assholes face to face. Sadly however, I was silly drunk and full of dysphoric rage. There were anywhere from eight to a dozen of them and they were all just around the legal drinking age give or take a year. They too had been drinking. At no point was I attempting to be gentlemanly about this, I was openly hostile and I did not give a fuck about their numbers. I am not a coward sober and I sure as shit have no thoughts of danger when I drink. Jack McBastard is Batman. After some shouting and a little pushing I ascertained one mouthy little prick was the original offender and I made a dive for him. Well, I would like to tell you that it ended well and I was a hero but there are no heroes in a story this stupid. I caught a beating, the only thing I hit was the pavement. I gave it the old college try more than twice, I came back for more and found myself on the ground all three times. I got a kicking and a stomp for my efforts and eventually dragged myself into a trotting retreat. I was furious. I was determined to return and burn the place to the ground. I might have too had it not been for Zoe. I had a shouting argument with her about the location of her gasoline, which she claimed to have none of (not true). I then jumped into my car drunk as fuck and drove to two gas stations that were both closed, pumps off. Finally I resigned to defeat. The dysphoric hypomania and delusional interaction of my meds and alcohol wore thin and I returned (mostly) to my senses.
Were the events of my weekend not disturbing enough, I still think that the place deserves to burn a little bit in the back of my mind. There is a part of me that thinks it would be kind of justified. Logically and rationally, my intelligent mind knows that this is not true. However, were I passing the place with a gas can in my hand I would stop and start pouring. I have resolved to never drink again ever. It surprises me that Zoe is still with me through all of this. She is the greatest thing ever. I really do love her so, so very much. I don’t know why I have behaved the way I have, I just know that it needs to stop. Also, something I was not aware of that might be partially responsible for my outbursts is that caffeine and energy drinks can cause mania. I will be cutting out energy drinks and down on caffeine.
Things with Zoe’s son are not ideal. I desperately want to improve our relationship but I cannot relate to a toddler. Sure he likes many of the same things I do but he is so high energy and his activities are all fairly exclusive. There isn’t much that I can actually DO with him. I can sit and watch but this gets annoying and tedious. Zoe, like any single mother of a very small child has made her whole existence about this boy. So much so that it leaves very little room for anyone else. Many women with children who want to date make room or space, with her it seems that she has set her boundaries at a maximum for her child and if I can’t accept that I go. I’ve pointed this out, told her that her house belongs forty percent to her child and she simply denies or defends it. In defending it she is defensive almost to a hostile degree, claiming that I don’t live there so it isn’t relevant. Which I suppose is true but not very assuring nor welcoming. I’m still very much the outsider and that is being displayed to me very plainly. There is a clear line in the sand and I am the only one on my side of it.
I am trying to envision a different me. In a previous blog post I mentioned that my efforts were to blend the desirable traits of Dysphorian and Jack McBastard into one person and that would be the ideal end state. I have changed my mind. I think I should like to remove Jack from the picture entirely and start fresh. I want to be the father figure that I maybe never had. I want to be wise and dependable. I want to be responsible and knowledgable. I want this woman and these kids to know that when they have a problem I am the person that they can come to. First, I owe her daughter a sincere apology for my recent behaviour as she has been exposed to much of it. She needs to know that of all the things on this planet that I hold dear women, moreover her mother is the most sacred to me. She needs to know that by extension she is also very, very important to me. I need to be that better me.