This year so far has been a doozy, and it's barely more than halfway over. Two of my neighbors at Cooper Artist Housing have passed away (one of them I was fairly close to) and a...colleague at Pike Place Market.
Today one I found out that a friend from the Market, Graham Callan, is in an induced coma so that he can recover from a staph infection. Okay, tough. That sucks, it made me tear up, and I'm keeping him in my heart and thoughts. Graham is close to my own age (early-mid thirties) has a big heart and is an incredible artist -- I'm lucky enough to have not just a few of his prints, but an original of his that his now-wife, Pixie, sold to me for a song. It's beautiful: he's a gifted, dark, and nuanced poet and visual artist.
My sister called about an hour or so ago to tell me that my mother's lung cancer, which she had beat and was in remission, has metastasized to her brain. There is nothing to do but make her comfortable. She's got about three to six months.
My relationship to my mother is troubled at best: there are times when I'm fairly sure that my parents, though they have a good marriage and are great partners to one another, really should never have had children. She and I haven't spoken since 2006, almost exactly four years ago. I just don't know what to feel or do.
My heart is pounding, hard.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
(Online) dating and mental illness.
I really should preface this with all my updates, since it's been a while, but for now, the only significant one is that James and I are no longer together, and haven't been for the better part of a year. You may have known that already. If not, c'est la vie, now you know.
Things have been pretty good, on the whole, though I feel like 2010 has been a big one-two punch of goodness and badness. I've had several friends and acquaintances pass away this year, which has been hard, but my first film, "Coffee", is in the New York Independent Film Festival, which is super awesome and exciting.
Anyway, after messing around in my personal life and being generally apathetic about dating, I'm starting to get back into it a bit. For those that don't already know, my preferred platform is to date online. Why? Well, I meet a lot of people on a daily basis. A lot. I work my day gig at a major tourist destination where hundreds of people from the local area converge for work on a daily basis, plus I work in art fields that are, by nature, social. So, in essence, nearly everyone I meet IRL is someone I work with. Dating those people is usually a bad idea, at least for me. It's just too much to worry about. Also, online dating, at least in tech-savvy Seattle, is basically a mainstream thing these days.
So, online. How else am I going to specifically target people of the appropriate age with similar interests in my area when I'm so busy? Well, that's where I met James and Mr. VNRS, as well as my friends Ian and Miguel and Jared and the man Jinny and I call Mr. Grey and lots and lots of other men and women who fall into every part of the Awesome-Sucks Spectrum. Seattle is a small town, some of those people were and are friends of friends, or someone that I almost knew through so-and-so...you get the idea.
I have a system. Want to hear about my system? When I was first starting to figure out what I wanted in a partner, I went out with every person who asked at least once, unless I got a "stranger danger feeling" or they flaked. (Note: stranger danger feeling happened twice in 3-4 years, and I have met a lot of people. Seriously. Them's good odds.) Of those first blind dates, I would say 75% of them I never saw again. Well, that might be an hour of my life over coffee or happy hour, and I never regretted it, because they were always interesting in some way and I was still learning what I wanted from a partner.
Specific lesson I learned number one: meet, in person, as soon as you can. Don't email a whole bunch, don't talk on the phone a whole bunch. You will create unrealistic expectations and preconceptions. Plus, there is no way you can fake the real, in-person, look-into-someone's-eyes chemistry feeling.
Back to the system: of the remaining 25%, perhaps only 25% of those made it past the first or third date. You can pretty much see where it's going now, so on and so on, until love and crap happens or doesn't. I've had a couple short relationships, one live-in relationship, and a lot of fun doing it this way.
Now the system is different, because I know exactly what I want in a partner. To boil it down, I want my best friend that I have amazing sex with. It's more complex than that and I have a lot of specific points (though, hopefully not too many!), but, yeah, that's it.
This brings me back to the title of my post. Having a love life concomitant* with your mental illness is hard enough when you factor in all the stigma surrounding being a "crazy" girl, even (or especially) a high-functioning one. There are potentially a lot of smoke and mirrors when it comes to meeting people romantically and getting to know them, but if you're serious about a relationship you have to be honest. Unfortunately, sometimes dating online makes the honesty thing much more challenging because we are required to not only show our best face as we do when meeting at a bar or suchlike IRL, we can take essentially as much time as we like crafting that face.
Therein lies the danger.
It's tempting. I can be, in my online life, whoever I want to be. I've chosen to be "out" about my mental illness both online and IRL because I believe that the net benefit -- in the quality of friendships I cultivate and the inherent activism of it -- is good for my life and the lives of others. So that brings us to: when to disclose?
Hm. Tough one. If I had a physical disability, like CP or being in a wheelchair, it would probably be pretty obvious. I have considered this myself and discussed with a similarly-tempered male friend who dates online the ramifications of putting "By the way, I'm mentally ill!" in my profile(s). His argument is, essentially, that I will scare some people off, people who might stick around otherwise, simply from the sheer shock factor and cultural stigma. However, he claims that I may also get the rare guy who is impressed by my honesty and likes the fact that I have disclosed early and often and he knows what he would be getting into.
My argument against is that I will get the "OMG I WILL SAVE HER WIF MY LUV" codependent guy with that strategy. That guy already loves me. I do not love that guy. Then there's that other guy, Mr. Grey, who literally fetishized my illness. *shudder* Gross.
Surprisingly, my friend usually has far less faith in in the general goodness of humanity than I do. He is just very into honesty because many people who date online suck at being transparent, and I don't blame him.
I have come to the conclusion that it's better to disclose at around the 3rd to 5th date. I will not continue something under false pretenses, but I also would like them to at least begin to see that I am functional on my own and I'm not seeking a partner in order to be my caretaker.
Being mentally ill is not quite the same as having a physical ailment, but there are some parallels we can draw. For instance, I have a chronic, life-threatening illness, much like, say, diabetes. Just like diabetes, I need to take care of my body (sleep/eat properly, get enough exercise), monitor my symptoms, and manage them with drugs and therapy if needed. If I don't do those things, I could die. It's pretty much that simple when it comes right down to it. The hard part is that my symptoms, unlike the symptoms of someone with diabetes, are not objectively measurable. They are subjective: how am I feeling today? Is it really good idea for me to have a drink, take that job, or choose not to go for a run? Am I going easy on myself because I am worried about my health, or am I depressed? Am I really excited and happy and full of energy, or is this the beginning of a hypomanic episode? Does it matter when they both feel the same way anyway?
And how do you communicate all that to a new romantic friend with hopefulness, compassion, and honesty, while still being open to and okay with the possibility of a core part of who you are being a dealbreaker?
I think the very fact that I'm considering these things, when and how to be completely honest, is a good sign of just how far I've come in recovery.
*LOOK A PSYCHIATRY JOKE ABOUT DATING. I am sooooooo funny.
Things have been pretty good, on the whole, though I feel like 2010 has been a big one-two punch of goodness and badness. I've had several friends and acquaintances pass away this year, which has been hard, but my first film, "Coffee", is in the New York Independent Film Festival, which is super awesome and exciting.
Anyway, after messing around in my personal life and being generally apathetic about dating, I'm starting to get back into it a bit. For those that don't already know, my preferred platform is to date online. Why? Well, I meet a lot of people on a daily basis. A lot. I work my day gig at a major tourist destination where hundreds of people from the local area converge for work on a daily basis, plus I work in art fields that are, by nature, social. So, in essence, nearly everyone I meet IRL is someone I work with. Dating those people is usually a bad idea, at least for me. It's just too much to worry about. Also, online dating, at least in tech-savvy Seattle, is basically a mainstream thing these days.
So, online. How else am I going to specifically target people of the appropriate age with similar interests in my area when I'm so busy? Well, that's where I met James and Mr. VNRS, as well as my friends Ian and Miguel and Jared and the man Jinny and I call Mr. Grey and lots and lots of other men and women who fall into every part of the Awesome-Sucks Spectrum. Seattle is a small town, some of those people were and are friends of friends, or someone that I almost knew through so-and-so...you get the idea.
I have a system. Want to hear about my system? When I was first starting to figure out what I wanted in a partner, I went out with every person who asked at least once, unless I got a "stranger danger feeling" or they flaked. (Note: stranger danger feeling happened twice in 3-4 years, and I have met a lot of people. Seriously. Them's good odds.) Of those first blind dates, I would say 75% of them I never saw again. Well, that might be an hour of my life over coffee or happy hour, and I never regretted it, because they were always interesting in some way and I was still learning what I wanted from a partner.
Specific lesson I learned number one: meet, in person, as soon as you can. Don't email a whole bunch, don't talk on the phone a whole bunch. You will create unrealistic expectations and preconceptions. Plus, there is no way you can fake the real, in-person, look-into-someone's-eyes chemistry feeling.
Back to the system: of the remaining 25%, perhaps only 25% of those made it past the first or third date. You can pretty much see where it's going now, so on and so on, until love and crap happens or doesn't. I've had a couple short relationships, one live-in relationship, and a lot of fun doing it this way.
Now the system is different, because I know exactly what I want in a partner. To boil it down, I want my best friend that I have amazing sex with. It's more complex than that and I have a lot of specific points (though, hopefully not too many!), but, yeah, that's it.
This brings me back to the title of my post. Having a love life concomitant* with your mental illness is hard enough when you factor in all the stigma surrounding being a "crazy" girl, even (or especially) a high-functioning one. There are potentially a lot of smoke and mirrors when it comes to meeting people romantically and getting to know them, but if you're serious about a relationship you have to be honest. Unfortunately, sometimes dating online makes the honesty thing much more challenging because we are required to not only show our best face as we do when meeting at a bar or suchlike IRL, we can take essentially as much time as we like crafting that face.
Therein lies the danger.
It's tempting. I can be, in my online life, whoever I want to be. I've chosen to be "out" about my mental illness both online and IRL because I believe that the net benefit -- in the quality of friendships I cultivate and the inherent activism of it -- is good for my life and the lives of others. So that brings us to: when to disclose?
Hm. Tough one. If I had a physical disability, like CP or being in a wheelchair, it would probably be pretty obvious. I have considered this myself and discussed with a similarly-tempered male friend who dates online the ramifications of putting "By the way, I'm mentally ill!" in my profile(s). His argument is, essentially, that I will scare some people off, people who might stick around otherwise, simply from the sheer shock factor and cultural stigma. However, he claims that I may also get the rare guy who is impressed by my honesty and likes the fact that I have disclosed early and often and he knows what he would be getting into.
My argument against is that I will get the "OMG I WILL SAVE HER WIF MY LUV" codependent guy with that strategy. That guy already loves me. I do not love that guy. Then there's that other guy, Mr. Grey, who literally fetishized my illness. *shudder* Gross.
Surprisingly, my friend usually has far less faith in in the general goodness of humanity than I do. He is just very into honesty because many people who date online suck at being transparent, and I don't blame him.
I have come to the conclusion that it's better to disclose at around the 3rd to 5th date. I will not continue something under false pretenses, but I also would like them to at least begin to see that I am functional on my own and I'm not seeking a partner in order to be my caretaker.
Being mentally ill is not quite the same as having a physical ailment, but there are some parallels we can draw. For instance, I have a chronic, life-threatening illness, much like, say, diabetes. Just like diabetes, I need to take care of my body (sleep/eat properly, get enough exercise), monitor my symptoms, and manage them with drugs and therapy if needed. If I don't do those things, I could die. It's pretty much that simple when it comes right down to it. The hard part is that my symptoms, unlike the symptoms of someone with diabetes, are not objectively measurable. They are subjective: how am I feeling today? Is it really good idea for me to have a drink, take that job, or choose not to go for a run? Am I going easy on myself because I am worried about my health, or am I depressed? Am I really excited and happy and full of energy, or is this the beginning of a hypomanic episode? Does it matter when they both feel the same way anyway?
And how do you communicate all that to a new romantic friend with hopefulness, compassion, and honesty, while still being open to and okay with the possibility of a core part of who you are being a dealbreaker?
I think the very fact that I'm considering these things, when and how to be completely honest, is a good sign of just how far I've come in recovery.
*LOOK A PSYCHIATRY JOKE ABOUT DATING. I am sooooooo funny.
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