“the strength of a tree lies in its ability to bend.”

The truth. So simply complex.

It’s hard to talk about the truth, the nitty gritty. The grey…because oh so often it’s not what we want to talk about. It’s not easy to say…to relive…to feel. Often times it smacks us in the face. Just when we thought we were doing a pretty damn good job of handling things, we’re reminded of just how strong we are.

The truth, is that life is so much more than just black and white. It’s the shades of grey that make allow us to appreciate the brilliant colors and the starkness that makes up our world and relationships. Greys bring laughter and euphoric joy. They also bring tears. And sometimes, a shock so great that, that it causes you to hit the floor in a crumpled heap.

The truth, is never easy, no matter where you’re at. What you’re saying, or who you are. We are always afraid of judgements, even those made annonymously.

No, they never said life would be easy. But neither is dealing with the truth. So, as the quote above my mirror says, “the more honest we are with ourselves, the more clear life becomes.”

Here’s to clarity.

/….

I wasn’t prepared for the MySpace message. It was an ex girlfriend of M’s. In fact, the very same one that he began dating shortly after I left Florida the first time around last year. It was a simple enough message. The subject was simply “hey.”

I remember my eyes taking in what was before them. And then closing. The sickly nausea taking up residence in the pit of my stomach instantaneously. I choked on my own breath as tears streamed down my face. I must have read it seven, eight times. Each time through, with a quickening breath, and the feeling of my stomach…dropping…farther than it had before. I must have sat there for a good five minutes. Shell shocked. I took a deep breath. Closed my laptop, and walked over to my bed. I sat down and called mi madre. I don’t know how I formulated the words I did, but they rang out, clearly. Echoing back at me in the phone.

“It’s over. M has been cheating on me.”

It wasn’t very long before I took my phone and quietly walked back over to the desk. I called M, and he answered on the second ring. We had yet to talk that day, so he was thrilled to hear from me. I’m sure he knew something was wrong the instant I spoke as my voice…was pretty much deadpan. There was no emotion to be had. Just the facts.

I asked him: “do you have something you want to tell me?” He did not. I asked him again. Again, he did not. I thought to try one more time. Frustrated, he remained adamant that no, he did not have anything to tell me. At which point I said:

“Let me rephrase the question. Do you have anything to tell me concerning this…” and then I read. I read every painful word. Every word that ripped my heart to shreds as the words sprang from my tongue and resonated into sound. His secret MySpace page. One where he was single. And looking for women. And wanted to meet them….and…I’d rather not go on to the full spiel about it here, as I’m shaking with the thought. But there were women in Arkansas in his top friends, and there were pictures of him. Just him.

The first one, of just him, in particular, was one that I had been cropped out of. The picture, where hours later we would lay on the beach and he would tell me that he loved me. That picture. That night. That meant so much. The picture that is framed on my nightstand. That watched over us time and time again when M spoke of marriage. Of me being the mother to his future children. The same picture I looked at while on the phone with him, worried about meeting his parents- where he called them my future inlaws. So much captured in that picture. Or so I had thought at the time.

The rest is pretty much a blur. A crying, screaming, snotty, splochy faced not pretty blur that no one likes to talk about, where I paced in that hotel room, and literally for lack of better words, lost my shit. He explained, but it made me cry even harder. And then I was off the phone. On my way to the airport.

I was a mess, and bless those dear, sweet kind Newfoundlandians. Especially the Front desk woman who gave me a box of tissues to take with me in the cab after I blurted out to her “I just found out my boyfriend cheated on me.” To the kind cab driver who told me he was a fool, to the TSA man who looked at my ticket, and innocently asked if I was coming down with a cold because of my sniffles, launched me into a sobbing mess explaining I had just found out that in fact, my boyfriend had cheated on me. The whole room of TSAs (there were about 7) looked at me as I went through security. I was the only person in the room. I now know how one feels when being pitied.

It made me cry harder.

M and I talked a lot that afternoon, and things were explained. Rather, I cried a lot and was silent on the phone and M talked of things. Things such as how he never so much as met another girl on there, talked to a girl in person, or ever physically cheated on me. He swore his brother’s life- or rather, grave, as he passed away four years ago. M does not bring his deceased brother into any matter, let it be known. He went on to say that at the most it was two emails exchanged, and that I was the love of his life and he never meant to hurt me. He claimed he was going to delete the page (which he immediately did), that I was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Crying, he pleaded with me. And explained why he had done that.

What deep down, I knew, from having learned a few weeks earlier.

Awhile ago, M and I had a serious conversation. One where our future, was discussed. Heavy stuff, that no couple two months in should have to discuss.  Past issues were brought up and explained. This phone call was the reason why I wrote that letter to M, that I posted on my blog roughly last month.

M called me after he got home from his doctor’s appointment where it was confirmed that he was diagnosed as being manic-depressive. Bipolar II, if you will. A diagnoses that explained so much of his past, his history, his behavior. He was sick. Not crazy, but sick. A physical sickness that is a chemical imbalance of the brain. To which I can understand, because I can understand that a mental health issues is as much an illness as a broken leg. Or diabetes. And there is medicine to treat that, which I strongly support, and promised to stand by him, no matter what.

Now you know the reasoning for that letter, I’m sure it takes on new meaning should you go back and read it.

That being said, I have read every piece of literature available on the illness. I’m aware of the stages, of the triggers, of the behaviors and things that they are prone to- and why they do what they do. The book, M gave me? The title was: “”Loving Someone with Bipolar Disorder: A Guide to Understanding and Helping Your Partner.” I was floored. For him to open up to me, and show that sentiment of getting that for me, knowing how hard its going to be, but wanting to work with me and be open about everything- that was a huge moment for me, and for us.

Since then, I’ve read the book three times. And before, I read of the warnings that people diagnosed as manic depressive are prone to alcohol or substance abuse, gambling and promiscuity…all because it gives them that “high” they feel when in the mania stage. They don’t think about the consequences. I passed off the promiscuity issue thinking it was sometihng I’d never have to worry about. So when M explained that he was not in the right state of mind when that was created? It hurts like hell. But there was reason in the madness.

While that doesn’t take away the fact that what’s done is done, I can understand why. It doesn’t make it any easier, but I can understand.

Please do not think I brushed this off and forgave him instantly, as M is struggling right now as much, if not more than I am. I have been hurt to the very core, and am still working through it. It’s not something that will happen over night, but I am giving him the opportunity to earn my trust back. I believe M, in the fact that it was only emails, and he did not physically cheat on me, not that it makes it any better. M feels horrible that he hurt me, and that I have to go through this..and somehow I believe him when he says that I am the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. He is seeking treatment, therapy and medication, and is on his way to getting better. He wants to be the person he knows he can be, and start this new life with me; now that he has addressed what has held him back for so long.

It’s not easy. Knowing that there is no cure. That this is something that I have to deal with every second, every minute, every hour, for the rest of our lives. The chance is there that he will go into a cycle again if his medication fails or no longer works at the dosage being given. I am scared shitless. But I love him.

They say you can’t help who you love, and that you need to trust your gut. I have to trust my gut on this one. However my head, tells me that while a part of me feels like my heart has been shredded into a billion pieces from the betrayal, the other half of me understands that it was not the M I know that did that. He was literally, absent from reason. And now, he’s on the path to fixing that. I’m not saying it’s right that I stay, and stand by him and deal with this. And I don’t know what is going to happen in the future. I only know that I need to walk this path with M. Because something, is telling me so. My strength waxes and wanes, and over the course of two days I’ve gone from laughing to sobbing hysterically, and many, many phone conversations have been logged.

I’m not ready to walk away. I realize by expressing all of this, I may have some readers walk away. To that, I can understand. But the fact remains, is that from the surface, I am just like you. But like you, everyone has their own problems and issues and life. It’s what you make of them. It’s how you deal with them that separates you. Many will not agree with my decision, and many will not understand that by writing this…it is cathartic for me. Because I have never not been honest with you all, and I remain true to what this blog is about. Sure, from the outside I may look like “Barbie” and appear to have the perfect life to some…hell, to most that would pass me on the street, and I say that from not a cocky point of view, but rather, an outsider looking in. What I write about is past the plastic and perfect. Past the preconceived notions.

I write to find my strength. I write to find my peace. I write the truth. And while I may not know how M’s and my story is going to end, I do know one thing. The honesty we’ve shared, and the emotional growth I’m experiencing is all part of the plan in creating the person who I am supposed to be. I know, that there is a reason I am here. And that God has given me this to handle because I am strong. And like one of my favorite children’s books, there is one thing that I remind myself of, everyday.

“The strength of a tree, lies in its ability to bend.”

 

 

 

And the boy loved the tree…