By JB

One year ago today, my entire universe fell apart. I reaped the seeds I had sown. I had the unfortunate task of knowing that the falling apart was my fault. I had backed myself into a corner. I had almost ruined everything.

One year ago today, Joey took away the engagement ring, the beautiful one he had designed himself. The one that fit me perfectly, the one that was better than any one I could have built myself. The one with the emeralds for both of our birthdays.

One year ago today, I was presented with a few choices. I could give up. I could start over. I could try to fix the things that were broken. I chose the latter.

January was cold last year, cold in so many ways. I spent a lot of time on walks outside. I chased Joey down sidewalks after he rightfully turned his back on me. I cried almost every day. I started to put my life back together. We started to put our life back together.

I can still remember all of the small gestures of love, the small assurances that let me know he still cared. One cold day in January, I walked into his dorm with a cold nose. Instinctively, he pressed his warm cheek up against it. I knew he cared so much about me. That’s the time I often pinpoint that I knew we could get through this.

In March, after many appointments with therapists, testing psychologists, and a psychiatrist, I got the medical help I needed. The afternoon I got tested, the first thing I did was sit in my car, turning circles in the parking lot. The first thing I said to him on the phone was, “I’m bipolar, Joey.” Then, “We can never adopt babies from China.”

I don’t want to be bipolar. I never wanted to be bipolar. But I don’t have a choice. Regardless of my feelings, I am bipolar. Treated or not, I have a mental illness. I am mentally ill.

But I am also so lucky. The other night, fairly tipsy, Joey looked at me and said, “It’s been a good year.” I pressed my face up to his.

“It has been a good year, baby.” I said. “It has.”

When I tell people about this past year, when I tell them about breaking an engagement, about losing so many friends [including a best friend], when I tell them about finding out I was bipolar, they look at me with pity. What a bad year, they think or say. I am constantly reassuring people.

This was not a bad year. This was a great year. This was a beautiful year. This was the year that my mind got un-cracked. This is the year that I fell in love, over and over and over again, with a patient, loving, kind boy. This is the year that I fell in love, over and over and over again, knowing that the person I am in love with is the person I want to spend my life with, the person who is perfect for me. The boy of my dreams. This is the first year that I’ve experienced a lucid clarity of mind, with thoughts unclouded.

This is the first year in my entire life that I’ve had to fight for things. The first year that it didn’t just come easy. The first year that everything good came, but only after an equally good fight.

This has been an annus miribilis, my year of wonders that cradled me as it brought me home.

Originally posted here.