Sometimes, I think our partners have the patience of saints. Is it just me, or do we Real Mental types tend to find the most supportive, understanding, kind partners, ever? From what I’ve read on others’ blogs, it’s not just me. Our mates, they are pretty awesome. I’m so very happy I finally found someone who understands me and accepts me for who I am.

Here’s an example:

If you’ve been following my blog, you know that my jaw is currently wired shut because of a recent jaw surgery. Because of this, I’ve had to find alternate ways of taking my meds. The Celexa can be crushed and sucked back with some juice, but the Wellbutrin is a slow-release tablet and can’t be crushed. It has to be swallowed whole, which is a bit of a problem when your jaw is wired shut.

While I was in the hospital following the surgery, I devised a clever way to take my pill. I pushed it along my top gums until it reached the very back of my mouth, and then I finessed it into the small crack behind my back molars. I poked and prodded and sucked at it until it popped through the other side. To help it along, I also doused the thing in juice from a syringe.

I was pretty proud of myself, and my surgeon was most impressed. I just knew that I had to find a way to take it, because there was no way in hell I was missing a single pill. It had taken me so long to get to a place where my meds were in the proper balance and I felt like a human being again. I couldn’t take the chance of jeopardizing that.

Late last week, I noticed that my mouth tasted funny. Bitter like crushed pills. All day. I couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe one of the fragments of Celexa had caught in my wires and left a lingering taste? I put it out of my head. Then, on Saturday, Superstar and I were out and I noticed something caught behind one of my back molars. I coaxed it with my tongue until it came free and lolled it around my mouth, trying to figure out what it was.

It dawned on me that it was the casing for one of the Wellbutrin tablets. Instead of slow-releasing in my stomach, it had done so in my mouth. I wasn’t sure how long it had been there. I didn’t think much of it and swallowed the casing.

On Sunday, we went out to the movie Juno. At the end, I cried my head off. Not just cried. Bawled. Lost it. I mean, I controlled myself in the movie theatre pretty well, but if there had been no one else around, I would have had a big sob fest for a few hours, at least. It was a good movie, and every woman I know has cried at the end, but my reaction surprised me. I passed it off as mid-30s ticking biological clock hormones, and Superstar and I went for coffee.

For some reason, I decided this was a good time to talk about the future of our relationship (since minutes after seeing the movie, I decided I wanted to pop out babies, and soon – huh?) and we end up getting into this big, emotional discussion where I sobbed my head off almost the entire time and said ridiculous things like “I don’t respect you.” Yes, it was over a specific issue that is a bone of contention for us, but I have no idea why I said that. I certainly didn’t mean it. I will never be able to erase the memory of the hurt look on his face after I said those words. It aches just to think about it.

We got through the discussion and I managed to convince him that I had said the wrong words and he misunderstood me. We made peace and left the coffee shop. As we were walking out, I became aware of all the people around us and wondered if I had made a spectacle. Then, we went home and lay in bed while I cried for a few more hours about nothing in particular, and he stroked my back and tried to make me feel better.

The thing is, I’m usually not a drama queen. I certainly don’t cry in public, and Superstar and I rarely argue or have upsetting discussions. But this day, he got a big dose of The Crazy. And then some.

It wasn’t until a few days later that I realized the emotional rollercoaster was a result of the wonky dosage of Wellbutrin from the stuck pill. It was then that I resolved never to go off my meds. I don’t want to know what it feels like to be that out of control and out of touch again.

And as for Superstar, I thank my lucky stars that I found him. I’m not sure I could be so patient if the tables were turned.