No baggage

Mental Illness in a New Relationship

There is nothing quite like the glow that accompanies meeting the person you know you want to spend the rest of your life with. I remember on our second night together, we clung to each other as though we could never let go and as though we’d been waiting for each other all our lives-for that special other who understands us and wants nothing more than to stand by us and nurture a life new for both, made of two.

The intensity of a relationship with a mentally ill person is not lost on me, for it was something I experienced with another before I knew that I, too, brought my own illness to the fray—the nightly chaos fringed with abusive words, threats of leaving, and upon my own leaving, threats of suicide. For a couple for whom mental illness is a third or even fourth persona to grapple with, the so-called honeymoon phase folds not necessarily upon dislike of each other, or annoyance with each other’s little quirks, or even the foibles of infidelity, as one might assume characterizes an unhappy relationship made up of apparently mentally healthy individuals. The honeymoon phase in fact crashes and burns when the mental illness is revealed, and the intense love and care that has developed, sometimes over a short period, finds itself beholden to a very troubled and difficult person.

The desire for “NO BAGGAGE” is incredibly delusional in and of itself.

When I knew that I was ready for love, that it was something I wanted, maybe needed, and I set out to find the darling who would come to be my best friend, husband, lover, and partner in all life’s endeavours, in response to the demanding refrain, “NO BAGGAGE,” I wrote defiantly upon my own online “fishing” profile, “Everyone has baggage, including me. Looking to care for another and have that someone care for me.” The desire for “NO BAGGAGE” is incredibly delusional in and of itself. I would think any mature person would know that trauma and feelings are a part of everyone’s life, and that a life without trauma is a fairy tale, while a life without feelings is barely a life. Acknowledging the boxes and bags and bursting suitcases that inevitably take up residence in a new relationship is surely the first step in unpacking them, sharing their contents, and maybe eventually saying goodbye to the past and downsizing to what is useful to both partners.

So at least I can say that I was upfront about the matter. However, what I and all my fellow fishers called “baggage” would turn out to be Borderline Personality Disorder, with all its post-traumatic stress symptoms and unbelievably heavy reliance on a partner for emotional support. I have read even that many of the symptoms of BPD actually emerge once a relationship is established, where perhaps before they were shelved, unlabeled, untouched. So what is it about love that brings that stress to the surface? Is it the fear of repetition of childhood patterns of abuse or neglect from the partner – a repetition that for some sufferers becomes reality when they realize they’ve snagged one of those unsavoury “NO BAGGAGE” characters, or when the supposedly “NO BAGGAGE” character turns out to be a mirror of an abusive caretaker? Or is it maybe the expression of decades of absolute destitution of emotional affirmation that then determines that no matter how deep the well of love and affection in the eyes and hands and heart of the partner, it can never be enough, because indeed it never is quite the same as the love that should have nurtured the sufferer as a child? The sufferer then lashes out with, “You don’t love me!,” when in fact she isn’t talking to her lover, but to someone in her past.

Our embrace was not one-directional.

I’m sure it’s some combination of things, but I like to believe that for me it was primarily the utmost feeling of care, comfort, and safety that enveloped me that night we so fiercely held each other – face-to-face, heart-to-heart, arms almost crushing the other’s body into our own for all those precious hours. Our embrace was not one-directional: we sought out and needed each other, as we would continue to cherish, guide, and love each other through all the challenges life would dole out. For me, every word of pain that had never been said, every movement of my body that had never been enacted, was unlocked by that never-ending hug. Finally, I was home, not only externally, with the life we began to build together, through and away from the “baggage,” but internally as well, as I discovered a safe space to start tiptoeing toward myself, a person whom I am now striding toward every day, with my sweetheart’s eternal encouragement.