Knowing the Price and the Value
“A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.”~Oscar Wilde I am angry! In general, I don't like when people don't treat their fellows well. I am infuriated by people who abuse and underappreciate their partners. And in this case I want to rip this idiot's head from his neck and shove it up his arse so he can find his brain again. Wilde was wrong it's not a cynic who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing, it is a FOOL! An ignorant, arrogant idiot who thinks so much of himself and his perspective of the world that he has no understanding and no ability to wonder at the treasures that are in his life. I *understand* being manic. Been there, done that, be there again next week. I hate manic episodes because I'm a basketcase and lose all sense of propriety, social interaction, responsibility...and I become the world's most arrogant, self-absorbed, paranoid, self-righteous *bitch*. I once had a professor I didn't like and wrote her 10 pages of scathing, psychologically violent, hateful vitriol and walked 4 miles in the dead of winter at 3 am to pound on her door and shove it in her face. And I had the nerve to call *her* a bitch? Hah! Why she didn't have me arrested or kicked out of school, I'll never know. I know now that was a manic episode, I didn't know it then. And I feel bad. I regret my actions because she didn't deserve that. We do stupid, destructive, reckless things when we're manic. We hurt ourselves and others. I think we hurt the people who love us most of all. But damn, if I'd known. If my partner had known I was *sick* then I would've gotten help. I find it inexcusable to know you're sick and refuse help. To know you are hurting people and yourself and insist on being stubborn and arrogant and that you know everything as you're destroying your world and the worlds of the people who love you--that is wrong. To me, that is sin. When I was dx'd I was 6 months from being married. We'd been together for a little over 9 years. And I'd been cycling like Lance Armstrong for maybe 3 or 4 months. My partner couldn't deal. My depressions were so deep, my constant inability to express my emotional turmoil, my fixation with death...it just got to be too much. I remember very little about that time. It's all a big jumbled mess in my head. I remember the feeling of emptiness when I was alone in our house. I remember my rage and despair. I remember the shame I felt in sending out the cancellations for the wedding and in speaking to the vendors. I vaguely recall a lilac storm in the living room and probably I'd unspooled all the ribbon we'd purchased for favours and things. I remember my heart breaking and not understanding how to fix things. Not understanding why I couldn't fix us when I'd always been the "fixer" before. I also remember being relieved when I was dx'd. I had a *name,* this was real, a disease, something organically wrong with me, something I could fight. But I had no one to fight with me. No one to fight *for* me, and I think that's what broke my heart the worst. Was that my partner gave up so easily (or at least it felt/feels that way to me). I remember asking/screaming that if I'd had a physical disease like cancer would we still be breaking up and I don't remember if I ever got an answer. I know what I lost. I regret it everyday. I imagine the life we planned and I mourn what will never be. But I wasn't the one to leave. I knew even in the grips of madness what I was losing, what a treasure I had. I didn't know how to fight in the right way, I didn't have the skills or tools then. But with what I did have I fought to keep us and I failed. That's on me. Love is precious and priceless, beyond measure and worth more than anything. I can't read the passage from First Corinthians anymore. We'd used it in our wedding announcements and to look at it now makes me start bawling. But the sentiment is right. To have love, to have someone who loves you and is willing to fight for you...I can't think of anything more enriching, or sustaining. To disdain that, to throw it away, to turn your back on your partner, on your chosen family...mad, manic, or no...it is a crime for which there is no fitting punishment. And maybe my personal experience makes me bitter and unforgiving, too harsh and judgemental. But I hope he is forever consigned to a hell of his own making and left to regret--alone, and freezing cold where his heart once laid.