#quinning

(A foreword, I wrote this after watching the season six finale. I was unsure if i wanted to post it until now.) 

“I had a kind of epiphany the other day. I’m going to be alone my whole life, aren’t I?” “I always thought that being bipolar meant that I couldn’t be with anybody. That they would leave me soon enough.” “I know what you’re thinking.” “No, you don’t.” “What you put yourself through, it was fucking incredible.” Here are a few quotes that I know off by heart, because they are so dear to me. Three years ago I was completely alone. Ill, far from home and utterly lonely as I scrolled through social media looking for one, just one person who was celebrating the start of 2015 the way I was. I found no one. I found a show. See a few weeks prior to that I clicked on a random video with dripping brambles as a thumbnail. The song sang of heartache, but also of mending, but truly of healing. I was entranced at how these two broken people seemed to have found love in a wreaked world. I was in absolute awe. So on that lonely day I pressed play and didn’t look back. And I learnt, oh I learnt so much. But most of all I finally believed that my mental illness could be something other than a pesky thing to be dealt with by the people around me, but something that they could fall in love with. A superpower, the show called it at times. And damn that felt true. I was finally powerful and loveable, two things I had believed I would never be. See, because I have been proven this over and over again. I have lost count of the number of times I have been abandoned, called weak, called too sensitive. But isn’t that just seeing more? Superpower. I have never been loved romantically. Sometimes people seemed interested, but in the end it was my skin they wanted, not the human inside. As soon as they got to close they ran for the hills. So when I saw that two broken people could love each other I sighed with relief. I believed, oh I believed! Then came the big bang. The guns and the rope. The post traumatic stress that followed in it’s trail. I didn’t feel safe in my own home, I felt watched and scared. Like everything was out to get me. Like anything good in my life would be ripped apart. That’s when I really started to relate to him. For we were struggling together. And there is a sense of strength in that, a sort of camaraderie. Little did I know he was next on my list of good things being taken away from me. Or more so, ripped. And with that all my walls made of power and love came tumbling down around me. For it made no sense and it meant that everything I had believed was a lie. It rendered all my so called discoveries to dirty lies. I felt cheated, I still do. I’ve been feeling physically ill for the past two days because I have been lied to in fiction as well as real life. I have suffered loss in fiction as well as real life. And so I am utterly alone again.