This blog has been focused primarily on the woes of a bipolar. I’ve written about my marital struggles a dozen times. If you’re a regular reader, you might think I have a pretty miserable marriage, which is not true at all.
First off, here is marriage right now after 22 years. I want to spend time with my wife more than I want to spend with anyone. If there could only be one person in my life, even my children, it would be her. The only time I wasn’t in love with her was when I was too sick to be so. I cook her dinner at night and bring it to her. We watch our favorite shows together until she konks out from a hard day of teaching. We make each other laugh to tears. We take long walks together and drive out to see the progress on the house we are building. We love taking road trips together on which we talk endlessly of our lives and our future together. I would take this over a great sex life. Truly.
I heard a song on HBO’s Westworld, which we watch together, recently, Reverie by the French impressionist composer Claude Debussy.
It brought me back to a very specific time in our lives. We’d dated in high school. She was my first true love. We dated for 11 months and then we began seeing other people…whole other story. But in college, we became very close friends again. I was dating her best friend from high school, who I was crazy about but she wasn’t crazy about me. My moods scared her, I think. And as we began to drift, I began to see more and more of my wife.
When the girl finally dumped me, I began spending all of my free time with my wife. She wasn’t into me romantically, but she liked my company. I was mainly just hot for her at that point. Sexy girl. I used to give her massages. It was the only physical intimacy I could get with her as friends. I must have been pretty good at it because she would let me stay over late and rub her to sleep. She was a flutist and she would play her favorite tape of the great Irish flutist James Galway. And on that tape was Reverie.
This memory or impression of a memory may have been the moment that I fell back in love with her. Something beyond college boy lust. It was well past midnight and she was nearly asleep. I was rubbing her neck or something or other. Her skin was so warm and soft. I couldn’t get enough of it. She wore perfume sometimes, but tonight it was the smell of her skin that was intoxicating. She has a naturally sweet fragrance. There was a candle burning on her dresser in her tiny room. It was all very magical, or like a dream. I wanted her to me mine again. I wanted the other boys to go away, and in a few weeks I did, by asking her to marry me. She was only 19 when I asked her.
Our tumultuous teenage love was gone, but this night, or on many nights exactly like it, we began our adult love, even if it was only in my heart. If she would’ve turned me down, I don’t think I ever could have been fully happy without her. Any other woman would have been competing with her.
This is one of the many reasons why I do everything I can to stay well. I was lucky enough to have her, and I hope I’m lucky enough to keep her.