I don’t know what made me think I wanted to start dating again. In December, I downloaded a few dating apps, inevitably went through two terrible dates and an epistolary novel’s worth’s of messages, until I met a man who I was thoroughly intrigued by.
We started messaging the day after my 33rd birthday. Met in person a little over a month later, and have been sporadically seeing each other since then.
By sporadically, I mean I typically only see him once a week, if that. He’s 4 years older than I am, with two preteens in tow and a phenomenal pup! 🖤
We both have dealt with depression and medication withdrawals over the period we’ve been seeing each other, and it leaves me at a loss(I believe), at times. It’s so hard, wanting to be with him, yet seemingly always missing the chance: work, kids, finances… mental health.
“You live and love too far away,” he says.
“Do I?” I’m confused. But, at least he knows I love.
In these days of courtship, since January 25th, 2019 I have loved, but have I been loved? And is love really the adequate word? Maybe there is potential; maybe I accidentally said so, on the first night we were intimate–but I quickly corrected myself with another statement.
I asked him if he’d rather just be friends.
He responded with a vague response, lacking an answer. That was a week ago, but I went to see him 4 days ago and we spent the earliest hours of the morning in each other’s intoxicated arms.
Alongside my overwhelming anxiety disorder… I just feel like I’m losing my spark a little.
There are others, in my social circle, vying for my affection, but I want his, I think. He’s the only candidate within 1,204.5 miles that I sincerely care for…
Have you dated someone with depression? How is it different? I’m constantly overthinking our status, yet so slow to question our relationship. I guess I don’t want it to end, but I’m so tired of being in the dark–pushing my mental health to the brink of madness.