Disabled

Nic and I met in the spring at a party in Madison while we were both in college. That’s what I tell people, and it’s technically true. I had been staying with friends, Zoryg and Byer, gay traumatized twins from Russia. I met them in La Crosse, where I attended school. They were insatiable fiends who would do anything to get their fix.

At the time, I attended UW La Crosse, and Nic was a student at Madison. He was drunk when we met, and, unbeknownst to me, he was not always this calm.

Nic had anger issues. Not at me, never at me, except when I jumped on his back and pulled his hair after he told me to kill myself. Then, he ran behind a bush and punched me four times in the head without leaving a bruise.

Sometimes, his speech indicated that his mind would go down these rabbit holes where eventually he just started babbling nonsense at me, speaking very emphatically. Sometimes, he got mad, and he screamed at me about people for what felt like hours. To me, it was super interesting and terrifying, meaning it made my heart race. I was still addicted to the feeling that led to my accident all those years ago.

Nic had undiagnosed schizophrenia. Well, a schizoid disorder at least.

Before all this, Nic was diagnosed with bipolar. I often shared the temperament and intention of Nic in his supposed manic states. We would go driving together on black highways in the middle of the night. We would buy dubs and smoke them upstairs that summer when it was deadly hot. That was the summer he failed his course because he was too busy distracted by me.

Fast forward four years, and a weird sense of responsibility for his academic career still overcomes me into being with him, often for days on end. On his abilify, he’s much calmer now, much less delusional. Which is not to say his mind is devoid of rabbit holes, but now, it’s mostly harmless.

Nic is madly in love with me. I don’t say this to be arrogant, for he’s told me so. But, although love is madness, madness is not love.