3.2 Bipolar Love

C’est étrange, beaucoup s’interroge sur la vie sexuelle des bipolaires. Il faut que je rassure tout le monde : la sexualité des bipolaires est normale voire banale (à l’euthymie). Comme il est de coutume en ce début de millénaire, on réduit les gens à leurs parties génitales. Cette métonymie lassante ne doit pas cacher l’extraordinaire richesse de notre vie sentimentale. Nous ressentons plus que les gens normaux. Cette sensibilité si souvent citée dans les cercles psychiatriques nous rend attachant. Il y’avait cette fille que j’avais rencontré sur un projet. Nous furent amants rapidement. Trop peut-être. Elle était là. Toujours là. Mais elle ne savait pas parler d’amour. Alors moi je ne savais pas. Vous savez, ma porte d’entrée ce sont les mots. Si vous m’aimez, soyez clair autrement mon cerveau choisira toujours l’interprétation qui me fera le plus de mal. Peut-être est-ce moi ou peut-être est-ce la bipolarité. On ne sait jamais vraiment…

Notre rupture fut brutale comme un orage par temps calme. Elle revint à moi 8 ans après. Appelons la Lou en hommage à l’amour inaccessible de Nietzsche. Lou Salomé… Une femme libre, de son temps…

Source: Lou à Louis
Dear Louis,
I am at CDG waiting for my colleagues and I thought about you.
Wanted to say hi and let you know that I am doing well.
I hope the same is true for you. Are you still living in Paris? It’s been quite some time since we’ve met here :-).
Take care.
Best regards,

Nous nous vîmes le soir même pour un dîner elle me raconta sa vie sans moi. C’était le parfait dîner entre gens de bonne compagnie. Elle me raconta la naissance de son bébé. Elle ne s’était pas mariée mais elle évitait de me parler de son compagnon et de sa vie familiale. Peut-être voulait elle me préserver ou peut être voulait elle revivre l’ambiance de notre amour qui datait maintenant de 8 ans. Je jouais le jeu mais je posai une question brutale et directe qui la déstabilisa. Elle n’en avait pas fini avec moi et je lisais en elle comme dans un livre ouvert. Je lui avais demandé si elle ne m’en voulait pas. Et elle ne m’en voulait…plus. Ce fut ma libération. J’avais agi comme un idiot et voici comment je lui expliquai notre histoire dans un mail. C’était ma perspective. Une perspective de bipolaire, sensible trop sensible mais aussi manipulateur, manipulateur qui se prend les pieds dans le tapis… Je ne lui fis pas remarquer la litote exceptionnelle qu’elle venait de me signifier : « I’m not mad at you ». Va je ne te hais point. Elle connait ses classiques.

Source: Louis à Lou
Once upon a time, there was this girl coming on board of the French XXXX implementation. On the phone she sounded professional, precise and cold. The consultant had to apply the standard procedure in this case. Ok she’s gonna implement whatever shit the central team wants but she will have to pay a psychological price for it just to make sure that other future requirements are relevant. All in all he trusted she was good, so this little game would not have to be overt. When she came to Paris, he would try to not to talk to her. In his eyes she was neither beautiful nor ugly. She was an asexual professional until a day when she smiled to him. Believe it or not, all this had happened in slow motion as if his brain was telling « look at that and pay attention ». Later, to his surprise, she became flirtatious with him. That was a little bit amazing given the standard procedure that he had applied so far.
Time passed by and they agreed to meet for a week end in Barcelona. He was so awkward; some would say he was hesitating. He was telling to himself « This is not going to work, we’re just too different ». At the end of the week end, he made his move at the last second. And he could guess her reproaches when she turned back to say good bye. On the way to the airport (as far as he can remember) he asked if she was now his girl. She frowned and says bluntly « no ». These words got carved into his kid’s brain. Words like that you can’t really change them.
So the question lingered on: «If she’s not my girl who is she exactly ». No matter the rendez-vous, the awkward sex (my fault), the phone call. She was still living the same life in Frankfurt. So the kid concluded that he was just a business trip distraction. Which was unfair but kids are always unfair. Moreover, although being a natural born loner, he would discover because of her how it felt to be lonely. He was wandering in the city alone although he was supposed to have someone by his side.
One day, before the black Monday, they were at a café chatting about nothing and everything. He realized how bad he had fallen in love with her. On black Monday, she didn’t notice the dictatorial way she talked to him at work. He got so humiliated because he was so vulnerable now. Words had become daggers and there was not protection any more (from the standard procedure).
Back home there was this cold anger. And the kid was shouting inside for revenge. At the same time he wanted to know « I love you so much, who I am exactly for you? » He answered one of her call and responded with a brutality he didn’t know. The Kid had his answer, Louis lost everything. Louis tried to mend things but they were beyond repair. For him it was up and downs. One day he loved her; the other day, he loathed her. He took the first opportunity to end this absurdity.
An acute headache lasted 3 months continuously. Then life, like water, was back to his usual bed until 26th of June of this year. There was this woman at work he really appreciated and they often take the train back together. He never talked with anybody of past experiences. But for the first time after 8 years, he wanted to have the opinion of this woman. She told him immediately « You didn’t give her a second chance (meaning you’re the king of the idiots) ». Then on the first of July, Louis received news for Lou. She has built her life. She’s not mad at him. Louis’s happy for her. The kid still loves her. But we’re not kids any more. They’re some layers above him now.

En 8 ans, j’avais compris que je pouvais m’exprimer par des mots et je lui envoyai ça. Je trouve que c’est beau comme déclaration d’amour mais elle n’avait plus d’importance maintenant, c’est pour cela qu’elle fut facile à faire.

Source: Louis à Lou
The kid has built a shrine which makes the Parthenon looks like a café around the corner. He’s captured the image of his beloved one and has locked up her image in it so that it could adore it every day. Along that shrine, there was this river where water flows with this funny color. The same color rained every day and the peasants said it was because of a stupid god whose heart has been bleeding for ages. For them it was astonishing that you could not grow corn or wheat on that soil. Only one flower could grow and it was red roses. They were exported everywhere in the universe where love was known, as a testimony on how it is difficult to love.

Nous sommes tous pareil. Nous autres bipolaires, un peu plus que les autres… Et bien sûr un up court et toujours les même constatations. Mes manies deviennent lassantes. Sauf que ça n’est pas dans les yeux. Inquiétant et mystérieux, ce signal honnête ! Comment ? Une paire de lunette qui ne laisse pas entrevoir mon regard… C’est bête mais encore fallait il y penser, dans le protocole expérimental…

The rolling stones / play with fire
Don’t play with me ’cause you play with fire

Guns’n’roses / You could be mine
I’m a cold heartbreaker
Fit ta burn and I’ll rip
your heart in two
An I’ll leave you lyin’ on the bed
I’ll be out the door before ya wake
It’s nuthin’ new ta you
‘Cause I think we’ve seen that movie too

Kiss / I was made for lovin’ you
Tonight I wanna give it all to you
In the darkness
There’s so much I wanna do
And tonight I wanna lay it at your feet
‘Cause girl, I was made for you
And girl, you were made for me
I was made for lovin’ you baby
You were made for lovin’ me
And I can’t get enough of you baby
Can you get enough of me