Love, My Way (or, An Exercise in Futility)

This is a story about love in the face of mental illness. I’m mildly neurotic and mildly bipolar. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic. 

I’ve never blogged before. It’s a weird sensation, knowing I’m about to post my words where they can be found on the Internet by anyone who cares to see, where my tale will be subject to ridicule and derision. Of course, I’m not counting on anyone to actually read it. As I’m sure many people have believed, I think it will be cathartic. I write this only for myself.

However, someone may actually see it, so all names have been changed to protect the innocent. And if, at any point, someone decides to comment in the vein of “seek professional help/counseling/talk-therapy/shock-therapy/medication/suicide”, I’ve heard it already, thanks. I just want to chronicle the highs and the lows of trying to maintain a steady relationship, even a friendship, with someone suffering from schizophrenia.

Anyway, on with the show!