Let’s get one thing straight: You are the weird one between the two of us.
I was encouraged by your “wink” on Match.com last month. You had a certain cute nerdiness that I like, such as the fact that you knew right away which David Foster Wallace essay I was describing to you. “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again” confirms my belief that a cruise vacation should never be in my future. Ever.
When your profile mentioned a liking for David Foster Wallace, how could I resist such a like for literary brilliance?
But then I noticed what you wrote under occupation: therapist.
Crap and fuck, as there would be no way to gloss over the details of my DID diagnosis. It gave me pause as I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of dating a therapist, but you liked David Foster Wallace!
We had a brilliant first date of nerdy talk for 5+ hours at the coffee shop.
I loved the fact that though you majored in film in undergrad you had never seen any of my favorite movies. Of the five I listed, you had only heard of two. I loved that I stumped you that way, though I didn’t do it on purpose. Those movies really are among my favorites: Happy Go Lucky, Pane e Tulipani (Bread and Tulips), Spanglish, Johnny Stecchino, and Vicky Christina Barcelona.
Sometimes it’s fun to be weird.
And then, other times, it’s far less fun.
For example, admitting to you that I have dissociative identity disorder was certainly less than fun. It was one of those moments when you feel all of the weirdness inside and outside of you like a Cloak of Weirdness you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try.
You said to me that you “didn’t know about that …” And it got all weird. You said something about waking up with a knife to your throat, or rather you “jokingly” asked if that would ever happen. You asked rhetorically when you really wanted an actual answer from me.
I let you sit with the discomfort of your stupid rhetorical question.
Get rid of your stupid hollywood images of DID.
For fuck’s sake, I’m a professional with a job with gobs of responsibility, and I am so non-violent I can’t even stomach many violent movies. So, no, you don’t have to worry about waking up with such a situation.
Why the hell did I let the words hang like that?
Why didn’t I say to you, “Hey! You’re a fucking THERAPIST. Don’t be all weird on me for something I never asked for, AND for something that I’m working on … AND get lost, lose my number!
That is what I should have said.
Instead I let it go. I understood the reluctance to believe because I had the same reluctance. I thought if you just see me as I am it will be fine.
But no, everything was colored with the DID, the remarks, the conversations, the non-verbals … it became the weird thing in the room between us.
Things were more fun before DID came into our conversations.
I fear that I will eventually lose my glass-half-full optimism.
And, then I learned just how weird YOU are.
For instance, there’s no plainer way to put this, but you’re a dick.
I said to you this week that I was disappointed because I lost my first case ever in my career. I wasn’t a mess about it, but I was disappointed, and surprised as I believed in my case.
You said to me if no one died then it was a good day.
That was a jerky thing to say. Professional disappointment is normal and okay. You just needed to be mildly supportive of me. Even a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” would have sufficed.
When I told you that we had a drug situation at work, and I laughed at telling you that I had no idea that the word “roach” was slang for marijuana you told me I should be embarrassed that I didn’t know what that word meant.
Really? I should be embarrassed? Hell no, I am fine with not knowing that. It’s not like I work in law enforcement or narcotics. I work in human resources, and I’m so legalistic I reel at the thought of doing anything remotely illegal. I would have been great for the military if I wasn’t such a pacifist and left-leaning feminist. They would have loved my propensity for rules and structure.
Nope, you are the one who should be embarrassed, mister. You should be embarrassed because you really aren’t very empathetic or kind or understanding. Maybe you use it all up at work, but from what I’ve seen, you’re all tapped out.
And, I’m out.