I met up with M. today at our usual meeting place by the Starbucks in Winona. It’s sorta kinda half way between both of our places (longer for me). Today the weather was nice but the tables weren’t set up outside so we grabbed coffees and went to his car where I reclined my seat and he put the car top down partway, enough to let the breeze in. It was a very nice time. We sat there from 11:30am-2:30pm and watched people come and go, chatted about this and that.
I told him about the book I’m reading called Surviving Schizophrenia: A Family Manual by E. Fuller Torrey, M.D. It’s a very practical guide to what he refers to as a “brain disease” – schizophrenia. I’ve been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which as MY doctor explained to me, includes components of schizophrenia like hallucinations and delusions as well as components of mood disorders like bipolar disorder like manic and depressive stages. I started reading it to better understand the illness so that I may understand myself and the clients I work with. Also, it seemed like it would, plainly put, be a good book and well-written so I’m always up to read something evocative like that.
My fascination with Conan and my daydreaming of meeting him some day were born of this illness. When I’m unwell, I truly believe that we share a telepathic connection as well as a personal history and will talk to him throughout the day. Our conversations were intimate and entertaining and often spurred me to contact him and reach out to his team, friends, and family members. I didn’t realize this was inappropriate. But I had to ask myself, if this conversation was two-sided, then why am I not receiving his contact requests? Why hasn’t he shown up? Why hasn’t he phoned? I stopped asking myself that long ago. For the most part. As evidenced by a previous post I made this week, I still stay up late wondering. I wouldn’t say I’m a woman possessed, but even now, doing as well as I am, I get blips.
There’s a name for what I struggle with. It’s a symptom of schizophrenia and it’s called De Clérambault’s syndrome or erotomania. It’s when you believe a celebrity is in love with you not matter what evidence there is to the contrary. It can be dangerous. I know when I was in the throws of psychosis I would sit outside on the front steps waiting for Conan to show up. I remember once it was winter and I was in my pajamas and I was convinced that Conan was hiding in the garage of the neighbor across the street from me. I thought he was going door to door trying to work up the courage to see me. After an hour of waiting, I went back inside and cried myself to sleep. Another time I was so incapacitated by his laughter coursing through my brain, making me laugh, that I lay in bed pissing myself. So it’s not very romantic.
Obviously those days are behind me. But again, blips. I try to focus on what’s actually in my life that I can prove. I have a committed, loving boyfriend, a part-time job, a volunteer position at MHRC, good relationships with my family, a few close friends and a smattering of less-close friends. I have my health, for the most part, sure I have some health issues but I still have the use of my legs to walk me around the block, my hands to type this blog post, and my sight to read many interesting books. I’ve got enough disposable money to get Starbucks with M. or go out for wings with the work gang. I’m excelling in university and the finish line is in sight.
All this is to say, when I left M. today I accidentally left my phone in his passenger side door. We’ve already exchanged emails planning to meet up again tonight. It seemed very frustrating at the top of this blog post but in writing it, it has become trivial.
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