“A flash knockdown occurs when a boxer is knocked down but gets back on his feet before the referee begins the count. It’s also known as a no-count.”
The first time Nate and I broke up, it was a mature and responsible decision. At least, that’s what I told myself.
I had been planning to leave for grad school in Virginia for the entirety of our relationship. He was considering moving to Oklahoma with his best friend, Stidum, when Stidum returned from deployment.
I refused to even try to make it work long-distance. That kind of thing doesn’t work for normal people, and I’ve always had trouble with commitment. In fact, there’s a good chance our relationship wouldn’t have lasted as long as it had if it hadn’t come with an expiration date.
The summer came and went quickly and in August, we began the countdown. The night before I left I went to his house and watched TV. He never tried to change my mind. He was just sad. When it was time to go, I kissed him goodbye.
“Well,” he said wryly, “It’s been fun.”
I honestly thought it was over, and I was in the dumps about it…for about a week.
It turns out that Nate had quickly become one of my best friends, and it was just strange not to talk to him every day…so I did. By the time I went back home to visit, he said, “So, we’re pretty much still together, right?”
The break up just hadn’t stuck.
None of our break ups have, so far.
The second time we broke up, it was without my knowledge.
I had been in Virginia for about 3 months and, in addition to our usual political acrimony, the distance was grating on us. We talked every day, but we were both on edge, and it’s irrational to yell “I resent you for being so far away!” so we just took jabs at each other. One night, it inevitably culminated in an epic, seven-hour-long battle royal via AIM. The fight could have gone on longer, but I stole a move from his playbook and stormed off.
Well, the internet equivalent of storming off. I signed off with a poignant flourish. Then, I put the computer away and went to bed. When I awoke the next day, I went straight to the computer and pulled up my AIM account to see what kind of a reaction I had gotten out of him.
I was expecting a brief retort that could be boiled down to “Well, fuck you, too.” What I found was around a dozen paragraphs, written at around 15 minute increments. The first couple reiterated the major points of his argument. Then, came a frustrated questioning of our relationship, followed by a livid proclamation that we were no longer dating. Finally, there was a heartfelt apology, with a promise to call me the next day.
That is when I started to consider the idea that my boyfriend might be bipolar.
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