Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘intimacy’

Finding Intimacy

What do you think of when you hear the word “intimacy”? Sex, right?

That’s a part of intimacy, but it appears nowhere in the American Psychological Association’s definition. There, it says, intimacy is “an interpersonal state of extreme emotional closeness such that each party’s personal space can be entered by any of the other parties without causing discomfort to that person. Intimacy characterizes close, familiar, and usually affectionate or loving personal relationships and requires the parties to have a detailed knowledge or deep understanding of each other.”

Let’s take a look at that definition. “Extreme emotional closeness” is pretty understandable. But note the word “extreme.” It implies that intimacy is more than ordinary closeness. We have friends whom we are close to, but not intimately close to. They may be friends we can talk to about our troubles, share our stories with, be close to, but still not share that extreme emotional closeness. You’re not necessarily intimate with a best friend, though of course it’s possible.

The next part of the definition is more troubling to some. That part about “personal space” being entered by “any of the other parties.” It implies that there can be intimacy among more than two parties. To some people, that sounds like cheating or polyamory. But that’s when intimacy implies only sex.

Personally, I have a number of intimate friends, both male and female. That’s not to say that I’m promiscuous, bisexual, polygamous, or polyandrous. What I mean is that, as the APA definition states, we “have a detailed knowledge or deep understanding of each other.”

What does it take to get that detailed knowledge and deep understanding?

What are the qualities that foster intimacy?

Time. I’d say that, for non-sexual intimacy anyway, time is required. I can’t say how long that is exactly, but I do know that it isn’t instantaneous. You may feel an instant connection with someone you meet, but that’s not intimacy. I felt an instant connection with someone I helped through a public breakdown, but our intimacy had to grow over the years. Now I do count him as an intimate friend.

Sharing. You don’t have to share everything, but some sharing is essential. It may be seemingly superficial things like a love of country songs or a television show, but that’s only part of it. The intimacy kind of sharing involves actual sharing of thoughts, ideas, and experiences. You don’t have to agree on everything, though there are usually some non-negotiables. But for intimacy, you shouldn’t be afraid or embarrassed to share the truths about and inside you.

Laughter. Nothing bonds two (or more) people like laughter. Intimacy can be enhanced by laughing at the same things. A good belly laugh, the kind where you can’t stop and can’t breathe, is what I’m talking about. Or the snickers that you both have to suppress because you know you’re in a place where you can’t express it until you’re alone.

Help. For true intimacy, this is probably the most important quality of all. Someone you feel intimacy with is someone you can turn to when you’re at your lowest. Someone who understands or even if they don’t, will hold you closely in their heart or spirit. Physical help or financial help is good, but it isn’t required.

For those of us with SMI, it can be hard to feel intimacy. We may even fear intimacy because we’ve been betrayed by someone we’ve felt intimacy for. It’s difficult—or sometimes impossible—to get past that, but if you can, and you can open yourself to that extreme emotional closeness once again, intimacy with someone new is possible. Looking for someone to share intimacy with may not work. Sometimes intimacy has to find you.

Be open to it if it does.

Healing My Heart as Well as My Brain

My brain is notoriously glitchy. Whatever the current state of thought about what causes bipolar disorder, I feel the illness as residing in my brain. It’s a mood disorder, of course, but I can’t locate my moods in any place except my brain.

It’s taken a lot of time and effort – and money, to tell the truth – to get my brain to the point where I can live with it instead of in spite of it. It was badly in need of repair for so long that I didn’t quite realize that my heart needed repair as well.

Look, I know that bipolar moods come and go with little to no reason. That’s one of the hallmarks of the disorder. But the combination of depression and a train wreck of a relationship left me shattered. It’s hard enough to come out of that kind of depression, but add to it the fact that my first real love relationship had imploded so spectacularly and I was a total mess in both brain and heart.

I met my future husband about a week before I fled that situation, heading back to my hometown. After a couple of years of long-distance getting to know each other, he moved here, and together we started the process of helping me achieve healing.

Dan had experience working in psychiatric facilities, so he had some kind of an idea of what I had been going through. But he couldn’t help me psychologically – though he tried. It didn’t work. I needed professional help, from someone not personally or romantically involved with me. “Don’t come shrinking at me,” I once told him. If I had to rely on him for mental healing, I would become unhealthily dependent on him. What he could do was support me through the process. He was enormously patient, helping me with the small things like driving me to my therapy appointments. He sat with me when I cried and dispensed hugs liberally. It was a long journey to some kind of mental stability.

But my heart needed healing as well as my brain. I was emotionally damaged, as much as I was psychologically impaired. The two problems were intertwined, of course. My thinking and feeling lived in the same space – inside my head. And healing both problems had to happen concurrently.

There’s not a lot of point in having your moods stabilized when you’re hurting so badly inside. But a therapist can only do so much. I learned a lot about myself in therapy, but healing my heart was largely a joint project between my husband and myself.

It wasn’t quick or easy. After my previous relationship, I was not inclined to trust anyone with my heart. That’s one of the side effects of being gaslighted. I needed to relearn trust and renew my ability to let someone inside the barriers I had established. I needed relearn intimacy.

Intimacy isn’t just about sex, though it encompasses that too. Intimacy certainly relies on physical touch, which I definitely had trouble with. In my previous relationship, my bodily autonomy was not respected. Touch was an issue. Fortunately, Dan never uses anything except gentle touch.

Play was an issue, too. True intimacy involves being able to play together, and at some level play involves trust – trust that it won’t go too far, trust that it’s fun and not mean, trust that everyone is playing by the same “rules.” Dan is nothing if not playful.

Talk was always the biggest builder of intimacy for me, though. Call me a sapiosexual, but I find the ability to have deep, meaningful conversations a real turn-on. Dan and I have the best conversations. Sometimes I wake up when he does at 4:00 a.m. and we have tea and oatmeal and just chat in the morning. He helps me with ideas for my blogs and tells me things he read in his Archaeology magazine. We look up songs online and play them and sometimes we chair-dance. It’s play and conversation both, and we build intimacy that way.

So, it has taken a lot of work to heal my brain, but also my heart. Both are much better now.

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