I’m really out of my comfort zone. My emotions are all over the place. I think I had actually convinced myself I was unlovable. I felt it. I wore a T-shirt that declared it to the world. Every time I met a potential partner I was just too much. Or not enough. And sometimes both. Such are the joys of dating with bipolar, BPD and a shedload of baggage. I absolutely know I’m not an easy option. When I would put on my dating profile I needed to meet someone honest with robust communication skills, patience and great emotional literacy, I meant it. In reality, few got past my profile picture. Attracted by a little red lace, all my requirements went by the wayside. And as time went on, the more men I met, the more I convinced myself I was undateable.

I still believed that with the right person I wouldn’t be too much or too little. I’d be just right. I was just losing faith that that person existed. But it seems the weird old world of Facebook Dating was to be lucky for me. A month ago a stranger by the name of Martin popped into my inbox. We started to chat. Both of us were keen to meet sooner rather than later, although he had the courtesy to let me keep an existing date I’d arranged with a guy previously. It was something Martin messaged me while I was with the other guy that made me realise what an incredible man he was. Honest, open, kind and caring and I found myself more keen than ever to meet him.

And I think it was when we met, I knew. We just seemed to click on every level. Being in his presence felt like coming home. And he absolutely felt like my person. I felt safe. I felt loved.

We even discussed how it was far too soon to use the L-bomb. But as much as we talked about it, we couldn’t unfeel what we were feeling. We’re better together. And my toiletries have a little spot in his bathroom. Just for convenience sake.

And despite all my stupid overthinking, I’m really happy. I am capable of doing life by myself, have done for the last 13 years, but I prefer not to. I like being with someone. I like his messages. I like falling asleep in his arms and waking up beside him. I like holding his hand in the street or across a table. I love how he makes me feel. And I can’t remember the last time someone brought me a cuppa in bed. He’s a proper good lad. He even washed my back when I was showering the other morning. After screaming because I didn’t see him come in, I realised no one had ever done that since my mumma used to wash me as a kid. I don’t believe I have ever felt this cherished.

I’m fighting the doubts constantly. The voice that tells me it’s too good to be true. That no one does those things without expecting something in return. Where’s the catch? The one that goes, “Just when you relax and trust him, you know he’ll disappear? He knows my fears. He knows my weaknesses. He knows my past. And he assures me he’s going nowhere.

And the weirdest part? He thinks he won’t be enough for me. Because we’re possibly as insecure as each other. Which with any other guy would make me so anxious. But this one is a talker. And we both know that so long as we keep communication open we can sort things out.

My friend asked me the other night how things were going with Martin, was I still happy with him? My reply was this, “I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else”. And I stand by that. He makes me so happy.

It’s early days, but it doesn’t feel like it. And we’re realistic. We’re not naive. We went public on our respective Facebook pages this week and the response was overwhelming. Mostly it was noted how happy we both look. And we really are. Happy and in love.