Everyone's Special. You're Very Special.

Story Submitted by Claire:

Ben was a sweet, hilarious, smart, interesting, and considerate guy with whom I loved spending time.  We had been friends for a while and thereafter started to date.

For our first few weeks together as a couple, things were great most of the time.  Sometimes, though, he'd fly off the handle over unpredictable things (I shouldn't spend money to take a cab home at night, I should like Henry Miller, I shouldn't wear skirts), and I began to feel increasingly disenchanted with him. No relationship was perfect, but I was beginning to get sick of walking on eggshells.

One evening, I went over to Ben's place to have a drink and hang out. After finishing a round, he went into the kitchen to refill my drink. When he came back, we chatted pleasantly for a few minutes but then I began to feel really strange. My heart beat wildly, and I suddenly started giggling and couldn't stop. Ben just giggled too, like something was really funny. When I stopped, he stopped, like nothing had happened.

Then, he said, "You're a shitty girlfriend who doesn't appreciate how special I am.  I know you've been cheating on me with your ex-boyfriend."

"My ex-boyfriend's on another continent!" I yelled back, and it was the truth.  I felt even more dizzy and woozy.

He went on, "You have to accept my marriage proposal.  I'm special, goddamn it, and you haven't once told me how special I am.  Now you tell me: I'm special!"

On the verge of passing out, I said, "Everyone is special in their own way.  I'm going home."

I stood up, certain that he had put something in my drink.  He said, "You really, really shouldn't have said that."  He looked absolutely furious, and I felt afraid.

I apologized to him in the most soothing voice I could muster, reassured him that he was extra special, and said I wasn't feeling well and had to use the bathroom.

I locked myself in the bathroom, and noticed that the countertops were littered with nearly a dozen orange prescription pill bottles.  I thought about calling the police, but I wasn't sure anything illegal had happened ("My boyfriend's a jerk and I have a tummy ache" didn't seem like 911 material) and I just wanted out of there, so I called my best friend and asked her to call me back and feign an emergency.

I left the bathroom and sure enough, my best friend called. I answered it before Ben could protest, made sure he could hear her loud crying, and told him, "I need to go help my friend."

Ben advanced on me.  "What's wrong with her?"

"She's bipolar."  That was true.  She's also appropriately medicated and a wonderful, caring friend.

Ben confessed, "I'm bipolar, too.  Let me talk to her.  I know all about it."

He reached for the phone but I backed away.  "I think I should just go to see her."

"Give me the phone, now."

I said, "Can I get a glass of water?  I'm not feeling very well, myself."

While Ben was in the kitchen, I grabbed my bag and quietly let myself out the front door. Once in the hallway I made for the stairwell and made my way down as best as I could.

By the time I reached the bottom, I heard him coming after me at the top, screaming, "Lying whore!  You'll regret this!"

I ran outside and to a nearby hotel, where the concierge clearly thought I was a little nuts but got me a glass of water and a cab home.

Ben never hit me or threatened me directly so I didn't think I'd qualify for a restraining order, and it took months for him to stop calling and texting me multiple times a day, alternating between professing undying love and cursing me out. I had to make special arrangements with my apartment building so the front desk wouldn't let him in.

I still receive the occasional email from him about how he's found a new girlfriend or gotten millions of dollars in a lawsuit. What I hope he gets is a good therapist and some medication that will help him more than whatever was all over his bathroom counter.