This is the barest sketch of an outline of a thought of an update . . .

The Bon Vivant is back in town and in my life in a more active way than he ever has been.

I’ve spoken to him every day since Sunday night (“Joy”).

I spent about 20 hours with him from the moment he arrived back in town on Tuesday afternoon until Wednesday afternoon where we had a typically amazing time: indie film at the upscale arthouse with cocktails, cocktail hour with his friends at their downtown condo, dinner and wine at a favorite restaurant, cocktails at the super-exclusive bar, incredible sex at his place, external drama related to the fact we had been drinking so much, more incredible sex, and then settling into an actual life.

We made plans for Wednesday night which never quite came together as we were each wandering blocks away from each other downtown with dying smart phone batteries.  Still he called and texted repeatedly and has been really present.

Now, it’s Thursday and I will likely see him.  Our status — formally — is still uncertain.  I made some reference “when I was dating you in the Fall” and he responded “I don’t ‘date.'”  What the fuck ever.  We are in a monogamous relationship, we are publicly affectionate, we hang out with his friends and mine, and the expectation is that we will see each other regularly, if not daily.

He says he trusts me and he only trusts “my parents, my siblings, you, and K [his best friend from college, with whom I met him last August].”  I know this.  I trust him, too.

When he tells me things, I believe him.

He still insists he will be killing himself at some point in the next 60 days.  I asked him to wait until after my birthday.  I cried on his chest, but told him I wouldn’t stop him.  And, I won’t.  His family knows.  I told him I envisioned his funeral and all I went through in thinking about my decision and his choice.  We talked about how he would do it.

I referred to a period in our life together as “after we broke up”: “we never broke up.” “B, you didn’t speak to me for 6 weeks.” “Yeah, but we never broke up.”  “Um . . .” “We’ll always be together.”

We have become a little reckless regarding pregnancy.  I am watching the calendar.  That is all we are using for “protection.”

He is deeply unhappy and is dealing with the fact everyone in his world takes advantage of his heart and his generosity.  And, yet, we are happy together.  He sleeps with me always holding my hand, or wrapped around me, or with my massaging his head or stroking his back.  We have a nice social rapport around other people, but we are an entity in public that makes sense.

His friends were shocked when I made some reference to the difference in our ages.  He looks older than he is, I look younger, everyone assumes we’re the same age.  That we are ten years apart makes a difference, though, because he does occasionally go off the rails through some bs immature nonsense.

So far, he’s still clean.  I know he’s not actually addicted, in that he is just fine without it, but it changes how alcohol affects him, so it’s only a matter of time.  Like for me, alcohol causes blackouts.  I use caffeine now to provide enough stimulant to keep my brain connected.  I may see if I can get him to sub in adderall.  When he blacks out, he’s still fully functional and conversant, he just has no idea what he’s doing or saying and no memory of it the next day.

We are figuring out how to be together in this healthier relationship, more committed than before, more normal than before. He’s still unreliable, but he’s in this with me.  We’re happy.  We love each other, which we profess constantly.

It’s likely not sustainable, but for now, happy days are here again.  I am not preparing for the end.  I am enjoying where we are and I am focused on making every day I have with him count.

I know he will not be in the world forever.  He will always be in my heart.

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