23 is going to be the year I avoid complicated men.

And yet here I am on my 23^rd birthday in bed with another Ben, this is what my 5^th or 6^th Ben. What is it about that name that I can’t refuse? Uncomplicated men I said. A man who has only separated from his wife 3 weeks ago was not quite what I had in mind.

There are no walls. Giving his affection freely he has no shame in wrapping me up in his arms, and whispering secrets into my ear as I attempt to sleep. He is yet to learn that those moments aren’t usually shared with someone you met only a few hours earlier.

He’s not my type but none of them are.

There is a quote by Maryna Horbacher a fellow sufferer of Bipolar which sums it up perfectly:
 “The doctors call it hypersexuality. It’s one of several typical goal-seeking behaviours that are common in mania, all of which involve raid energy and total loss of impulse control – this game I’m playing involves risky one-night stands, a compulsion to seduce, but no real interest in the sex itself. The sex isn’t the point. The point is to shut off the maelstrom in my head.

Someone catches my eye: my mind empties out of everything but the need to get him. My heart thumps, and there’s a full, mute pounding in my skull. Sound fades, and I am only aware of my single-minded mission I must catch him, I must win. It’s a rush, a pure, clean high, uncomplicated by thoughts. A few words, a few glances, a brush of the back of the hand, and he’s mine. I am no longer anxious, no longer fearful, finally neither low nor high, I find myself in unknown beds or my own staring at the ceiling, drumming my fingers on their backs. I feel the weight of their bodies, crushing me, pinning me down. They are solid, real. I am an object, useful but hollow the absence of thought fills me up.

And then the game is over. I’ve won, and I want them to take their sticky, heavy bodies and go home.

I litter the city with unsuspecting, nice guys, drawn in by the same things every man has even been drawn in by-the over-the-top everything, the whirlwind that my hypomania creates. They call me “passionate.” Only certain men are interested in women like this, and somehow I find them all this summer, and eat them for a snack. It’s endlessly entertaining, when it isn’t boring as hell.”

“That’s the first time in my life I have spent all night and day having sex.”  I don’t respond. I’m physically exhausted, my entire body is shaking and my heart is pounding. He gets up to make me breakfast as I stumble like Bambi out of his bed.

A breakfast of bacon sandwiches and orange juice is followed by a 4-wheeldriving adventure to a secluded beach. Covered in salt water and sand we lay in the back of his jeep, Ben sips on his beer as I trace my fingers over his hard chest and abs. As I start to shiver he wraps me up in his arms and kisses me. He jumps out of the car to the sound of the ranger’s car pulling up beside us. I sit there hoping they don’t come around and see me sitting there soaking wet in my lace bra and panties. Ben walks around as they drive off and laughs at me for hiding in the back at the car. No fine but we need to leave.

I wait for the one-night-stand awkwardness to arrive. It never does.

We fill his sheets with sand though he does seem to mind as he collapses next to me and we finally fall asleep.