It was the destination wedding to end all destination weddings.
Just outside Dublin, in 560 acres of emerald green countryside, sits the castle dating back to 1420. Queen Victoria stayed there. That’s where the iconic royal, Sir David and Victoria Beckham got married. Now it’s time for the new couple to fall under the spell of the castle – along with around 100 people who loved them enough to come from all over the planet to share in their magic.
And it was magic: The bride couldn’t have been more beautiful and the groom looked just right surprised tears were streaming down her cheeks as she watched him approach. Every last detail of the ceremony flowed in perfect coordination without feeling overly regimented; there is nothing left to control except the weather. Usually, Dublin in May is an interesting time for an outdoor event, but on this day even the sun couldn’t resist spying on the proceedings. It glowed so brilliantly that every guest was glowing from within.
I was one of those guests and yes, I guess I was glowing too. I was certainly aware of the sun. I didn’t wear a hat because we assumed it would be a cold day and most likely the ceremony would be held indoors. But no, if there was, the sun would gain strength every minute. Despite a generous sprinkling of SPF-50 sunscreen, I felt like my face was burning—especially the areas around my nose and hairline that had previously been attacked by cancer.
But what could I do? The couple hadn’t even started exchanging their vows and I was sitting right in the front. One does not hide in the middle of a wedding, no matter how much grief is poured out afterwards. And I really wanted to stay – the ceremony was so beautiful, the setting was so blissfully right. I held a Kleenex to my nose and prayed for a passing cloud to shelter me.
When the groom finally kissed his bride, I made my way to the nearby library, where drinks were being prepared—not for champagne, but for shade. On the square, all the guests were congratulating the newlyweds and their families. It was the right thing to do and I knew it. One should share his joy with the bride and groom. But there were spouses over therein the hot sun.
The sound of over 100 guests and the nearby chamber orchestra filled my ears not with joy but with a sound that sounded suspiciously like the sound you hear when you pass out. I have often wondered if I bipolar disorder-which makes my life so emotionally and sensually intense – contributes to my frequent arousal. I know that research has shown that bipolar disorder disrupts the “sensory gate” (the brain’s ability to regulate its sensitivity to incoming stimuli). I also know that many mental the meds i take can cause hypersensitivities (exaggerated reaction to sunlight which i already have as erythema).
But what good has all this research done me now, when life has become too Technicolor for comfort or safety?
My partner, Colin, was out on the grounds with the other guests, watching a show of trained falcons (every well-appointed wedding should have a falcon). There was no one for me to turn to, nothing to do but pass out or sit in the cool, empty library for the rest of the holidays. A large leather chair beckoned in front of the bow window. It allows me to see what’s going on outside, but protect me from the sun. I plunged into it gratefully, and resolved to spend the afternoon there—disregarding Miss Manners and wedding etiquette and anyone’s needs but my own.
It was very difficult for me. Ever since I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I have struggled to be normal. I want to appear functional like everyone else – never letting my mental (or physical) limitations set me apart. But that day I said to hell with it; I am right now needed to be different
selfish? Maybe. Rudeness? Maybe. But like many of the best moves I’ve made in my life, this decision was made out of sheer desperation. I didn’t stop and weigh all the options, or think about what was right and right. I just took care of myself.
This was the best part of the wedding for me, the place I got to go to by myself. Shortly after I settled into my space, a young man who had wandered in for a drink came up and asked if he could take my picture. “You just look like you belong here,” he said. I knew exactly what he meant.
