Jasmine and I met on Tinder. Not exactly a meet cute situation. There weren’t any house parties, serendipitous supermarket encounters or a dance in glass slippers under the romantic light of the full moon. We did first meet at night, though, sitting on a park bench under the light of a crescent moon. She said she wanted to be my girlfriend on our first date, and I may have given that fantasy too much leeway after I kissed her.
We dated for about a month when Jasmine admitted to being bipolar. Yet, I believed more was at play. My impression of this was informed by her waking me up at night with severe hyperventilating. She would be frozen in place on the bed, sweating, panting like a bedraggled dog. When Jasmine snapped out of these episodes, she rambled about something watching her in the dark, something with only one eye.
‘The One Eyed Man,’ she called it. As Jasmine described it, it looked vaguely like a man. The One Eyed Man sounded like more of a shadow with a humanlike shape, only one gleaming eye lurking on the left corner of its face. It was clear Jasmine had issues with sleep paralysis or night terrors of some kind.
My grandma had night terrors before she passed away, my memory of them being like what Jasmine experienced. I watched my grandma frequently during her end, so my familiarity is strong to say the least. My grandma always hated me, too. Funny, the grandson she hated had the power of life and death over her in the end.
Mental health became a concern that I couldn’t ignore for long. Jasmine spiralled into heavy drinking, ending in a period where she would guzzle an entire bottle of wine in under ten minutes. When she stayed over at my apartment, I’d come home to the smoke alarm going off with food burning in the kitchen while Jasmine was passed out on the floor. Those were light compared to other incidents that I’d rather not mention.
Jasmine hated Sam, especially. Sam was my cat. He’s a plain tabby, with the stripes and M shape on their foreheads. His eyes are unique, though. Sam’s left eye is crystal blue while the right eye is an emerald green. He often sits with me on my balcony, where I stroke him. Sometimes Sam called for me in the night, which aggravated Jasmine. She begged me at one point to give the cat away, which I refused.
Sam had a voice of his own and I wasn’t going to abandon him. Jasmine believed I used him as an excuse to ignore her. A huge argument erupted over this, Jasmine even saying I needed therapy! I love animals in my own way, sort of how I love women. Women get too much attention and animals not enough, in my opinion.
After two months of dating, things only got more tense between Jasmine and me. Her night terror incidents with the One Eyed Man only escalated. One night, Jasmine woke me up as she groaned in panic, struggling to breathe with her hands around her neck. I turned the light on quickly, shaking Jasmine violently to snap her out of the episode. In the morning, she claimed the One Eyed Man had returned and tried to strangle her. Not only this, but that he also spoke to her. According to Jasmine, he spoke in a whisper and said,
‘So, it begins.’
Of course I didn’t believe Jasmine. There was a bruise on her neck, yet that could have easily been from her own hands. She was holding onto her neck tightly when I woke up, and these types of sleeping disorders can cause irrational outbursts. I never confronted her about my disbelief, yet only because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Jasmine was very sensitive about people implying she was crazy. This sensitivity, ultimately, is what pushed her to the edge.
I got the call in the university library. Jasmine was crying and hyperventilating. She was in police custody, awaiting transfer to a psych hospital upstate. She had apparently harassed her psychiatrist about a medication change. It got to the point where she threatened suicide, which is the worst thing you can say to a psychiatrist in a situation like that. There wasn’t much for me to say at that moment.
‘I love you,’ she said before I hung up.
Jasmine called me many times from the hospital, and I ignored most of the calls. The first two times she called from the hospital, we talked briefly. The first call was her going on about how scared she was, the second call was dominated by her describing a fellow patient stealing her candy bar, shoving the chocolate in their ears so they couldn’t hear their dead father speak to them. I stopped answering her calls after that. Honestly, it just seemed awkward.
It’s easy for people to judge my reaction on the sidelines, but what would anyone else have done differently? I only dated Jasmine for two months, most of that time spent arguing or dealing with mental health crisis after mental health crisis. She was a sweet girl, yet that never made up for the rest. I admitted to myself that I didn’t want to date her anymore.
That’s the thing with women; once you know you don’t want them, you let them go. Otherwise, they follow you like a blind albatross, a dead weight that adds no value. Stroking Sam on the balcony at night helped me see this clearly, even if the thoughts seemed cruel at the time. Sam always has the answers when I need them. He helps me understand the cruel, yet necessary, things that men must do. It was necessary, of course, despite how much it pained me.
I got another call from the psych hospital while at a bar with friends, knowing it was Jasmine. I answered after stepping outside, Jasmine crying with relief. It was a tough conversation, yet it had to be done.
‘Are you breaking up with me?’ Jasmine asked, her sobs building in intensity.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied.
‘I just wanted a med change! This isn’t my fault!’
I sighed, remembering why I didn’t want to talk to her.
‘Sweetheart, we have to think about what’s good for you right now. I think we both need a little space for personal growth. A little time for us both to heal and get stronger for each other in the future.’
‘Please don’t leave me now. I need you. If you leave, the One Eyed Man will kill me.’
‘Nothing bad will happen, sweetheart. I want to see you again when this is all over. We just need some space for a while. You’ll grow stronger from this, I’m sure.’
All Jasmine did was cry. She sobbed on and on while I listened quietly.
‘Please don’t go.’
‘I’m proud of you. This will all be over before you know it.’
That was the last time I spoke to Jasmine.
About a month later, after wrapping up finals, I went out drinking with friends again and met a girl named Christie. We fucked later that night in my apartment. After the second fuck, she fell asleep next to me in my bed. In the night, I woke up to my phone ringing. I didn’t recognise the number, yet it was from a local area code. A loud huff of breath greeted me on the other line as I answered the call. It was Jasmine’s mother.
‘Jasmine killed herself last night,’ she said, choking up. ‘She didn’t deserve that.’ She hung up quickly after speaking those words.
Christie was unstirred by the phone call, resting heavily under the comforter. After a moment of silence, I crept to the bathroom, closing the doors behind me quietly so I didn’t wake Christie up. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I don’t remember how long I stared, yet my focus was only broken by Sam’s sudden appearance next to me. He sat on the floor, looking up with those mixed colour eyes. Sam always has the answers when I need them. His voice was clear at that moment.
‘It is complete,’ he said. ‘Now, you must begin again.’
I looked back into the mirror, covering the right side of my face with my hand, wondering what it would be like to see in the dark with only one eye.
