Because so many of you (whatever, 1 of you totally qualifies as "many") seemed excited about the prospect of more stories of me dating the mentally ill...I give you the story of my very first real boyfriend who I was allowed to go on "car dates" with and who was, indeed, mentally ill. In fact, he was a pathological liar. Not in that "all boys are liars" way (which I totally hate, by the way, most people lie) but in that "telling lies for no discernible purpose pretty much every time he opened his mouth" way.
On our first date, he wanted to take me somewhere fancy (Red Lobster). On the way to the restaurant he kept telling me how pretty I looked and how it made him think of this song that he really wanted me to hear. He kept scanning the classic rock stations trying to find it, but no one was playing the particular song he wanted. He turned off the radio and sang it to me himself.
I will just give you a moment here to absorb that, and compose yourselves.
I sat there as he sang "Wonderful Tonight", trying to look impressed, but mostly wondering when he would be done so we could get to the part of the evening where I could pretend that never happened. We finally arrived at the restaurant where he opened my car door, opened the restaurant door, and practically knocked the waitress over trying to seat me. And he talked. And talked. And talked. And by "talked" I mean "lied." He talked about the time he and his friend saw these 2 naked women driving a Jeep, and the women really wanted to jump their bones but he and his friend turned them down. He talked about how he had a ton of cars. He talked about his skills in the martial arts.
On the way home I mostly pretended to be asleep so the talking would stop, but as we pulled up to my house he looked over at me, and he smiled, and he said, "I really love you. I love you so much." Oh. Kay.
Sadly, I continued to date him for a few more months. Even more sadly, the guy who came after him was worse.