Back in the saddle... but I ain't the same cowboy anymore

To make the long story short I'm in my late thirties. I do research for a living and that's what my life has been until three years ago. I don't mind this life. It's true, I do work a lot and most of the time the results seem to elude me, but every now and then I find out something interesting that keeps me going. As a bonus, I can also travel to new places and see things I'd never see had my life worked out the way it was supposed to.

My life changed a few times quite abruptly. First, I went to the undergraduate school, then I crossed the ocean to get a PhD, then back to Europe, and then I almost died, or so I thought. All these changes had a strong impact on me, but I think my undergraduate school was the worse. As long as I was a student there, I was constantly called idiot by the very people I was supposed to work with, and guess what I did? Like in the typical abusive relationships, I started believing they were right and it was my fault and I didn't listen to anyone who told me otherwise. Anyway, my boss at the time did do me the biggest favor by not hiring me as a PhD student. So, off I went and it was the greatest move I had ever made.

As I started the PhD in US, I felt I was living the dream. I was actually doing real research, I made many friends, and my student stipend seemed like a small fortune. I even sent some money home and it was a good idea, because my folks were always in need as my siblings were also students. When things started to look up, just like in that famous Jane Austen novel, I felt I should have a woman by my side. It was like this: I'd be fine for one or two months, and than get this longing feeling and sometimes wish some random woman driving a yellow car was my wife. But here is the thing. I was 25 and had no relationship experience. That's what being a geek gets you.

Two years into my PhD and someone new moved in the office. I didn't find her beautiful, not even good looking. But I found her, what I call now, unforgettable. There are people, mostly women, that I see once in my life and I can still remember when and where, and sometimes even how they were dressed. I liked her because she knew a lot of things and knew how to talk and listen to people. And I was happy she was older and married, so there is no chance we would end up dating. Six months later I was so in love with her, that it hurt (for real). Anyway, though she gave me many "signals", and we had a great time together, I never found out for sure if my feelings were reciprocated. This was also my religious part of life, or my second religious phase, so I felt like crap for falling for a married woman. The problem was that being in love felt as if my whole brain was on fire -- very similar to the manic episodes I had later. Every single thought I had ended up somehow wrapping itself around the image that I made for her in my mind. And she would say things like: "I'm not whom you think I am. I'm just an empty shell." I had no idea at the time what it meant, but now I think it was related to her feelings concerning her marriage dissolution. So, I ended up confessing to her I loved her and it all went straight to hell after that. She became cold, I kept insisting and I made both our lives miserable until I moved out of that place.

But careerwise, things looked good for me. I got a new position and I moved in by myself (no roommates anymore, yay!), and I even got a new car. My roller coaster "emotional affair" was slowly fading from my memory, even if I kept in touch with her. But, there was something missing from my life (I always thought it was a woman!) and arriving home in the evenings I felt as if I haven't done enough with my day. Normally, I should have gotten drunk or gone to a strip club like a regular guy, but I am a geek, so I did what geeks do. I played computer games or watched movies -- lots of great movies. Sometimes, I'd go to a nice restaurant because I could finally afford it, and eat good food, but there were some places were the manager would sit next to me and ask me if everything was alright. I didn't know at the time, but something was indeed not right.

At some point I met someone new. She was a waitress and I didn't think much of her at the beginning. But, we were seeing each other quite often and without realizing I started falling for her. She was a strange woman. She could make me either very comfortable or uncomfortable whenever she wished. I started fantasizing about going on dates with her, so I asked her out. I was a few months too late. She was just going over a terrible breakup, so she refused. But she was quite nice about it and was careful not to hurt my feelings. I'm still grateful over that and we still keep in touch, although we live on different continents now. Somehow it was her that helped me get over the other girl.

I moved to a new place soon after this appointment ended. I went back to Europe because I felt I should be at least closer to my family. I felt also my work was not progressing well. I though I reached my full potential and it seemed that wasn't anything special. I always was a bit of a brainiac and I felt sad that I worked so hard all these years to become just an average researcher. Many of my friends and colleagues moved on with their careers and seemed to be quite successful and I was quite envious. So, I started to think what made the successful guys successful. Was it their genes, was it some special training, was it just the system? I would not begin to argue that this was the correct question to ask, but it was what I was looking for back then.

Unknown to me, and to almost everyone else, my real issues were surfacing. I had spells of depression, one or two weeks usually in which I couldn't do anything but procrastinate. Then there were mood swings. I'd leave work happy that something worked out and I'd return home extremely sad I was still alone. Then I met someone else. The first time I saw her I knew it was trouble. But, nothing happened between us, because she showed no interest in me whatsoever. Still, a lot happened in my mind. I kept telling myself to go out and meet other women and I did. Only every time I asked someone out they'd either say they are already taken or they'd look at me like I was Jack the Ripper. So, I gave up for a while on it, until I went to a doctor for a routine check. The doctor was exactly my age and I thought she was gorgeous. Needless to say, I asked the doctor out, too. The night before that I couldn't sleep. She turned me down, but without making me more uncomfortable than I already was.

So, I decided to get therapy, and went to a psychologist. After one expensive hour of me talking and him taking notes, he told me about a famous book about pick up artists, which I read until our next meeting. To me, it looked like what those guys were claiming to do was magic. They were seeing a woman they liked in a club or on the street, and they would simply go and talk to her or her friends and end up leaving with her. I went again to the psychologist and I told him more about me (poor soul). But, before I left, I looked at him and I felt a weakness in him, which is the reason I never made any further appointments, and that proved to be a big mistake. In any case, I took to heart the points that were made in the pickup book, and I ended up creeping out a few nice girls I picked randomly on the street.

So, fast forward a few months, I was on this forum asking weird questions and giving stupid answers. At work things were going great, I had lots of stuff to do and interesting results were coming out, I was going regularly to exercise and I was going out with friends and colleagues and so on. At home, it was another matter. I was staying later and later into the night, and sometimes I'd not sleep at all. Then, one week, I stopped going to work. At the beginning, no one was terribly alarmed. But, then my work got all weird. I started writing emails with capital letters, my research results were presented as breakthroughs and here, on the forum, I finally discovered the secret of love. It was an idea I had that people do not love the other person, but what the other person is offering them. This is quite an old idea, but to me it seemed something great I had just discovered.

Meanwhile, people got frightened. I asked out the girl at work, I wrote her 20 something emails, I wrote all my friends unintelligible things, had long conversations with my colleagues that made their heads hurt and then I stayed home for good. I remember one night that I was in my bed and my thoughts were speeding up, turning around one idea at the time like an out of control carousel, not wanting to stop for anything but for a switch of the axle. I realized I will not be able to fall asleep and as I felt my heart's irregular beating I wondered if I would die. But I didn't. Next morning I was up and went to a meeting. I even took a shower before. Even then, no one understood something was terribly wrong. My mind was stuck in endless calculations and I began imagining I was "awakening" (a very interesting theme in Japanese anime, I'll never know why they are so obsessed with that). After the meeting, it was clear to everyone I was troubled, and my boss contacted my family. I went shopping. I remember wanting to buy some cheese and walking very fast in circles until I found the right aisle, though I knew exactly where that was. Then I went home again, and I wrote a few hundred emails to almost all my friends. Some thought my email got hacked. Some others recommended I seek help. Next morning I had the police at my door.

I do not want to describe how one lives in a mental institution. Though they enjoy showing that in the movies, it's certainly not like that. Usually, in the case of people having serious manic episodes like I did, the doctors sedate them at first to make sure they don't hurt themselves. On the first week or so, you are a lot like a zombie. The episodes aren't over immediately. You have to be on medication for at least three weeks before your thinking shows signs of returning to normal. Then there are the medicines. The antipsychotics are a necessary evil. Though they might have some interesting side effects (I'd nominate lactation, hypersomnia, and weight gain among my favorites) it is truly unwise to stop taking them. Yet, I did have to stop taking them, because, for such long and noisy episode like the one I had, the depression followed after only a few weeks. And though I thought hospitalization was terrible, depression really took the cake.

Though I tried to work, every day got worse. It was depression and anxiety. Going to bathroom was a frightening task. Dressing up was hard, staying in bed felt terrible, sitting, walking, everything I did felt terrible. I lost all my interest in anything. I didn't care about anyone. Eventually, the antidepressant made it go away. But wait! It is generally a bad idea to give antidepressants to a bipolar person. If you have to, you have to monitor them carefully for signs of the onset of a new manic episode. Which my doctor didn't. So I ended up in the hospital again.

Through all this, I was very lucky with my family who stood by my side, though they were even more frightened than I was. I lost my nice job in the process, but I didn't lose any of my friends. And now, after so many months of recovery, I'm back doing what I'm good at doing and failing miserably to even get a date. I was thinking of giving up (another side effect of the medicines).

This theory that I had about love being dependent more on what the other person gives you than on what they are works on me in this way. Every single girl I was in love with didn't have to put much effort. Falling in love for me meant getting hypomanic. Hypomania is probably the most pleasant feeling that I had. In fact, it's a rush of feelings and if it doesn't stop, you end up feeling like you just finished creating the universe and you're looking forward for a nice Sunday playing Asteroids with your Greek goddess girlfriend somewhere between Mars and Jupiter. So, in many ways I'm afraid of falling in love again. Maybe my doctor would have to increase my antipsychotic dose. But, that would transform me into an eunuch (another cool side effect).

I didn't write this because I wanted to ask for advise. I wrote it mostly because people feel extremely uncomfortable if I talk about it. But, I do feel like talking and I like writing even though I'm never going to have time to become a professional writer.

I didn't write this because I wanted to ask for advise. I wrote it mostly because people feel extremely uncomfortable if I talk about it. But, I do feel like talking and I like writing even though I'm never going to have time to become a professional writer.

Would you like this to become a journal? If so, we can move it to the Journals Forum.

Jimmyh, I can’t relate to the things you wrote, but I do like writing, just for myself though. Writing helps me to keep my thoughts in control and to deal with issues. I actually keep a hand written journal and write them in form of letters to a dear friend of mine.

Would you like this to become a journal? If so, we can move it to the Journals Forum.

No, I don't think it's a good idea, because I'm not planning to write a journal. I tried before and stopped after a few posts.

Don't really know what to say but wanted to let you know it moved me and you wrote it well!

Hope things will get better for you and writing wouldn't be such a bad idea because you write it vividly and i was captivated in your post where i usually skip long posts....

I can relate to love feeling like hypo mania.

It might surprise you to know that many people completely lose their senses when they fall in love!

Bipolar can be awful, and I truly feel for you. Heightened emotions can be the worst and the best.

You've been through many stages in your life and survived them. Now you're going through a new stage, regulated by drugs, I guess. Who knows? Love and attraction might be quite different this time ....

Get back on the horse cowboy.

No, I don't think it's a good idea, because I'm not planning to write a journal. I tried before and stopped after a few posts.

Ok, no problem.