I fell for someone with bipolar disorder. I knew they had it from the start and yet i pursued as I always do. I couldn't and can't stand the thought of being alone and the truth of the matter is that I'm far more scared of being alone than I am of this vacuous, callous, manipulative, embarrassing, insecure, twisted, desperate shell of a person. I feel so utterly drained and as if I've been wrenched out of my childhood by them. I was blissfully ignorant of how cruel the human race can be. I fell for their glib charm and sob story. I fell for the emotional rollercoaster I would undoubtedly go through. I liked the challenge. They didn't believe in monogamy or family or that anyone could care for them and so they did not take care of me. I was so naive and malleable. I took the drugs, lied to my friends and my family, stopped eating, stopped sleeping. Became someone I very swiftly hated - all this is during a period of 6 weeks! I hadn't been exposed to someone who had suffered such a bad home life, a chemical imbalance and a lack of self worth to such a degree before. I think that because I knew they had the illness then that meant I'd be able to tell when they had turned manic and so leave them. That's what they suggested I do anyway... I ended things by simply cutting contact as much as I could. The final straw was something which tore at my heart but that I know had I been weaker, and not surrounded by the friends and family I do have, then I would have forgiven all and returned. Which is why maintaining the lack of contact is so difficult as I still want answers and for them to know how they've hurt me. The concoction of self-medication they were giving themselves meant that it's very hard to consider they have any real emotion of their own. A mixture of MDMA, antidepressants and Valium can only be a bad thing. Messing with my own serotonin levels mildly has left me depressed and confused and I am, to all intensive purposes, a sane and able human being to begin with. They certainly are not. In the beginning I was trying to be Louis Theroux and observe at an emotional distance. But I am an intensely emotional person with a very addictive personality. I do not, as a rule, entertain addictions of the narcotic variety and so become addicted to people. A single person at a time. This can be enthralling, giving me purpose and direction and, until recently, had been how I went about my life, lolling from one heavy relationship to the other. Measuring my self-worth by what I could offer the other person or what "we" offered as a couple. This one was different. There was nothing I could offer them which would help. They fed off of my reactions to their fake tales and cloying tragedy of a life. This was not healthy for either of us as I fell more and more into something approaching love mingled with awe and anxiety over where we could possibly go. Meanwhile I'm sure they felt some victory in my attachment and yet gross amounts of fear at that fact. They are not capable of 'normal' love and measure themselves by the worth I bestowed upon them. Any big-headedness they felt would have been fairly worthless, particularly when they realised just how easy I was to manipulate. Because I knew they were manic when I met them and then on a huge comedown from this manic period when I met them a second time, I knew to tread with care. I didn't question what were obvious lies, I allowed them to wash over me - or so I thought. But gradually this person turned me against my friends, altered my lifestyle dramatically and made me very dependent upon them. I also felt incredibly responsible for them. What I can only describe as a maternal instinct to help. Since leaving them I have been tempted to order take aways to their door so as to ensure they eat! I know this is silly, them being far older than me and having survived so many years alone. But their situation is, essentially, fucked. They are currently squatting and have no job, no money, no family, no commitments, no education, very large, multiple debts and a court case on the cards. And yet their problems seemed to have become my own. I had and still have such a need to help them out of this situation which, in my eyes, could be so easily resolved. I am terrified of them turning up at my door. I want to email them and tell them to never come to my house. I'm sure that they'd assure me wholeheartedly that they'd never do something so irrational - and would genuinely mean it. But the issue with bipolar disorder is that it makes them do things a rational person would never. I have to remind myself they are not in fact psychopathic as I have had nightmares of the most disturbing variety. One in particular of how they would break into my house (as they now have in depth knowledge of the entry points), rape and chop up my family members leaving their remains in bags outside of my room. I believe they like to act detached, vacant, unaffected, promiscuous and impulsive (like a psychopath) to hide the real emotion they do feel - it's a defense mechanism and a way of dealing with the terrible troubles of their lives which have made them desensitised to others pain. I know there are people like this dotted all over the city. I know I will eventually move on and be happy again. But I am struggling to see when these unexpected outbursts of tears and this constant sense of dread will leave me.
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