Mania and morality

Background story: I've been seeing Long Suffering Boyfriend for about a year now. The L word has even been banded around. I've been extremely happy being with him, and when I disappeared off to uni we promised to be true to each other, and longed for the day we'd be able to get back together for good...

What happened: The change of situation triggered the worst mania I've suffered from since before I was diagnosed. Sleep? Who needs it. I'll just work all night! Drinks are on me - and lots of them! I can take it! Spend money to make money, so how much equipment/books/useless junk can I buy? Etc, etc...

But the worst bit is, when I get manic, I get randier than a teenage schoolboy. I want to fornicate with anything and everything, from the tastiest human through to washing machines in the laundry to the corner of this desk. In the past this has just been amusing - LSB loved getting jumped as soon as he walked through the door - but now, at unprecedented levels and with nothing but a copious supply of alcohol to keep me busy, it's just dangerous.

You can see where this is going? One night, under the influence of a significant quantity of fine and not-so-fine wine, I found myself dancing with Course Cute Guy. I'd been flirting outrageously with CCG for a while, but then, I'm an awful flirt at the best of times, so set me loose like this and it's no wonder people get the wrong idea. And dancing led to slightly more, well, intimate dancing. And him walking me home. And... Well, you get the picture (if not, Google Image Search has plenty of similar available for your viewing pleasure)

Dammit.

I'm not normally an amoral person, I really am not. My biggest fear when coming away was of LSB cheating on me, not the other way round. But get me manic like this, and all kinds of nightmarish things happen.

So what to do, what to do? Well, firstly, break if off with LSB (remember, this is the mania talking). He doesn't deserve to put up with your shit, especially when you behave like this. How do I do that? Phone? No, it would just be a garbled runaway rant. Text? Far too impersonal, remember, I have used the L word about this guy. Letter? Perfect - I can write down what I want to say (and get girlfriends to read it through), but it's perfectly personable. Now, what to say? That bit you just said, that's pretty good Fruitcake. But whatever you do, don't tell him about CCG.

He phoned me when he got the letter. He said he didn't want to break up, he didn't see all those awful things in me I see. I tried to convince him he would waste his life chasing me, fall out of love with me. He tried to convince me otherwise.

We settled on going off to think about it. Well, I say we settled on that. He settled on that. I went off drinking with CCG. I think you can work out what happened next...

The next day, LSB springs a suprise on me. He's turned up. At uni. And no, I don't have a choice about seeing him. This doesn't fit well in my schedule, as a) I've buckets of work to do and b) I'm on my way down out of this wonderful mania into a horrific mixed episode, with the detritus of my manic actions staring right back at me in a collection of promises of time and effort, a pile of receipts up to shoulder depth, and CCG still wondering around thinking we're going to end up together, having ended it with his girlfriend.

But then I see LSB. Wow. I'd forgotten just how good looking he is, and not just that, how much I feel for him. We go back to mine. We get talking. I explain about this kiss with CCG. He says he understands, was expecting that to have happened, that he forgives me. With that, I burst into tears, the insomnia and energy debt finally catching up with me at my most emotionally vulnerable. I don't know what to do, I just keep crying. I can't believe I've done this to him, to us. I just want to curl up and disappear, escape from the world. I can't do this however, so I do the next best thing and curl up under the duvet. CCG joins me, wrapping me in his arms, and it feels so good.

We talk as I drift off to sleep. I tell him how scared I am, about us, about how I'm affecting him, about my general health. He continues to hold me. I tell him that I don't know what I feel for him. He kisses me.

Now that complicates things slightly.

The next morning, I run LSB to the train station. We promise to both think about things, and I head back to try and work, except my mind is racing and I can't. So I go to see CCG.


I tried to explain to CCG what was going on in my head, how I think we should stop seeing each other. He takes it better than I though, saying what was most important is that I get my head straight. Meanwhile, LSB phones. He wants to know what happened with CCG, now it's had a chance to sink in. We end up talking for about an hour, me sat on a railing outside the lecture theater I'm supposed to be in slowly going numb from a combination of the cold and the way I've been treating him. LSB confirms that he's forgiven me, that he really wants to give it another go. I tell him that since the weekend thats all I've been thinking about, that I want to try again too. I'm not sure, but I'm leaning that way with my thinking. We agree, once again, that we're going to give it to the weekend.

CCG, true to his word, stops his blatant advances on me. But we're still hanging out together, just not kissing. But it's still awkward, and it's pretty obvious what he's after. And finally, I can't stand it any long, and I break my self-enforced "no boys for a week" and we kiss once more. That night is more drinking, and yet again CCG ends up walking me home. In my manic brain, I hatch a plan - the best way to get over LSB is to shag CCG! Then I won't feel guilty at all about breaking up with him. More wine follows, and we end up sleeping together.

Now, this wasn't the wonderful moment I was hoping it to be. I'm not just talking about the sex here (we were drunk!), but the fact that after, all I could do was think about LSB. Perversely, it really made me appreciate LSB, the strength of the relationship we had, the times we spent together. Laid next to CCG, who I'd built up in my mind to be the ideal guy who'll stop all this heartache for both myself and LSB, and all I could think of was how desperately I now want LSB back.

So now I'm on my way to see LSB. I'm not sure what to say to him, or what I'm going to do. Help?

The last frontier

Dear reader, I fear I may have taken that final step to becoming not only a true healthcare professional, but also a true mentalist. Today, I smoked my first cigarette.

I'm not sure if I liked it. No coughing or anything, but the occasional slight burning sensation in the back of my throat wasn't great. And the "hit" doesn't seem to have hit. But the great thing was the time it afforded me.

Time. A precious resource right now. No matter how I try and manage my time, try to create space for myself and my thoughts, while sat in my room or a lecture theater or the library that time just gets filled up. I'd like to say with work, but no, it's just filled. Disappears.

Whereas tonight, I had to leave to do the deed. I had to don a jacket, head downstairs, and pop out the back gates of the halls so I wasn't breaking any number or laws (or more importantly, wouldn't get hunted down by security). So I walked down the road and back, tentatively trying to light then use the cigarette. Who'd have thought it was so difficult? But I eventually got it all figured out and going, and it was sheer bliss. Nothing to do but walk along the dark street, and think. Get all my racing thoughts in some kind of order, come up with an action plan to sort life out. Having just ten minutes to myself, enforced by my taking part in a deed society deems dirty and unwelcome, felt amazing.

Will I be doing it again? Perhaps not. Well, maybe not until I feel this stressed again! But I do feel like I have an image to keep up, however. The overworked doctor with a crafty fag, combined with the scrawny depressive with a dog-end and a coffee. And there's nothing sexier than a girl who reeks of stale smoke, no?

Yet another...

Yet another medical student blog. Yet another mental health blog. Yet another blog, for that matter. Why bother?

*Yawn*

Doctor Fruitcake (not a real name, don't bother checking the GMC) is medical student in the UK. She's also someone who used to blog under their own name. Recently, it occurred to her that the two don't play nice together, especially when you throw the mentally interesting aspect in. So she's moving that aspect of her writing here, so perhaps she can keep using the internet as a cathartic soapbox, and maybe just let other loony medics out there know they're not alone. Just anonymously.

She also enjoys referring to herself in the third person. This probably won't continue for long.