Today an interesting conversation on twitter broke out among men and women about dating and relationships. Its an topic that has been bouncing around in my brain for some time recently.

Why?

Well, I am 36 years old and single. In Jew years, 36 is the point where I am either on my second marriage, or have kicked out 3 or so kids. Not single. In Jew years, I am the family member that people whisper “Yeah, Micah is not married yet. But look how successful he is! Whats that? No, we are pretty sure he is not gay.”

Some could argue that my pets are like my children. I do have 5 animals, two dogs and three cats.

But I will never beat up Billie’s first boyfriend because he looked at her the wrong way.

I wont get a chance to remind Taylor that even though she is an athlete, boys will still like her.

I wont be able to bail Winston out of jail for joy riding with his friends.

I cant take Calin to get her first bra or buy birth control.

And, I will never be able to show how much I accept Max’s life style or his new boyfriend (I am pretty sure my cat is gay) or see the shock in my grandmother’s face when they visit for the first time.

Most importantly, I continue to get the questions from my mom and grandmother. “Have you met any nice Jewish girls?”

“Yes, mom and grandmom,” I usually reply, “but they just havent met me yet. Right, its called the internet…”

The question that so many people have asked me, is, “why.”

“Why, Micah, I know plenty of women that are interested in you. I know plenty that have asked about you. Have you never had a serious girlfriend? Do you not date? Is there something wrong with you?”

Frankly, yes. Its called a brain defect.

You see, for most of my life, I have existed in one of two states. Manic or Depressed. When Manic, I loved it, but its a self-centered state of motion. You are constantly doing, talking, moving, creating, thinking….

Leaves little room for listening, accepting and all the other things that a relationship needs.

Or Depressed. For me, depression means: irritability, paranoia and lethargy.

Really great qualities for a relationship.

So early on, I gave up on the possibility of a relationship. Stopped trying, avoided situations and made myself completely unavailable.

That is until 6 months ago or so. Finally after years of self-medication, sobriety and therapy, I conceded to go to a shrink. I was finally ok with admitting that there was something physical wrong with me.

That I was not normal.

That I was broken.

That I was finally tired of trying on my own.

That if there was a pill or series of pills I could take to stop the mood cycles, I would do it.

So I went to a shrink. He spent an hour asking me questions, and at the end of the conversation. He said, “You have all the symptoms and signs of classic bi-polar II, or soft bi-polar.”

He spent another 30 minutes or so explaining what that meant. And he handing me a prescription.

I left his office and called my mom. I told her what the doctor said. And I cried.

The weight of 36 years of personal control of my feelings and moods slowly lifted, and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I knew, just knew, that the doctor was right, and there was a light at the end of my tunnel.

Over the next six months, I continued to visit the shrink every couple of weeks, and a therapist weekly. I learned more about my disease, read a book called Why Am I Still Depressed? By Jim Phelps, which was like watching a film of my life and behaviors.

Each time I learned something new, I felt the need to be in complete control lift just a bit.

Then in about April or so, I decided I was ready to be open to others.

And while I am not married, or even seriously dating anyone, I am learning a ton. My sister said to me the other day, “Micah, its like you are smashing 36 years of emotional growth into 6 months. You are learning quickly, but its still about experiences.”

I think thats right. Education is not just thinking and learning, but its experiencing. Im working on that part where I can (its not like I can grab women off the street, exclaim “date me! I need the experience!” Although, sometimes that would make it easier….)

Instead, I ask lots of questions. (It seems to be safer, and less likely to bring restraining orders and police.)

Instead, I put myself out there.

Instead, I am allowing myself to be open to the possibilities, to accept hope and be vulnerable to the pain.

Instead, I refuse to go back to the comfortable life of throwing myself into my work, and allowing people to be superficially friends with me.

Instead, I write this blog, and tell the world, “this is me.”

And, I kinda like me.

Now I am accepting hope. The hope that one day, my mom will no longer be asking me if I have met any nice women, but rather will just telling me about how worried she is about my weight.

Oh, that will be a nice day.

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Preface: I wrote this a few days ago, when my brain was definitely was in a “depressed” state. What that means that the chemicals in each cell were not firing at a much slower or erratic rate than normal. (The opposite is an “active” state, which is when the chemicals in each cell are over firing. Interestingly, it is very similar to epilepsy, where the electrical impulses are firing at an erratic rate (which causes seizures).

I wrote it, and then saved it as a draft, because it was very raw, and I wasnt sure if it would be read as what it is, my thoughts and feelings at a moment in time. As a reference point, I dont feel like that today. I feel pretty normal actually.

But, one of my tenets is being open and honest about this birth defect that I am trying to determine the correct course of medication and behavior to control. So, right or wrong, I think its better to put it out there than to not.

Read at your own risk. Its not a very pretty piece, and frankly, something I probably would have rather just deleted. I hope it helps people understand me, and perhaps if they see themselves in it, they can begin to understand why these feelings exist.

And, I almost want to close the comments, but I wont. Please understand that unlike anything else I have written, there is no humor here. If you want to comment, be honest in your comment. Dont worry about my feelings, but do be respectful of your words.

—–

I have spent my entire life with the inability to properly regulate chemicals at the cellular level in my brain. For my entire life, this defect within my brain cells has fueled days of great energy and motivation. Days of great accomplishment and success. And days of great sadness and loneliness. Days of self destruction and introspection.

This brain defect, this physical limitation within the very cells of the organ that drives thought and emotion (along with the basic functions of life), has created a most interesting life for me. I would have had it any other way.

But now I am tired.

Tired of waking up in a funk so deep that the thought of moving seems to be outside the spectrum of reality. Tired of bouncing off the walls thinking a hundred different thoughts at the same time, not even being able to breath because I have so much to say, to do, to ponder.

I dont want this any more. I just want the consistency of a normal life. I dont want to feel that I have to continually protect the people around me from me. I dont want to feel that if I dont keep everything in complete control, that I will end up hurting the very people that I love.

I am just tired.

I am tired of waking up and laying in bed waiting to see what direction my brain is taking today. Does Taylor’s whine make me smile or does it build anger? Does Calin’s meowing make me cringe or excited?

Every day it seems to be different. I can be just fine for weeks, then have a couple of days of wonkiness.

If I dont know what the day is going to bring me, how can anyone else?

So, I protect the world from me. I keep myself inside and protected. I stand alone and strong.

And it makes me tired.

So I see doctors. Currently I see 3. Each is hopeful that things will change. I take medication. It seems to be working, I guess, but the edges of mental states are more acute and sharp now. They happen less, but when they do, its like 3x of what it was, which just kinda sucks.

And I am scared.

What if I am doomed to live this life of inconsistency? What if no matter how hard I try, I will be alone, because no one wants to have to deal with a lack of reliability. What if I am unlovable, because I am not reliable or consistent.

And I am angry.

I am angry at my father for being a drug addict, and probably being bipolar himself. I am angry that I can just fix this, like I fix so many other things.

Which just makes me sad.

I know that I will come out on the other side of this one day. But I wonder what the trail of destruction I leave behind as I “work it out,” will look like, and will that other side look like this, but just with a consistency that I have never achieved? I have begun to learn how to accept hope, and that has been wonderful.

And, so now, I am hopeful.

Every night, before bed, I take Seroquel, which does the wondrous task of shutting my brain defect (yes, I named my brain defect Andrew) up.

You see, normally, Andrew would not shut up. All night it was “Hey! Micah! Let me tell you somethin’!” or “Hey! Micah! Guess What? Seriously, Guess?”

So, Seroquel was step one on killing Andrew.

On Monday, my doctor prescribed step two: Trileptal (also known as Oxcarbazepine). Interestingly, its an antiepileptic drug. Apparently, my brain cells are in a constantly active state or in a completely depressed state. The chemicals that regulate brain function (not breathing - those functions are always on; but the higher functions surrounding thought and emotion) dont do a good job. Rather they are in constant disarray.

This medication is supposed to, over time, settle my brain chemistry to operate in a more regulated fashion.

How is that manifested? Well, the hypomania (where I am bouncing off the walls) and the depressed state (paranoia, irratability and lethargy) will disappate. I will be in a more normal state consistently.

This drug takes about three weeks to kick in. And the doctor explained that at best, there is a 60% chance that a drug treatment will work.

So, Andrew, you have a 60% chance of being dead in three weeks. Live it up while you can, sucker.