Unhealthy Obsession
Mania isn't just about high energy levels and incessant talking - sometimes it gets weird.
When I'm manic, I become obsessive. Obsessions range from problems at work to business and creative ideas to exercise. They appear out of nowhere, and I'm unaware of how irrational I have become.
I’ll be sharing more stories like this in my book, The Myth-Busting Guide to Psychosis, coming soon.
It’s 2012, and I’m manic, a whirlwind of energy, chaos, and total unpredictability. I’m working as a family worker for Children’s Centres. I adore my job, but there’s one thing that has tainted it, that dirties my perfect little working world. A work colleague - let’s call him Jeremy.
I took an instant dislike to him. It was a real punch to the gut feeling that this guy was not OK. To me he was smarmy, slimy. He knew how to get what we wanted from others, and I saw him more as a slick salesman out for himself rather than a compassionate, caring family worker. I started to believe he was sly and dishonest and misleading me, our colleagues and our Manager. I had no evidence of his dishonesty; every wild theory I had was based on manic intuition, which isn’t the most reliable.
My world began to revolve around him, and every action he took, every word he spoke, every email he wrote, and even how he looked at me was scrutinised. We worked together five days a week, so I had the time to watch him and analyse every decision he made. I wasn’t aware of how unhealthy my obsession had become, but it had as much subtlety as a sledgehammer to those around me.
I decided the best way to stop his heinous plans was to start disagreeing with every decision, either right to his face or to others, behind his back. I’d spend hours bad-mouthing him to another colleague about how unprofessional he was, how wrong his ideas were, and how he was trying to ruin my life and get me fired. I remember striding in front of my colleague’s desk, pacing back and forth, full of retribution and vitriol for Jeremy. I’d rap my knuckles on the desk or slam my palm down as I made what felt like a vital point.
I misconstrued every comment he made as a jibe against me, as combative and threatening. I believed we were playing a mental game of wits and cunning no one else knew about.
Now I know none of this makes sense, but I was convinced of this grand conspiracy against me at the time. I became deeply paranoid, convinced any day would be when his grand plan against me would be unveiled, and I would lose everything. When he walked down the corridor to speak to our Manager, and the door would close shut as he was mid-sentence, I was convinced they were talking about me. I believed his vendetta was to see me fired ultimately, and he was telling our Manager I was incompetent and unfit to work.
To counteract Jeremy’s plan, I wrote reams of notes about his behaviour toward me and presented them to my Manager. I did this numerous times, each time handwriting each point in my notebook that was now brimming with page upon page of my paranoid ranting. I would type it up, finding every opportunity to add to it. One of the longest was six A4 pages of bullet points. My Manager suggested we sit down together and speak about my grievances, but I suspected a conspiracy. They had worked together before as colleagues, and I knew they were friends. During the meeting, I would not speak up about what was bothering me, convinced if I said anything, they would together find a way to fire me.
So my anger and frustration turned to family and friends. It was incessant: every night, there was a new gripe, an unbelievably awful crime he had committed against me, such as not answering his phone when it rang. It would be the first thing I said as I walked through the door.
“Guess what he’s done this time!” or “I can’t fucking believe what he did today!” I would walk them through the day, step by step. Whoever I was talking to, usually my boyfriend or my mum before we moved in together, would try and interject, but I would steamroll over them, seemingly with no ability to stop once I had started. Luckily my obsession didn’t cost me my job. Jeremy moved away, and I celebrated. But, I would still rant about the lack of work he had done before he had left or how he hadn’t left adequate instructions for his caseload.
This wasn’t the first time delusional thinking had taken over my life, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was a difficult time for me and everyone in my life. People close to me knew something was wrong but had no idea how to deal with it. I was undiagnosed until the December of that year when I was first given a Bipolar type 1 diagnosis. It cleared up much of the strange and unpredictable behaviour I’d been experiencing. You might think I’m embarrassed by what happened, and I suppose I still am a little, but now enough time has passed that I can reflect and laugh about my behaviour. When I show signs of obsession - it might be a person or something less tangible, like the idea something is wrong with my internal organs- my partner, close friends, and family know it’s a sign that I’m unwell and need extra support.