Career pivot / life reset

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I’ve come to the conclusion that I simply must scrub this entire thing from existence, but since the system won't let me delete the thread myself, I suppose my only recourse is to go ahead and click the report icon. 👍

It’s a bummer, really. If you’ve already made up your mind about sharing, then it’s a shame you changed your thoughts.

If you're cool with it, though, would you mind giving me a quick rundown of what was actually going on?

Since this thread is already active, there’s no reason to let it sit idle and gather dust. To put it bluntly, after years—perhaps even decades—of enduring constant, crushing gloom (true, heavy clinical depression, though I could never quite muster the courage to see a doctor because I am terrified of what my neighbors or colleagues might whisper if they found out), the last few years have seen the emergence of periods I can only describe as manic phases of bipolar disorder. Looking back, I suppose they surfaced before; sometimes they were mild ripples, other times full-blown waves, but it feels as though they have intensified into a genuine crisis lately. It is an agonizing task to describe one's own psyche, let alone diagnose its malfunctions; at times, these shifts felt like nothing more than a reprieve from the depths of depression, yet when I reflect on the sheer idiocy of my actions, I realize how much trouble they've caused, and recently, those lapses in judgment have become far too frequent. A surge of euphoria takes hold, and suddenly I am making reckless decisions, like buying a car I have absolutely no use for, only to sell it off for pennies on the dollar. Sometimes these episodes linger, sometimes they pass quickly, and sometimes they begin to recede, but the momentum of this madness has grown so great that I find myself unable to pull the emergency brake. During one particular cocktail of emotions—how can one even explain it?—I reached a point of such profound despair and hopelessness that I decided to simply run away. I was chasing the delusion that somewhere else, life would be better, even though deep down in my gut, I knew that running is a futile endeavor because you cannot escape yourself. Whether you find yourself in Nicaragua, Canada, Australia... or right here in the States, the mind remains the same. Perhaps it was just a "honeymoon phase," because for a moment there, I actually felt a sense of relief. Everything felt fresh, and I felt a fleeting happiness, believing I had finally turned a new leaf that I could write in bright, vibrant colors. Believing I was finally in the process of fixing my life, having glimpsed light at the end of the tunnel, I convinced myself I had to settle my affairs back home first; it seemed foolish to leave an empty apartment or a car sitting abandoned in a parking lot. So, I returned to tie up loose ends, only to fall straight back into the old vortex: the depression, the binge eating, the dissatisfaction, the bitter resentment...

And now, I find myself standing there, utterly clueless as to what I am fighting against, what the root cause truly is, or whether I should once again attempt to flee.

If you’re telling me you feel better out there in the world, then honestly, there isn't much point in overthinking it.
Life becomes a whole lot more manageable when you aren't actively working against yourself at every turn.
But I have to wonder—how exactly does moving to a new place stop that self-destructive streak? What’s actually driving the change?

mellowwolf30 said:If you’re telling me you feel better out there in the world, then honestly, there isn't much point in overthinking it.
Life becomes a whole lot more manageable when you aren't actively working against yourself at every turn.
But I have to wonder—how exactly does moving to a new place stop that self-destructive streak? What’s actually driving the change?

It appears I successfully convinced myself that my surroundings were the sole architect of all my misery.

It strikes me as odd, frankly, because I make such a concerted effort to perceive reality through a clear lens, stripped of any self-imposed delusions. If someone were to tell me they were leaving a job because they were bored, I’d probably ask them when they last did anything remotely stimulating—maybe picked up a hobby or went skydiving (which, by the way, is plenty popular here in the States). Most people just sit on their couches, lamenting how bleak their existence is due to their environment, while simultaneously ignoring the fact that everyone around them is living a remarkably full and vibrant life.

And yet, clearly, even I succumbed to that same fallacy, though I find myself caught in a bit of a quandary: should I fight this impulse or simply lean into it? I have no idea what tomorrow holds; perhaps life will finally let its guard down for me there. My previous stint was brief, everything felt fresh and electric back then.

You aren't going to discover anything new about yourself out there beyond what you already know. Look in the mirror; the reflection is the same here as it is in Australia. You just need a little something—whether it's a drink or some solid therapy.

Why bother fighting against the inevitable? Perhaps there is some hidden merit in just letting it happen. You really ought to give it a shot yourself.

Ronald Price3 said:Since this thread is already active, there’s no reason to let it sit idle and gather dust. To put it bluntly, after years—perhaps even decades—of enduring constant, crushing gloom (true, heavy clinical depression, though I could never quite muster the courage to see a doctor because I am terrified of what my neighbors or colleagues might whisper if they found out), the last few years have seen the emergence of periods I can only describe as manic phases of bipolar disorder. Looking back, I suppose they surfaced before; sometimes they were mild ripples, other times full-blown waves, but it feels as though they have intensified into a genuine crisis lately. It is an agonizing task to describe one's own psyche, let alone diagnose its malfunctions; at times, these shifts felt like nothing more than a reprieve from the depths of depression, yet when I reflect on the sheer idiocy of my actions, I realize how much trouble they've caused, and recently, those lapses in judgment have become far too frequent. A surge of euphoria takes hold, and suddenly I am making reckless decisions, like buying a car I have absolutely no use for, only to sell it off for pennies on the dollar. Sometimes these episodes linger, sometimes they pass quickly, and sometimes they begin to recede, but the momentum of this madness has grown so great that I find myself unable to pull the emergency brake. During one particular cocktail of emotions—how can one even explain it?—I reached a point of such profound despair and hopelessness that I decided to simply run away. I was chasing the delusion that somewhere else, life would be better, even though deep down in my gut, I knew that running is a futile endeavor because you cannot escape yourself. Whether you find yourself in Nicaragua, Canada, Australia... or right here in the States, the mind remains the same. Perhaps it was just a "honeymoon phase," because for a moment there, I actually felt a sense of relief. Everything felt fresh, and I felt a fleeting happiness, believing I had finally turned a new leaf that I could write in bright, vibrant colors. Believing I was finally in the process of fixing my life, having glimpsed light at the end of the tunnel, I convinced myself I had to settle my affairs back home first; it seemed foolish to leave an empty apartment or a car sitting abandoned in a parking lot. So, I returned to tie up loose ends, only to fall straight back into the old vortex: the depression, the binge eating, the dissatisfaction, the bitter resentment...

And now, I find myself standing there, utterly clueless as to what I am fighting against, what the root cause truly is, or whether I should once again attempt to flee.

I mentioned "sickness behavior" to you on Joseph Bailey41's thread earlier. It’s essentially a type of depression designed by our biology to force us into rest so we can actually recover from an illness. I think a similar thing happens when you start dealing with impulses that you know aren't particularly bright; the depression kicks in as a sort of internal defense mechanism to protect you from yourself. The tricky part is that depression is such an incredibly uncomfortable state to live in—it's something your mind just can't endure indefinitely. So, once you finally manage to snap out of it, there's this risk of swinging too far in the opposite direction, sliding straight into euphoria or extreme impulsivity. And honestly, that isn't much better in the long run; it's just exhausting in a completely different way.

The real battle you need to fight is against those mood swings. You really ought to be aiming for some kind of middle ground, though I should clarify that what you’re searching for isn't some static, unchanging state of being. It’s more like a dynamic balance. Think of it like walking, running, or dancing—it's constant movement. Psychologically speaking, I think the key is shifting your focus from "moods" to "emotions." Moods tend to be pretty stagnant. When you're stuck in a depression, it just lingers and lingers; you can't feel anything else because the depression itself blocks everything else out. Emotions are different. Sadness is an emotion—you cry, you process it, and then it passes. Fear works the same way—you get spooked, you pull yourself together, and you move on. Even joy from a good event has a natural shelf life. Euphoria, however, is the tricky one. It stays with you regardless of what's actually happening, giving you this false sense of confidence that makes you think you're doing great when you're actually making questionable decisions—like making a sudden, impulsive car purchase or a bad trade. In the end, all that intensity just drains you, landing you right back in a depressive slump. It's a cycle.

One way to shift your focus is to lean into whatever you're feeling and just ride it out until it hits its peak. I mean, if you're feeling down, really let yourself feel that sadness—cry about it, vent here on the forums. If you're feeling bitter, embrace that bitterness completely; get angry, have an argument with yourself, beat the hell out of a pillow, swear, scream (just make sure you're alone, otherwise you'll look like a total lunatic). After a few sessions like that, you’ll start to realize that emotions are actually fleeting... they're there one minute and gone the next, almost like they were never even there. To some people, this might sound like I'm stating the obvious, but when you've been stuck in a depression for a long time, you honestly forget what it feels like to experience any kind of normal emotion.

Bipolar disorder isn't necessarily an "off switch" for everything. That said, it's much rarer than most people assume. It also tends to be hereditary—meaning if someone in your family had that diagnosis (or just acted a bit too "adventurous" back before it was officially diagnosed), then your chances of having it are significantly higher. If it turns out that you do have it, you shouldn't mess around with antidepressants (or illegal substances), because those can act as a trigger for manic episodes; instead, you'd need a mood stabilizer. Of course, we can't determine through an online forum whether your issue is psychological or neurological—you really need a professional for that. Whether you decide to seek help from someone in our community or look for a specialist elsewhere is up to you, but personally, I think seeking therapy through a major medical center or specialized clinic is a much better route.

I appreciate you taking the time to listen. Since you brought it up, I’ve been attempting to nudge my mother toward actually addressing her own issues, but she refuses to acknowledge anything is wrong; she treats my every suggestion like a personal affront—as if I’m implying she needs to be locked away in a mental ward, though I would never dream of being quite so blunt. In her case, I don't see signs of bipolar disorder so much as a profound, escalating anxiety that has become overwhelming over the last few years. She lives in a state of perpetual dread; the very moment I pick up the phone, her first panicked inquiry is "what happened?", and if I don't respond to a text immediately, she spirals into a full-blown panic thinking I’ve been in a wreck, calling anyone and everyone in her contact list to check on me. Even during a simple drive, she’ll start screaming at me to watch out when there isn't even a shadow of a threat—say, a car pulling out of a driveway a hundred yards ahead. Whether it's clinical depression or bipolarity, I honestly can't say. My father, however, was an entirely different story, though looking back now, I see he was essentially self-medicating his struggles with heavy drinking. Because we didn't live under the same roof, I didn't pay as much attention to it then, even though his withdrawal and deep-seated insecurity were becoming obvious in recent years... but that's just how it goes in this country, isn't it? Until a doctor hands you a formal diagnosis, you're perfectly fine. But the second you step foot in a psychologist's office, suddenly you're considered "crazy," and in American culture, nobody wants to carry that stigma.

Ronald Price3 said:I appreciate you taking the time to listen. Since you brought it up, I’ve been attempting to nudge my mother toward actually addressing her own issues, but she refuses to acknowledge anything is wrong; she treats my every suggestion like a personal affront—as if I’m implying she needs to be locked away in a mental ward, though I would never dream of being quite so blunt. In her case, I don't see signs of bipolar disorder so much as a profound, escalating anxiety that has become overwhelming over the last few years. She lives in a state of perpetual dread; the very moment I pick up the phone, her first panicked inquiry is "what happened?", and if I don't respond to a text immediately, she spirals into a full-blown panic thinking I’ve been in a wreck, calling anyone and everyone in her contact list to check on me. Even during a simple drive, she’ll start screaming at me to watch out when there isn't even a shadow of a threat—say, a car pulling out of a driveway a hundred yards ahead. Whether it's clinical depression or bipolarity, I honestly can't say. My father, however, was an entirely different story, though looking back now, I see he was essentially self-medicating his struggles with heavy drinking. Because we didn't live under the same roof, I didn't pay as much attention to it then, even though his withdrawal and deep-seated insecurity were becoming obvious in recent years... but that's just how it goes in this country, isn't it? Until a doctor hands you a formal diagnosis, you're perfectly fine. But the second you step foot in a psychologist's office, suddenly you're considered "crazy," and in American culture, nobody wants to carry that stigma.

Mine is similar—anxious and depressed—but without a formal diagnosis because she's worried about what the neighbors will say. She did get some anti-anxiety meds from her local clinic, though; I actually tried them secretly once and they weren't bad. Especially when paired with... 😳

A little bit of youthful recklessness, let's just say. 🕺

How old are you again?

40.