4 weeks ago
19
My ex and I were together for seven years, and it was in our second year that I discovered he was bipolar. He traveled to Thailand by himself while I was in the Philippines with my mom, and during that trip, I started receiving strange messages from him. One said, “I feel like I have superpowers; I can’t explain it.” He was excessively posting on Snapchat, and I had never seen him so overwhelmingly happy. Communicating with him became impossible—I felt completely unheard, like we were speaking two different languages. He was reckless with money, racking up $20,000 on his Visa before running out of funds.
Later in his stay in Thailand, I received a terrifying message from him, claiming he was being set up by the Thai police and that his life was in danger. He begged me to contact the Canadian embassy. I panicked, genuinely believing he was in trouble. But the owner of the hostel he was staying at, who was also his friend, messaged me on Facebook, telling me not to believe him. She said he had gone “crazy” and probably taken drugs. I immediately contacted his mother, and they eventually had to fly to Thailand to bring him home. Afterward, he refused medication, denied having bipolar disorder, and the entire incident was swept under the rug. Even today, he still believes in the delusions he experienced.
Three years later, we traveled to Vietnam together. By that point, I had researched manic episodes and learned how to help calm him when I saw the warning signs. One night, we went out to dinner with plans to go clubbing afterward, but when I noticed his eyes were dilated, I knew he was on the edge of another manic episode. I told him I was tired and suggested we skip the club and go back to the hotel. Thankfully, that decision helped prevent the episode from escalating, and we managed to enjoy the rest of our trip without further incidents.
But last month in Bali, everything changed. We had planned the trip to meet his cousin, who was flying in from Australia. This was my first time meeting him, and I had hoped he would experience the genuine connection and fun we usually shared. What was supposed to be a relaxing vacation turned into the most traumatic experience of my life. His manic episode on this trip was far worse than anything I had ever seen in our seven years together.
As soon as I noticed the signs, I suggested we stay at the villa for two or three nights instead of going out clubbing, even though I wanted to have fun too. But it was hard to keep things calm, especially since it was also his cousin’s vacation. We were expected to join in on the activities and go clubbing every night. All the overstimulation triggered my ex’s manic episode. His cousin, only there for a week, became upset that we spent nights at the villa while he went out alone. On his last night in Bali, he lashed out at me, accusing me of ruining his vacation because he had spent a lot of money on the trip. He had also pre-booked a daybed at Finn’s Beach Club. Although I offered to cover the cost, hoping it would help avoid further triggering my ex’s episode, his cousin didn’t take it well. In the end, we had no choice but to go.
During this time, I couldn’t help but feel that my ex’s disrespect toward me had influenced his cousin’s perception of me as well. It was painful to see how quickly he turned against me, unaware of the difficult circumstances I was trying to navigate. I wanted his cousin to understand that the relationship wasn’t always like this and that there was so much more depth to our connection.
After his cousin flew back to Australia, my ex’s manic episode spiraled out of control. He became increasingly detached and aggressive, saying the most hurtful things to me, as if I were the enemy. I barely slept, managing only 1-3 hours each night, feeling like my world was falling apart.
At one point, while he was inside a tattoo shop, I had a panic attack. He wanted to get a tattoo under his chin that read “die with a smile,” and I felt completely overwhelmed by the chaos of his energy. He was talking too fast, his thoughts were racing, and nothing I said seemed to get through to him. He irrationally insisted on getting the tattoo even though he had no cash left. I tried to reason with him, suggesting we get cash first, but he demanded I call his bank to sort it out. I couldn’t, as I wasn’t authorized on his account, and he was in no condition to talk to an agent himself. Then he harshly insisted I use my own credit card, even though he had his own. I couldn’t take it anymore. Overwhelmed, I walked out of the shop, breaking down into a panic attack on the street. I cried and hyperventilated, feeling utterly helpless, until two women who happened to be walking by stopped to help me. They calmed me down, giving me the sense of safety and protection that I desperately needed in that moment. I booked a room at a nearby hotel, just steps from where my ex was staying, to gather myself. After three hours, I went back to his hotel, hoping to fix things.
Instead, when I returned, he aggressively made me sit down in front of him and forced me to put my phone away to focus on him. For 40 minutes, he ranted about how worthless I was, how his friends and family hated me, and how some people only tolerated me because he loved me. It was a brutal display of grandiosity and narcissism. “Manny told me, ‘You’re a king, bro, but right now you’re a prince because you’re with her,’” he said, and “My sister loves you because she knows I love you.” The lack of empathy and the way he spoke to me with such disconnection terrified me. I began to fear he might physically harm me. I was so scared of triggering him further that I just agreed with everything he said, even though it was all untrue. I didn’t want to make things worse by pushing back. Eventually, he calmed down and said he was going outside for a cigarette, but he was so exhausted from his racing thoughts that he collapsed on the bed, falling asleep within seconds, still holding a cigarette and lighter in his hand.
The next morning, he woke up even more manic. He was physically jumping around, filled with so much anxiety and energy that it overwhelmed me. We were supposed to head to another island where we had already booked a villa, but he was too euphoric and illogical to focus. He insisted on staying where we were because he loved it so much, but I managed to convince him to leave. I booked a driver and a private boat to take us to the next island.
As we were preparing to leave, I decided to stay behind. I felt safer remaining on the same island with women I had already met. Once he was on the other island, his mania escalated into psychosis, leading him to believe that Interpol and the Thai police were watching him. He began approaching random tourists, filming them and asking who they were because he was convinced they were part of Interpol. He took our separation as a breakup, but I didn’t argue with him because his thoughts were racing so fast that it was impossible to reason with him. While on the other island, he engaged in reckless behavior, including sleeping with other women and even taking a local woman on a date.
Meanwhile, he seemed to be enjoying himself without a care. He posted an overwhelming 750 snaps in one day, seemingly thriving in the chaos of his manic state, while I was left to deal with the emotional aftermath alone. It was heartbreaking to witness the stark contrast between his carefree joy and my own sense of despair. He also racked up another $20,000 while he was alone on the island, spending it on foreigners and strippers, completely detached from the financial consequences of his actions. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I flew home from Bali early, feeling drained and traumatized by everything that had happened.
When he returned home about a week and a half later, he acted like I had been the one who abandoned him and caused him pain. It felt so unfair. I realized I couldn’t keep enduring this, especially when he refused to acknowledge his condition or the toll it took on me. The trauma from Bali is still fresh, and I’m left questioning everything about our seven years together.
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