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Bro, just listen to your aunt, and take the arranged marriage.
I nominated this for an AAQC.
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I tried to come up with a cogent counterargument and find I'm coming up short.
Look, they weren't all that bad. The psychologist will presumably recover, once she stops screwing her ex. The fashion designer, well, she's doing better. There were definitely better dates, plenty, though I can't really commit with the whole leaving the country thing ahead. But I make sure they know that, I would despise myself for leading someone on.
There are certainly several more who I can pass off as sane, but there's not much to say about them, barring some flirting and early morning goodbyes. It's the crazies, the damaged ones I remember the most, mostly because they had me feverishly leafing through my textbooks to figure out if I was the one going insane.
Here's hoping that Scottish girls are notably less psychotic on average, but I'll be honest, it feels nice to help people who desperately need it, though as you can tell, even I have my boundaries and soon enough, a justified fear of losing my license, so said boundaries only get tighter. At the very least I know that I am very good at the whole counseling and talking people into doing what's good for them thing, even if I can't prescribe more than SSRIs and benzos (and wouldn't want to, I send them to more qualified psychiatrists most of the time). At worst, I know my voice can lull them to sleep, which is worth something I guess. I'm not kidding when I said one of them was actively suicidal and about to do something awful, but thankfully it seemed to be more of a single isolated episode on a background of severe depression, so yeah, probably saved her.
Whereas the thought of an arranged marriage just makes me depressed. I can't always fix them, but I'm happy to let them make me worse.
I strongly disagree with arjin - you should find someone who's in a similar IQ / competence percentile that you are and I doubt the arranged marriage will be.
Haha, don't worry, I'm not quite ready to give up on dating yet, be it online or in person. The six women (or 5 and a "woman") I described are just the worst of the lot, though the fashion designer and psychologist seem to me like decent people going through a bad time.
My aunt, PBUH, is trying to look for single med students and doctors, or at least those were the ones she laid on the table when nobody asked. I'd hope that acts as a reasonable filter for IQ or competence. My own IQ, well it's respectable, and my competence has improved by leaps and bounds, yet I'd certainly appreciate a girl who has her shit together better in comparison, though I'm certainly much better than I used to be in that regard. Turns out that a great deal of my depression was from a sense of frustration that my career wasn't going anywhere, and all I had to look forward to was beating my head against the wall of more exams. Fortunately, said wall has crumbled before my cranium did, and I'm feeling much better. Certainly to the degree I'm going around trying to (misguidedly) help people with their issues.
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Scottish girls in my experience have extraordinarily high variance. You seem to be good at spotting the dysfunctional ones, and they get extremely dysfunctional, but the remainder of the dating pool are extremely sensible and down-to-earth while remaining endearing. Chance of meeting the latter is significantly higher in the countryside, set your radius wide and learn to enjoy a scenic drive. (Also, Highland Scots drive like particularly suicidal third worlders, so you'll be well-prepared for them)
I find the accent endearing, and I understand them well enough, though some scotch makes it even better.
I suppose this is a plus, given that I'm working as a psych trainee there for the next 3 years. It would kinda suck for me to end up somewhere where everyone is sane, though I'd be very happy for them lol.
What concerns me is that a lot of these women hide their issues from a shrink, and only open up to a flirtatious yet good at getting people to talk guy like me. For example, the law student, and another lawyer (we were old acquaintances before running into each other on Bumble, and now I'm an unpaid relationship counselor for her too), disclose maybe 5% of what the fuck is going on to their psychiatrists and therapists.
Now, I'd call myself perceptive, but I'm not a mind reader, so I'm groaning at the notion of teasing these things out from actual patients, especially since flirting with them is off the cards.
Understandable. If you run into someone on a narrow country lane, there can only be one (someone has to drive in reverse).
Yep, that sounds familiar. The Scots have, though, for better or for worse, much less of a culture of hiding dysfunction (I'm sure you've seen the photos of Glasgow nightlife). If you're working for the NHS you're likely to be dealing with serious cases whose immediate and undeniable problems will take up the vast majority of your bandwidth - the cases I touched were generally horror stories and I was just a volunteer. So, uh, at least the neuroses of the genteel are likely to be more of an issue on dating apps than at work.
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Take it from an older, more experienced man. If you meet them in the midst of mind numbingly retarded self inflicted consequences, they never stop. Sure, she might stop fucking her ex, but then maybe she'll fuck her boss. Or her friend's husband. Or cut of all her hair and join a cult. Or decide she's trans. And on and on and on. Stupid doesn't just go away.
Not my circus, and I medically discharged her as unfit for dating after that episode, so not my monkey either. I just happen to keep in touch.
I did feel bad for her, so at least I did the gentlemanly thing of consoling her, getting her something to drink and holding her in a nearby park while she cried her heart out. I did my best not to let the date get too awkward while handing her more tissues as she sniffled away. Even consoled her later, though I think she understood that I wasn't in a position to deal with that, given that I had a painful breakup recently myself (not that I ever let it break me down so utterly, I just drink another shot of whiskey, healthy coping mechanisms you see).
She's seeing a therapist herself, though I imagine that gets a bit awkward. But she'll get over it.
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