Ten Feet Tall and Bulletproof

Did I mention that I miss hypomania?

Well, I do. There. I admit it. I hope you’re satisfied.

Here I am, sitting here in front of my computer screen being all normal and everything, when what I want in my heart of hearts is a good burst of high energy. There is SO much that needs to be done around this house and I just don’t feel like doing any of it. I’m not depressed, and I have enough get-up-and-go to do the usual stuff, e.g. getting dressed, grooming myself, running errands and so on. But while the mind says “Go”, the body says “No”, and there is no desire to do anything beyond what I absolutely must do—hell, I’m even neglecting my flowers this summer.

Oh, how I miss the feeling of being ten feet tall and bulletproof! I long for the boundless optimism and the knowledge that there’s a big wide world out there just waiting for me to do something great. I want to leap into life again, brave and bold, energized by the grandiosity that always comes with the hypomania. I want to chair-dance while listening to salsa music. I want to go to the public pool and dare anyone to make snide remarks as I do a cannonball off the high dive. And I REALLY want to land a job interview and wow ’em like I did the panel at the State offices during that hypo/manic episode I had last fall.

Is that so terrible? Yes. Is it unusual for a bipolar person to feel this way? Not so much.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way. There are approximately 101 reasons why I take a fistful of pills on a strict schedule, and go to bed when I’m supposed to instead of when I want to. And really, I’m thankful that I’ve finally got this disease of mine under control…..except…..well, let’s just say that I’d like to be a little more enthused about things.  Being stable may be better for me and everyone around me, but I can’t help thinking it’s just a teensy bit overrated.

I’ve had discussions with a few friends about this very topic, and naturally, they all say pretty much the same thing: yeah, hypomania is nice and all, at least until you’ve spent all your money and gone over the line into manic territory. Which I don’t do EVERY time, but it happens often enough that it’s not worth the risk of attempting to induce a high. Besides, I’m never more than a couple of nights’ poor sleep or some missed meds away from a mood swing, and I have a healthy fear of messing with the magic formula now even when Dr. Awesomesauce approves of it.

The truth is, hypomania is much like alcohol and drugs: it’s intoxicating, highly addictive, and dangerous. I want it only because there’s nothing to be excited about and I’m a bit flat. Yes, there’s a lot of stress to wrap my mind around, but that’s another matter entirely; in fact, I should be grateful that I’m well enough to handle it without going out of my gourd.

Anyway, I’m only writing about all this because it’s far better to express these desires than to act on them. Ye gawds, this illness can be such a complicated m*f’er. Thanks for listening.