I can't deny the fact that for me, mania is sometimes an exciting, joyous occasion. this is mostly in the beginning. it feels like I'm on top of the world and I genuinely believe I can do anything at all in any short amount of time no matter what 'obstacles' lay before me. where i'm manic, obstacles just aren't a thing. when people try to tell me they are I get annoyed and irritated with them because I don't understand why they don't understand. whenever I'm manic, I genuinely can't remember a time of being unhappy. I forget I've ever been depressed or what it feels like, I forget the feelings of disappointment or worry or stress, I forget about insecurities and basically every responsibility I've ever had. I talk a mile a minute, constantly bounce on my toes, skip around instead of walking (once I literally remember skipping around my friend in circles while he walked normally because he was exhausted. I should have been exhausted too after 12 hours of school, complete with 4 dance classes and barely any breaks in between, but I still had boundless amounts of energy), quietly play guitar at night instead of sleeping, talk/sing to myself constantly, skip almost every meal, shop like crazy with no concern for my weening bank account, try to go out every night regardless of if I have work or school in the morning, get into relationships with (or sometimes just sleep with) men even though I'm a lesbian, cook all the time and feed it to others because I won't eat it myself (not only do I get nauseous, but I also tend to believe my body can self-sustain without food), and every once in a while I'll get fixated on a goal or career path that I'd never normally want and do all I can to make it happen.
during my worst and longest manic episode ever, I majored in musical theatre for a year when in reality, I'd never want to pursue musical theatre as a career. yes, I've always loved it. but it's simply not something I want for myself. and yet I spent a year of my life chasing that new dream. I replaced all my dark clothing with bright happy colors and set my nail polishes up in a rainbow across my brightly colored dorm room. I started wearing sandals everyday and put up collages of bright, cheerful things to do with winning Tony awards and going on broadway. the collages even had words like "shine bright" and other inspiring things I don't remember. I started listening to show tunes and pop music nonstop, and left all of my band t-shirts at home instead of bringing them to my dorm so I could actually wear them. my nails were always bright and sometimes neon, I had a lime green bed comforter, and my favorite thing to wear was my bright yellow summer dress. now let me tell you about my usual self: my dream job is to be a musician, but in the rock/screamo/metal genre. I HATE wearing only bright colors. even moreso, I absolutely despise yellow. normally I wouldn't be caught dead in it. aside from that year, I've never even owned a complete rainbow's worth of nail polish colors--I don't know what possessed me to buy a yellow nail polish. I never wear sandals, I wear black boots literally every day all year round even though I live in a very warm and sunny place. I would never in my right mind buy a lime green bed comforter. a collage of mine would usually have skulls, lightsabers, and words such as "join the dark side." not a single part of me wants to ever win a Tony award. the types of music that make me happy are mainly rock, alternative, screamo, and metal. I do love show tunes and some pop music, but I could never only listen to that. I need my usual music and my dark clothing and dark surroundings to stay in my right mind, otherwise I'll get antsy and feel not at home. and yet, when I finally snapped out of my manic episode--it seriously felt like I was snapping out of an episode of the twilight zone that time--I was surrounded by yellow, lime green, sparkles, sandals, bright clothes, and music that makes me grumpy if it's all I hear. I was so confused. what had I been doing the past year? to this day, I literally do not know. I couldn't tell you. one thing i do remember, however, is wandering around my college campus at one and two in the morning every once in a while because i wanted to explore and was absolutely positive that i was safe and nothing could possibly happen to me. thank god nothing did. today i even had a facebook memory of the day that was my status from february 5, 2010 saying "im exploring! yay :)" at 2:46am. I don't know what the fuck was going through my head that year and I don't know what triggered this mania, but something did and it caused me to waste my entire 19/20th year of my life. i did get an amazing lifelong friend from being a musical theatre major, but aside from her i feel like a huge chunk of my life was derailed and wasted chasing a dream i never had.
what I would consider probably my second most severe bout of mania came about 3 years later. this time I was already diagnosed and medicated (I hadn't been in the story above) and working at a new place shortly after I had dropped out of college and moved back home. when I first got this job I was already feeling a little hypomanic, so my new coworkers had only ever seen me happy, energized, and cheerful all the time. as a result, my gradual ascent into mania was only noticed by my closest friend at work. this was probably a few months into the job and she and I had already grown very close, so I'd already confided in her that I have a mental illness. she was (and still is) very supportive and immediately asked what the disorder looks like, what symptoms she should watch out for to make sure I'm okay, how she can help when she notices I'm off, etc. I gladly answered all of her questions and any other questions she thought of as our friendship grew. she was the only one who noticed some changes as my hypomania grew into a couple-months long manic episode. the day she realized--and very firmly told me--that I was manic we were shopping at the mall. I forgot what we had gone for, but within an hour I had spent almost $800 on lotions, body sprays, and undergarments. obviously, I needed it all. I bought a pair of super tall stilettos that my friend knew good and well I could never actually walk in, but I needed those as well. I assume I was talking so much about every single thing that she could probably barely get a word in--I honestly don't remember this part, I just know that when I'm manic I can't shutup, so i'm assuming i was talking way too much. her other friend had gone to the mall with us and they were both hungry so we went into a restaurant to get some food. they each ordered their meals, but when the server turned to me i grinned and ordered water. everyone stared at me, my friend tried to convince me that i needed to eat, but i was insistent that i wasn't hungry; my body would sustain itself on all this energy i had. i'd be fine. so the server left, and my friend turned to me and told me i was manic. i was confused. i giggled. i smiled. she didn't, she looked very concerned, which i found hilarious. i spent that meal bouncing in my seat and staring around the restaurant while i talked too much and my companions watched in confusion. they were bewildered, but i was having so much fun. we left the mall and i don't remember what happened next. i don't remember the next few hours, the next few days, or even the next month. i remember bits and pieces: bounding into work one shift and rambling in excitement while my supervisor told me to calm down because she couldn't understand a word i was saying; laughing and giggling at anything even remotely funny; seamlessly switching from conversations with other people to conversations with myself and then back to the conversations with other people; laughing to myself at who knows what; singing every time i wasn't actually talking; driving to work (and everywhere else) like a dangerous maniac; pulling regular all nighters to write stories before the ideas left me; coworkers asking, in legitimate confusion, how i'm always so happy and me responding that i don't think i ever get sad (and me actually believing this to be true); getting about twice as much work done as i normally could with triple the enthusiasm; spending my lunches and breaks at work wandering around the amusement park instead of going to eat in a break room because i didn't want to sit down or eat; going to a party where i hooked up with a couple different coworkers (one wasn't even the gender i prefer) and not even caring; and the rest from there i don't remember. i found a journal entry from a day during this episode and it was all over the place. there were no complete sentences because each thought would start and move into a different thought and then another, so much that i'm not even sure what i was trying to say. not only that, but my entire handwriting was different. it was slanted, like i was in a huge hurry to get my words out. i don't think this episode led to a depression, but like i said, i can't really remember.
i've been manic many other times. there was one time when i started making plans to move to an entirely different city with no money, no home, no family or friends around, no job, and the idea that i would attend a prestigeous music school that i could in no way afford and i didn't even the instrumental skills to be admitted into. there was also the time i got into a relationship i didn't actually want (but thought i did at the time), told the guy i loved him on our first date, and became official within about a week of meeting each other. there was also the time, when i was 14, that i became alarmingly obsessed with the lead guitarist of my favorite band at the time and would carry around their cd booklet, sleep with it under my pillow, talk to pictures of him and genuinely think he was talking back, and eventually started feeling the urge to separate his skin from his body and wear it. there was also that time a friend came to visit me our freshman year of college and i dragged her with me down the darkest, creepiest, most secluded and tree-lined back trail to find a party--any party, because i just knew we would find one since i wanted to go to one--to crash. she was looking around in paranoia and staying alert the entire time, on the phone with her boyfriend in case anything happened to us, while i was obliviously skipping down the trail because i knew it was impossible for anything bad to happen to us. there was that time i planned to meet up with a group of men--complete strangers i'd found on craigslist--at one of their houses to drink and talk about me possibly joining their band. i was planning to take public transportation there (i didn't have a car or license yet) to meet them at night, about an hour bus ride from where i lived at the time, and let one of them drive me home after. a friend of mine talked me out of this idea, but it took a long time for me to grudgingly agree not to go. even then, i didn't understand why she was freaking out. i tried to explain to her that it was impossible for anything bad to happen to me, but she wasn't having it. and then there was the time i went to a music store to buy new guitar strings and came home with a third guitar instead.
i'm not going to lie, being manic can be fun. it can be super fun, actually. it comes with endless amounts of energy, euphoria, voices to talk with, thoughts of grandeur, extra time because i don't need to sleep, driving becomes super exciting, i usually lose some weight because i can't eat and always want to exercise, and people are always asking how i'm so pleasant. i like to think i'm extremely charismatic and fun to be around during these times. but then it gets out of control. the lack of sleep leads to even worse delusions than i'm already having, i hallucinate a lot more, i spend all my money and regret it when i'm no longer manic, sometimes i have to break up with someone i've started a relationship with, i'm easily irritated, and at times it's plain scary. when my mind is racing too much and i have no way to stop it, it feels like i'm completely out of control. and that's because i am. when i'm manic i no longer have control over what i say or do, and that's pretty fucking terrifying. i could harm friendships, ruin relationships, drain my bank account, lower my own dosage of meds (i did that once and it resulted in months of absolute mental chaos that led to me moving back home); any number of things that i normally wouldn't do. and it sucks because everyone who doesn't know i have bipolar disorder has no idea that this is all out of my control. even people who do know i have the disorder often don't understand that this is all out of my control.
mania is a chaotic, destructive, uncontrollable event that happens every once in a while. nobody knows when it will arrive, nobody knows when it will see itself out, and nobody knows what plans it has in store this time. i simply have to wait it out and hope i don't do too much damage each time.