Monday, May 12, 2008


I'll admit this to you now, but don't throw it back in my face.

I like my hypomania.

Before I knew anything about the Bipolar II diagnosis I've ended up with, I learned to love these periods of energy I'd get. My mind buzzed with ideas, I made lots of friends and was incredibly social instead of shy, and I'd feel sexy and vibrant.

Now that I know that these sudden bursts of energy and enthusiasm are likely to be fleeting, and followed by a crash, I can't enjoy them as much. Now that I have children, and a partner, I can't just run off and follow my whims as much as I'd like to during my manic phases (although honestly, I have a lot of time in which to schedule whim, if that's what I want).

But as mixed as my feelings on mania are, I much prefer 120-miles-per-hour me to this me; diminished, suddenly shy, self-hating, and definitely no longer sexy or vibrant.

All I want to do right now is HIDE. I don't want to talk to or see anyone. And yet, my Mr. Hyde made plans that my Dr. Jekyll must keep, so I have to gear myself up for social plans which I know I'll enjoy, just not as much as I would have a week ago.

This me suddenly starts crying for no reason, this me feels ugly and stupid, this me is a very impatient driver. I want happy fun time girl back. I'll take her, and her 4 hours a night sleep, and her bad money management, if it means that melancholy, teary me goes back into hiding for a little longer.

I admit it.

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