Here I sit at my computer in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping.
My mind is racing.
Everything I touch is magical, and colors have meaning.
The tapping of the typing speaks to me in secret code.
I’ve been pacing through the rooms of my very small house.
I sat in front of the TV long enough to run from the lowest channels to the highest.
And then I paced some more.
I’ve taken my medication.
I should be sleepy.
I’m groggy, but I feel agitated.
If you go to the right side of this blog and click the word “mania” in the tag cloud, you’ll find a lot of entries about this subject.
I want to sing. Shout. Dance. But not in a healthy way. I want to flail and thrash.
I had a change in my medication recently. I’ll be calling my psychiatric prescribing nurse practitioner in the morning to ask if it could trigger mania.
I know a lot of people with bipolar disorder who actually look forward to this high, but for me, it’s devastating. I spend money I don’t have. I act out sexually in unhealthy ways. I have delusions. I talk to trees.
I’m angry and anxious.
I feel vulnerable.
I feel sick.