Hi friends! It’s currently midnight and I’m listening to “Rude Boy” by Rihanna whilst sitting at my desk, typing away this post. Tonight, I hopped on board the manic train once more, and it feels amazing… exhilarating. I can practically feel the wind blowing my hair back, catching my breath and instilling vitality into my soul.
But my feeling of euphoria is sobered by the thought of the impending depression that inevitably follows such highs.
I know this mania is the illness talking. If only I could feel like this every day of my life. For there’s nothing truly as beautiful as the view from the cloud of mania. It’s intoxicating. Addicting. This is the very reason why people suffering from bipolar disorder are so reluctant to stay on their medications, for the very drug that is saving them from going under takes away depression’s seductive twin sister. There’s a cost that comes with tempering the illness. And it’s a cost that some are not willing to pay.
My manias are always triggered by some external event. According to my abnormal psychology textbook, “a somewhat different, more positive, set of stressful life events seems to trigger mania. Specifically, experience associated with striving to achieve important goals, such as getting accepted into grad school, obtaining a new job or promotion, getting married, or any goal striving activity for popularity or financial success trigger mania in vulnerable individuals.”
In my case, the trigger was my newfound goal of pursuing psychiatry. Whether this is just another of my many whims, or a genuine long-lasting goal, has yet to be seen. The point is, once I set my mind on this new goal, I went straight into manic mode.
I thought to myself, gotta fill up my schedule with five classes a quarter. Graduate early. Get a post-bacc. Do really well in my classes to be a competitive applicant for medical school. Continue my growth as a competitive Latin dancer. Improve in hip hop. Take on a research position. Get a job.
So many goals inundating my little brain… Sleep is out of the question. I am completely restless. My heart is racing. Palms sweating. The ambition is consuming me.
I don’t know how to get off this high, nor do I necessarily wish to. This is the side of bipolar disorder I LOVE. I am sick. I need help. But seeking help would mean sacrificing the mania. I don’t know if I am willing to give it up just yet.