Mania forces my brain to become an unstoppable force of late night traffic.
My brain becomes Lake Shore Drive for awhile. Zip, zip, vroom.
I would love to walk you through my thought process but it still confuses me. So I shall do my best.
Mania, for me, is as if someone gave me an adrenaline shot from hell. Laced with Vitamin B12.
My ideas are epic. I take on projects and can finish them in a short time period. Writing becomes a breeze.
Chores get done. Life is an amazing breath of fresh air.
Then traffic builds up. Things get faster. Zip, zip, zip, zam, vroom vroom!
I take on more projects. Ideas build up to a mountain of desire. Did I mention the alcohol? The sex? The copious amount of sex? The feeling of invincibility?
How if I feel unstoppable, in one week, I manage to sleep with five different people and cuss out two other people that make me mad? How my attitude is "Fuck you, pay me"?
How about the weird sensation of "I gotta have it, give it to me!" takes over and disaster strikes?
The blackouts occur and I wake up in a basement next to a lesser man of my standards and tastes?
Ah, yes, that's mania. A roller-coaster ride of immense energy that sends me sky high and forces me to plummet to the Earth as if I'm space trash.
So for those that think I should embrace my manic side and let it take over the down periods of my illness, I want you to think about something.
Try running a race on an empty stomach. Then binge drink for three days straight. Now proceed to vomit and cry about how life isn't fair and apologize to everyone for all of the horrible things you've done in that time period.
Then wake up and go to work immediately afterwards.
That, sadly, is the aftermath of mania. The feeling of running a booze-fueled race on an empty stomach and going to work the next day.
Does it still beat depression?
