Those of us who have battled Bipolar
II long enough know the
signs of hypomania. And since a
hypomanic episode happens so rarely compared with depression, when
one does occur, it feels like receiving a beautifully gift-wrapped
present. We unwrap it with frenzied anticipation, knowing the gift
comes with an expiration date. Just what we've hoped for, just what
we've wanted, but it may not be exactly what we need, like a sweater
ordered from a catalog that doesn't fit quite right. We love the
looks and how it feels, but it just doesn't match the rest of our
emotional wardrobe. The gift of hypomania, enjoyed while it lasts,
ultimately must be returned.
For me, the gift of hypomania feels
like electricity fluttering through me, like an endless tickle with a
feather just below the surface of my skin. When hypomanic, I have no
desire for sleep or food. My eyes are opened wider and my senses
feel heightened. Remarkably jovial and talkative, talkative to the
point of interrupting sometimes, I feel like I need to comment on
everything. Those closest to me say they like me hypomanic, but they
are more than ready for me to calm down. Hypomania creates a
caricature of myself. Invincible. Bigger than life.
One benefit of hypomania for me is
productivity. Once my boundless energy is bridled, I can tackle just
about any project. At work, my desk is organized, papers are filed,
and exciting new lessons are developed. I never slow down and
neither do my students. For middle schoolers, a hypomanic teacher is
quite a treat. I talk a mile a minute, cracking jokes and pacing
about the room, and we bounce from one activity to the next. Not
many papers get graded, and tangential thoughts may invade my
lessons, but ultimately, my hypomania, in small doses, benefits my
students. Back to School Parent Night, while hypomanic, is a bit
dangerous, however. One year, while flying high, I gave a multimedia
presentation to parents about my course. I hoped the buzz I was
feeling translated to teacher enthusiasm rather than wild-eyed crazy.
Luckily, there was no fall out from that evening. No parent
complaints, but I realize now that there could have been.
At home, my productivity may take the
form of organizing every closet in the house, or cleaning out all of
the kitchen cabinets. My family finds this helpful yet annoying,
since I see no reason why everyone can't unload all of their clothes
from their dressers and get organized too. My hypomania once even
inspired me to paint my office. Now that was a mistake. Not only
did I choose a yellow the shade of an egg yolk, I painted with such
unfocused energy and lack of precision that once completed, it looked
as though the sun crashed into the corner of my house and splattered
all over my office walls. Needless to say, I had to hire my
ex-husband to come and repaint it. Talk about humiliating.
One of the most prominent symptoms of
my hypomania is this incredible urge to create something and follow
it through to completion to the exclusion of anything else. For
example, I may sit at the piano for hours composing a song, and until
I am satisfied that it's finished, I will not get up unless I am
forced to by the demands of family or work. Even then, while
begrudgingly meeting my commitments, I feel a magnetic force pulling
me back to the piano. It takes all my strength to fight it.
Confession: there have been days where I have gone to work and
instead of going straight to my classroom to prepare for the day,
I've snuck into the music room and spent my half hour prep time
playing the piano before the music teacher arrives. Being creative
becomes my primary focus. Then, on those same music mania days, I
will return to the music room during my free period and see if the
piano is available. Again, I'll play until I have to return to my
own class.
Being hypomanic has its benefits but
it certainly has its downsides too. The biggest negative hypomania
brings is the dread of its inevitable end. We know it won't last
forever, but we want it to. We want to feel that electric energy and
invincibility just one day more. The dark days of depression glare
us in the face too often. We don't want to look at them again. We
are willing to risk just about anything to keep that hypomanic
euphoria, even if our symptoms lead us to do dangerous or careless
things like shop too much or drive distracted or worse. We crave
that sense of elation so much we are willing to risk it. Nothing bad
will happen to us, right? We are invincible!
But eventually, we know the gift of
hypomania must be put back into the box and returned and our days
must turn back to the darkness that is depression. We'll wait
patiently for the next gift-wrapped package of hypomania, while
flipping through the catalog and dreaming of that perfect sweater.
