Another day, another fifty cents gone from my pocket. I have been feeling rather generous lately, which is funny for someone who doesn’t have the proverbial pot (to pee in…) I have been looking for a way to thank Dad’s caregiver for going above and beyond the call of duty, so I am letting her choose a dress and some sandals from a mail-order dress shop. I am happy to do this, but I have to be careful when I get high handed with money. That is usually a sign that I’m manic, ready to go off on a spree.
Mania is the terrible and strangely wonderful phenomenon that occurs when a person has Bipolar Disorder and is in the “upswing” of the disease. It is the emotional opposite of the deep, dark depression- the other side of the two (Bi) parts of the illness. I become extremely animated and talkative, laugh loudly and joke constantly, and generally act out in unusual ways. People like me can become very promiscuous in a manic phase, doing things sexually that they would never normally do. I get so artistically stimulated that I can stay up all hours painting, drawing, writing, cleaning and washing, plus any other activity that crosses my zooming mind. I can go without food, or eat sweets like mad. I have gone on spending sprees in the past, buying land, and vehicles, and jewelry until I’ve gone bankrupt and in debt. The problem is, even though all this is great fun, it leaves me feeling terrible about myself. I used to go on drugging and drinking binges when I was manic, and do other stuff. I’m so grateful to be free of the compulsion to drink and drug, but the binge spending is still hanging on.
There are tools I learned over the years to deal with my manic spells, relaxation techniques and meditation. Plus I have a therapist I talk to, except I don’t have an appointment right now. The main thing is recognizing I am in a manic phase, and digging deep into my psyche to unveil the real problem, the issue I can’t deal with that brought the mania on.
I know what it is right now, and I’m awfully mad at myself. I had a weak moment last week and called my ex husband’s sister, under the pretense of seeing how she was. She knew I was calling to see how my Ex was, and she obliged me by telling me he’s remarried now. He’s been married 2 years, and I didn’t realize it, but I guess I thought of him as still being mine. Why I would want to call an abuser “my ex-husband” is some kind of Stockholm syndrome I think, and having suffered domestic abuse warped my mind somehow. Because I did call, after these years without him, these years I thought I was forgetting, healing and recovering. Now I am a manic mess, and I am having flashbacks, and nightmares and PTSD symptoms.
Our brains are amazing.
and I am nuts