I call it 'agitated manic' however it is probably clinically defined as a mixed episode involving hypomania and mild depression. It is not a fun place to be, however it is better than full on depressed.
Unfortunately, when I am in this state it is easy to tilt me one way or the other. The fulcrum is a bitch.
Currently I sit here pissed off, slightly depressed, yet exhibiting the signs of mania as well. My leg will not stop twitching, I'm chain smoking, thoughts are racing and, well, I kind of feel like kicking a wall or something. I am a ball of nervous energy.
It honestly wouldn't take much to turn me into the Hulk or giddy to the point of I want to puke at how disgustingly happy I am. And I've experienced just that multiple times in a 4 hour frame.
Everything I can possibly construe as an assault on me or my heart is taken as such, and not easily. It is far more difficult to make me giddy. I guess I'm emo or just a pessimist that looks at the glass as 3/4 empty.
The manic part picks up every single thing going on, every word, every sound like an alert Doberman Pincer, and the hyper mind is busy processing the information, correctly or incorrectly. It doesn't care. It generally processes the shit in the negative though.
Example: "The quality of a book doesn't necessarily translate to popularity," gets translated into, pfffffffft. "Your book's gonna fall flat and you ain't gonna make no money out of it," and my brain says "this fucker don't believe in me."
I hate this state. I get pissy, emotional, and it often means a depressed state is about to hit.
|How I feel at the moment.|
Personal update: I have decided to write a book about the abuse I've suffered through, my dysfunctional family, my mental illness and the path to healing I've taken and things I've learned along my path through hell.
I'm definitely in an agitated manic state right now, but I have approximately 25,000 words so far (no it is not "fuck" or "stab" repeated 25,000 times, that's my diary), and nobody in my family is making it out unscathed, not even me.
It didn't quite dawn on me until writing this shit that I was born into a double dysfunctional family full of assholes. Some are redeemed later, and Mom is redeemed about 500000 times. It seems that the chapter I was compelled to work on today has brought up some not nice demons, mainly reliving the bullshit that got played on Mom in her final months of life.
Yes, I've taken a break from writing to write. I felt compelled and figured some people were starting to get concerned since I haven't been on the internet much because I've been contemplating writing this book and then doing so in a highly productive manic state since Wednesday.
I also know that "quality doesn't necessarily mean popularity," but this is my only fucking chance out of this shithole life I'm in. Maybe I can sell the movie rights to my shitty life and make $100,000.00. It would definitely be a piss you off, make you sad, inspire you movie. It's that kind of book.
I have to write. I have to make it as a writer. It is the only thing I have going for me.
Seriously, what normal shit job am I going to be able to do with History and English degrees that I won't fuck up because of the mood swings or general "gets bored easily, does not put up with bullshit or play politics" things?
Anyway I'm gonna go back to writing this thing... and not stab people.