The most frightening thing about mania is that when it is happening, you are oblivious to it. You’re just in a good mood. You’re just being sociable, enjoying yourself. “Come on, it’s fun!” The way people are looking at you doesn’t register as odd until it’s all over. The debts have mounted as your purchases have spiralled into a tornado.
Books. You read one, it mentions another one, you buy that one, you like it, you have to buy every word the author ever wrote. Clothes. Those expensive jeans you’ve always wanted. You buy three pairs. You might need the extra ones. Holidays, I’ve mentioned. But money is basically no object. This is particularly dangerous when your finances were nil to begin with.
To say my viewpoint was myopic is something of an understatement. In this state there are no consequences.
It is the ultimate hedonistic trip.
But your finances aren’t the only thing that come crashing down around your sober self. There are the friends, the colleagues, even the strangers you have hurt, the family you have scared half to death. Rebuilding these relationships would be tough for the best of people. For a shell-shocked, depressed automaton, it’s impossible. You push people further away. You ignore the debt. You close the blinds, switch off the phone and do the only thing that is left. Pray. You use your last bit of hope to pray that tomorrow will be different. You do this every day, until one morning it doesn’t hurt to get out of bed. Gradually you can talk to people. You laugh at a joke. It feels weird, the life that has started to pump through your veins again. You stop dressing in dirty, crumpled clothes. You go out there again, into the world.
Slowly, you remember who you were before this hurricane ripped through your world.