The whole business in Charleston has brought me out of my equilibrium and into the high, holy state of mania. The signs are clear: a brilliantly clear feeling of energy, combativeness, difficulty dealing with difficult people, the color red seems unusually intense, and a slight shaking that no one can see but I can sense. More correctly, this is a hypomania because I have not launched into paranoia — though I intellectually appreciate that my neighbors will not take kindly to my living with this illness, I do not think they are reading my mind or seeing through its invisibility; nor do I feel that I am indispensable, a great gift to humanity.
I posted a photo to Instagram identifying my face as that of mania. One friend replied, “You look ordinary”. “Yes, that is the point. I have an invisible disease.”
People won’t be forgiving and I won’t ask for forgiveness. Instead, I will do the best I can to contain this aspect of The Beast and avoid doing harm with my words. I will forgive those who do not or will not understand, but I know I cannot trust them.
Will this last more than a day or two? Will despair follow? I don’t know. I have taken a Xanax to bring my mood into a gentler place, separated myself from my computer for short intervals, made a plan to take a walk tomorrow and on Sunday. Lynn is taking me to the support group tonight. I have made myself walk away from Internet quarrels. I have taken notes for a video about mixed states. My head is low to the ground and I am moving slowly in all things.
This episode reminds me that I am my illness in the sense that my illness expresses itself as me. Yet I am also many other things: I don’t define myself as this one aspect.