some days, i feel like my life is so great, that i feel sorry for people who are not in my life or joining me in it.
when i listen to “gleeful” songs like this and have my soul dance to it, i worry that something must be “up”. this little bit of happiness might soon escalate to feelings of grandiosity, little need for sleep, eventually starting out new projects, picking up new books, maybe doing something different with my looks, and overall feeling like the best person who ever lived.
also being dangerous and liking it.
back in college, i used to have a different hair color / hair cut every month. i've tried all the hairstyles i possibly could. done long dark hair with a fringe, short blonde pixie cut, everything in between. i bleached and dyed my hair. i killed it.
now, i'm growing it out and making it free from any sort of permanent damage.
anyway. the best feeling in the world is walking down the streets feeling like a victoria's secret model, even if i wasn't skinny, even if i didn't have lingerie. even if i was 125 pounds. and i felt that way because i was just...feeling pretty.
no bastard kids to worry about, no potentially high conflict baby mama, no surfing progress to catch up on, no stressing over dick....just me feeling like a queen.
some days, i feel like my life is so great, that i feel sorry for people who are not in my life or joining me in it...they're missing on so much awesomeness...i know, it's borderline delusional, but can't we just be happy about being happy?
no — hypomania is hypomania. it feels great, yes, but not until you crash after doing something really bad.
my hypomania is usually manifested by hypersexuality and thrill-seeking. bouts of creativity is a by-product too.
when i was diagnosed the first time, i was finishing my bachelor's thesis, i started smoking marijuana (a tinder date introduced me to it), hooking up with a married man (the same guy i met from tinder), and freaking out over how much i wanted to get something that i couldn't.
here's another story that i wrote featuring, and during, one of my exploits. basically, i hooked up and did some risky sex and produced literature about it. heck, i once even thought about writing a book all about my hookups. but nah.
i got this instead.
later on, i would cut myself and saying over and over, “you're useless, you're useless, you're useless...” because my fuck buddy didn't love me back.
i hope i can just be hypomanic and do actually good things like cleaning the house...but no...most of my hypomania involves “i wanna ruin my life and rejoice in the chaos”
for now i guess i'll try to put all the energy towards self-improvement, art, and all that good shit.
basically, don't go outside and meet people. stick to the action steps for better mental health.