Something flipped the switch to turn on hypomania. I find myself singing, sweeping, dusting, and clapping. Just minutes before I was curled in my comfy chair with the doldrums, a sense of malaise wrapped around me like a blanket. Now I am clapping and singing “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers. Over and over “Mississippi moon won’t you keep on shining on me…”

My husband joins in and sings with me, telling me how much he loves that song. The clapping like an excited child is the give away, though, and as thrilled as he is to see me happy, my husband says I am manic. I am hypomanic, I reply, and I go back to singing.

I observe myself and make mental notes. The analyzing slows me down a bit and I can sit still in my chair for a while. I get up to pace and do a few lunges across the kitchen floor. This is what it’s like to be happy. I realize now that I haven’t been happy for a few months, perhaps even mildly depressed. Definitely anxious. Anxiety has been my constant companion, but I feel relief from it in this moment. While I know I have to watch for an escalation in my behaviors, it feels so good to feel good.

I tried to go to sleep, I really did. I waited for sleep to overtake me, but my limbs had other plans. I thrust my arms into the air and bent my hands at the wrists, conducting music only I can hear. I am awake way past my bedtime, and lack of sleep will only exacerbate the hypomania. I feel strung out, but hopeful that once I climb into bed, this time I will fall asleep. Sweet dreams to all!