Ordinary or Manic?

One thing that I have been finding hard to is adapt to living a baseline aka "Normal" or "Ordinary" life.  A fellow bipolar friend and recently discussed how boring we are when not manic and how our meds enable us to function on a daily basis but, in exchange, remove the spices of life that brings excitement. These include the obvious things like thrilling intimate moments, surges of creativity, and simply seeing the world in more vibrant color.  We feel like our personalities become sapped when we are stable and that we take less risks that might otherwise open us up to potentially positive opportunities.

For me, though, the hardest part is thinking back to all the amazing experiences that I've had because of hypomanic or manic thinking.  It makes me go "Wow, I can't believe I did that crazy thing that others would have loved to do" or "Man, I really accomplished things back then".  Now, I dress conservatively or in sweats, I don't party dance in public, I rarely shop for myself, I obsess over how to control my public Internet persona, I try to watch what I eat, and I drive myself to finish my to-do list everyday.  Some might say that I'm just "growing up" but quite honestly?  I really do want to dress up in my Goth gear or questionable outfits, go to a club and let loose, buy that cool thing for myself, post a less than prim picture, eat that greasy pizza, and forget about whether I'm attending the right function or networking with the right person.  And I only seemed to be able to do that while slightly out of my mind.

I'll end this post by reminiscing about one of my favorite out-of-mind memories: it was a Friday night in LA where I was living in a ramshackle house near South Central.  None of my friends were available to hang out so I cooked some instant ramen and drank a mix of 7-Up and questionable rum found in the pantry.  It didn't take long before I got tipsy and started IMing with a random stranger my age I met on Craigslist.  After some time, I found myself lying on back, staring at the ceiling fan, feeling euphoric.  It's not a particularly exciting nor reckless situation, but my anxiety levels and intolerance to alcohol not to mention my recent newfound responsibilities would totally prevent from me doing that again.

Oh well.