We hear so much about how destructive (hypo)mania can be, how utterly life-ruining the chaos it brings can be. But there are good times, aren't there? At least sometimes, there are brighter colors, that unmistakable feeling of falling in love, that beautiful rush... I straight up miss it sometimes, and there's no shame in that. I know every side of it, and I've chosen to limit it as much as possible, but I recognize that it's forever touched and changed me.
It takes years for most of us to be diagnosed, and so (hypo)mania becomes just another part of life. It colors our experiences, becomes embedded in our personality. It lifts us up, keeps us wild and crazy and fun. But as we all know, crazy isn't all fun and games. There's the restlessness, the big mistakes... the heaps of regrets that follows. The confusion and shame and sadness. It seems as if the highs are repaid with twice the lows.
But I loved you once (hypo)mania (and twice and thrice), and there is a part of me that will always love you. I'm stable now, my disorder is managed. I take my meds and log my moods. But there will always be a part of me that misses what we had, and who I was when you were in control. The amazing things we achieved together, in work and love and life. You weren't all bad. There will always be a part of me that craves your speed and drive and danger. My friends smile and shake their heads, my therapist calls me euphoric recall. All I know is that I don't regret you, not all the way. But we are better off apart.