What I Miss About Mania?

One of the most difficult things to admit after experiencing mania is that part of me misses it. When people hear about manic episodes, they often focus on the consequences. They hear about the psychosis, the hospitalisation, the damaged relationships, the financial problems, the impulsive decisions, and the loss of insight. Those consequences are real. I experienced many of them myself during my major manic and psychotic episode in 2023.

Yet there is another side to the story that is rarely discussed. Before my episode, I had likely been experiencing a prolonged period of hypomania for at least nine months. Although I lost two jobs during that time and experienced some brief periods of depression, much of that period was characterised by elevated mood, enormous energy, and an overwhelming sense of possibility.

Then the mood flipped. What followed was one of the darkest periods of my life. I entered a long depression in which I struggled to find meaning or enjoyment in anything. For extended periods, I experienced suicidal thoughts and frequently told people that I no longer wanted to be here. Compared to that darkness, mania seemed like paradise.

I miss the energy. Not ordinary energy, but boundless energy. The kind of energy that makes sleep seem optional. The kind of energy that leaves you constantly moving, creating, planning, and imagining. It feels as though there is an endless reservoir inside you that can never be exhausted.

I miss the confidence. During mania, doubt disappears. Fear disappears. Obstacles that once seemed overwhelming suddenly appear trivial. There is a powerful sense that nothing bad can happen and that somehow everything will work out.

I miss the certainty. Mania creates the feeling that you finally understand everything. Problems that once appeared complicated suddenly seem simple. Connections emerge everywhere. Ideas arrive in rapid succession. It feels as though you possess answers not only for your own life but for the world's problems as well.

I miss the creativity. Ideas seem to flow effortlessly. One insight leads to another. Stories write themselves. Concepts connect into larger patterns. The mind becomes a machine for generating possibilities.

I even miss the physical strength. I remember feeling capable of almost anything. Heavy objects seemed lighter. Long hours seemed shorter. Tasks that would normally require effort appeared effortless. It was as though my body had somehow escaped its usual limitations.

Most of all, I miss the feeling of significance. Mania can make you feel extraordinary. Not simply confident or capable, but uniquely important. At its most extreme, it can create the feeling that you are chosen, enlightened, or even divine. During my episode, there were times when I genuinely felt as though I was touching something far beyond ordinary human experience.

The problem is that the experience comes with a cost. The same confidence becomes grandiosity. The same certainty becomes delusion. The same creativity becomes disorganisation. The same energy becomes exhaustion. The same sense of significance becomes psychosis.

What makes mania so dangerous is that it does not feel like an illness while it is happening. It often feels like the best version of yourself. It feels like becoming more rather than less. It feels like gaining something rather than losing it.

That is why so many people struggle to accept treatment. If mania felt terrible, nobody would want it. The difficulty is that it often feels wonderful right up until the moment it doesn't.

Today, I still miss aspects of mania. I miss the energy. I miss the confidence. I miss the creativity. I miss the sense of limitless possibility. But I do not miss the consequences. I do not miss losing jobs. I do not miss frightening my family. I do not miss psychiatric hospitals. I do not miss the confusion, the psychosis, or the devastating depression that followed.

Recovery has required me to accept a difficult truth: the goal is not to recreate mania. The goal is to build a meaningful life without needing it. That is a slower path. A quieter path. A more ordinary path. But unlike mania, it is real. And reality, however imperfect, is a far safer place to build a future.