As my racing thoughts slow down, my rapidly beating heart stabilises and my physical urges to learn to fly (with wings, not in an aeroplane), dress predominantly in bright pink and/or take up salsa dancing in a fluorescent orange flamenco dress dissipate, I realise with much disappointment that my initial diagnosis of Bipolar was, in fact, correct. She did warn me, the Doc, that anti-depressants alone would eventually tip me into a manic episode, but I was determined to try. At least I know for sure now. As I amble out the other side of a manic episode, I note that this has happened to me many times in the past, but this is the first time I actually knew what it was. And I've certainly learnt that yes, knowledge definitely is power, especially when it comes to your own mental health. I knew a while before I actually knew, if I'm completely honest, but at the same time wasn't completely sure. It creeps up on you and all the crazy, uncharacteristic things you begin to do can easily be explained away as 'normal'. Dying my hair pillar box red is where it all began. Then the physical urges to spend money frivolously, drink copious amounts of alcohol, wear bright colours to the office. My libido suddenly sat up very straight and confidentially after a long hibernation and my long lost self-esteem returned with a vengeance. I know now that I was as high as a kite. However, I was also very agitated, easily irritated and my patience had practically disappeared. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat - food never even crossed my mind in fact - and couldn't think of anywhere exciting enough to go that would satiate me other than flying to Rio for Mardis Gras. So it was either hospital or house arrest with my parents - I handed the keys over and calmly explained to my Mother how angry I was at them for doing this. But of course, locking me in was the right thing to do or who knows where, or how, I would be right now. It's a basic human instinct to try and cling onto happiness, or as it was in my case, an elevated mood. I wanted more than anything to chase the high and hang onto it as though my life depended on it - but also deep down I knew it was all beginning to become an unnatural happiness. It wasn't quite right and started to become a bit scary. Paranoia joined the party of emotions and it was then I knew that this was the work of an chemical Imbalance in my brain. It wasn't so fun anymore. But for that brief window in my life I was invincible. I knew all the answers, I had it all sussed, I was on top of the world. But delusions of grandeur will never last and I'm fortunate to have caught it as early as I did. So now, the physical side of my body will be metaphorically jumping for joy and happily wishing Bon voyage to the agitation, irritation, palpitations, hot flushes, inability to sleep or eat or stay still for just a moment - but sadly my mind is wavering on annoyance and frustration, wanting with every shred of being to cling on to that high. But it would only end badly, after all - what goes up, must come down. I'm still there, a bit, amongst the pretty, sparkling clouds of mania, but normality is gradually seeping through and I begin to grieve for my elevated mood.