I’m getting better at reading my mood and recognizing signs of hypomania, but I still have a ways to go.
Thank God I have several good friends in my life who love me enough to tell me they think I’m headed toward danger.
Last week one such friend pointed out some clues to hypomanic behavior:
* Inappropriate humor. I accused a perky woman with whom I might have been a tad competitive of being manic-depressive.
* Plans to come to New York to interview 10 to 15 people (in a quick trip) like my videos of my guardian angel, Ann, and her husband, Dick.
* Forgetting about conversations and e-mails (two instances to be exact).
* Lots of exclamation points in my e-mails
So I asked Eric. He pondered this as he opened the fridge to get out the olives, and saw the three large containers of parmesan cheese (did you have a certain recipe in mind?), four packages of raviolis, and five pounds of broccoli.
“I’d have to say yes,” he said, “unless there’s a lot of company coming over that I don’t know about.”

Then some other clues came back to me:
* E-mailing my agent everything I was eating for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, because I thought she would find that interesting … what you can still eat after reading the book “Skinny Bitch.”
* The idea for a radio show I pitched two weeks ago.
* Misplacing car keys and cell phones.
* Irritability with my dogs when they walk in front of me, less patience with my kids, and a shorter temper in general. Less padding with my mood—so that I’m a emotional yoyo depending on the day’s events.
So here I am again, trying to do my best to quiet myself down, and turn my body the opposite way it wants to go, like Doc told Lightening McQueen in “Cars” (“turn left to go right”), waiting to hear from my doctor if she wants to change adjust my meds, doing my best to find the calm center in my interior castle, actually a four-story apartment, and eliminating caffeine (or at least cutting down) and all stimulants (that includes certain people, places, and things, as well). I’m trying become the laid-back and grounded person that I am so not.

I called up my friend Michelle today to get her insight and to figure out what to do. She’s been with me through enough cycles that she can provide the much-needed context to the problem. Moreover, she can help me see the big picture, which I am unable to do at times when I’m in the midst of the storm.
She asked me some good questions: Is this behavior normal, or do you think these are signs of CM: creeping mania?
I liked that. Creeping mania. Because it is sneaky and creepy, and manipulative, this mania. All I know is that I feel good and productive. Which is why it is so damn difficult for a manic-depressive to identify her manias.
“I hate this illness,” I said to her. “Whenever I feel good, I have to worry if I’m hypomanic. I can’t even enjoy the good days.”
“I know,” she said, “I know. But it gets easier. Over time.”
Because I know this woman doesn’t lie, and because I know that she hasn’t experienced any severe episodes in years, I can believe her.