Polar Opposite

I don't believe that I have ever experienced mania in the true sense of the word. All that I can describe is how it has seemingly presented to me. Aside from the soul crushing/chest explosion/gut wrenching anxiety, it really is quite wonderful. And as far as I'm concerned, Diazepam was invented for a reason.
Whilst being in this hyperactive and buzzy mindset, I managed to achieve more than I would have expected of myself in a month, in just 3 days. No task seemed too big or intimidating, I would take on as many projects that presented themselves, often never completing the previous simply because the desire had faded and my memory let the entire event disappear from existence in my mind.
I constantly felt as though I was on the verge of having 5 brilliant ideas all at the same time. Many never came to fruition, but the excitable energy of inspiration was enough to keep me charged. Some of my brilliant ideas where not actually brilliant at all, but no-one could have possibly convinced me otherwise in that moment - I Facetimed my mum at 11pm to show her how amazing my new shower caddy was. I couldn't understand when she wasn't as excited as me?
Sleep was a burden, in that I couldn't. I tried to maintain good 'sleep hygiene' but would often lay in bed wide awake with a hive of thoughts buzzing in my head. I would have an overwhelming desire to clean the bathroom ceiling at 2am, with the only thing stopping me being the idea of playing right into being crazy. Eating a full meal only slowed me down. I explained to my best friend Yass one day that I didn't need to eat, because I was feeding on pure awesomeness. I honestly believed it at the time.
I rediscovered my love for musical theatre and played Broadway soundtracks back-to-back. I would sing the carefully rehearsed lines at the top of my lungs, anywhere and everywhere - in the car, shower, whilst putting on makeup. I performed the entire Wicked score to my cat wearing only my underwear. 'I'm defying gravity, and you can't pull me down'.
Oh, but didn't they try? It seemed every health professional that I saw was worried about a problem that I couldn't see as existing. In my mind, I have been deeply and darkly depressed for so long, how could a switch in mood such as the one I had experienced be so unwelcome? Sure, some of my social interactions needed some filtering on my behalf, but the person I had become was surely a much better rounded and excitable individual than the melancholy and suicidal version of myself? Apparently I have a 'reputation to maintain', and my safety is imperative. Look, I get it. I just don't understand how safety is more of an issue when I am more elated compared to when I'm legitimately suicidal to start with?
There seems to be a fine line, and wherever it is, I have again crossed it. Getting out of bed requires copious amounts of energy, I find myself listening to any playing music with no desire to sing along despite knowing the words back-to-front. I am in tears all day, sometimes because a house is going to auction on the news and sometimes for no reason at all. I have an eerie awareness of all the weaknesses and voids in my life and a returning little voice in my head that is convincing me that those things will never change. For the first time, I am aware of all the hanging points in my house. What does that mean? It means just that - I am aware.
Charlotte Dawson died a week ago today. In the words of Alex Perry she was 'a beautiful, bright shining girl' who also suffered terrible depression. She took her own life last week, and aside from the devastation of a beautiful life lost, there is the confronting fact that if 'big, tough Charlotte' can lose her battle, then what hope do the rest of us have? RIP darling.