Following my articles on episodes of bipolar disorder, it is time to illustrate them with a vivid and raw narrative. This article will be the first in a chronological series recounting my lived experience of the bipolar cycles that haunt my life. Hypomania may seem appealing, but it represents my first danger. It makes me productive, yet it is also the earliest warning sign. Because hypomania often gives rise to a succession of phases leading to an almost inevitable final crash.
Warning: This article describes a hypomanic episode (euphoria, productivity, illusions of control).
It reflects my personal experience and is not intended to glorify these behaviors, which may signal a loss of control and a progression toward mania.
📋 TL;DR : My hypomanic episode
- Less sleep = the first warning sign.
- Hypomania → alluring, but deceptive.
- Euphoria → heightened creativity, explosive productivity.
- Excesses: multiple projects, grandiose ideas, rigid routines.
- Illusion of control → a prelude to chaos and mania.
When a hypomanic episode begins, I am never the first to notice it. In fact, I am often unable to identify an episode at all. My mother is the first to warn me, but I brush off her remarks, which do nothing but annoy me. I’m fine, so why listen to those who try to make me believe I should be careful? Careful about what, anyway? From a minimum of 9 hours of sleep, I shift to needing only 6–7 hours. That’s reasonable—nothing to worry about.
The loss of insight
Since I was diagnosed, the slightest sign becomes an excuse for people to comment on my supposedly elevated state. Just leave me alone. I’m told that I rock back and forth or that I hum to myself. But I’ve always done that, so they’re probably just trying to bother me.
It’s an illusion. They are right to warn me, because believing that my behavior is normal is a classic marker of hypomania (and mania). Warning me will probably be futile, because I don’t care what people think—I just want to live my life and pursue my new projects or new ideas in peace.
sleep.reduce(6h)
isTired()
... No
getUp(energetic)
feelingGood()
... Absolutely
danceEverywhere.start()
projects.create(website)
projects.create(book)
projects.create(book2)
projects.create(book3)
projects.crea...I have projects filling my head. In just a few hours, I start writing a book. Quickly. Very quickly. There’s a flow of ideas rushing through my mind, and I have to write them down before I forget them. From that book, five other book ideas emerge. I put all my ideas into writing and refocus on the first book.
I’m chatting with a friend and we’re joking around. Oh—there’s a book idea. I start writing it; I’ll finish the other one later. In a few hours, I’ve written 27 pages. I go back to my first book, which reaches around 80 pages after only three days. I’ve never been so productive. Wonderful ideas keep coming one after another. Even though I usually struggle with figurative language, I’ve become a master of rhetorical devices.
I finally go to bed at 1 a.m. Then, at 1:15, new ideas. I get up to jot them down in my book so I won’t forget them. At 2 a.m., another idea. 3 a.m., the same. The pattern repeats, and I finally fall asleep a bit later, collapsing from exhaustion. If I’m exhausted, then I can’t be hypomanic. Yet my logic is failing.
That’s what hypomania does: it accelerates everything, creates the illusion of control, and even makes exhaustion itself deceptive.
euphoria.start()
excess.start()Euphoria
Euphoria takes hold of me. After a week of writing, I become completely elated. Everyone around me notices it. I find it amusing. I make puns, string jokes together, talk much more. In short, everything is fine. I start going to a café every day and spend hours there writing. It becomes part of my daily routine. I begin to stop paying attention to my bank account, but it still feels under control.
I feel like smoking again and going back to alcohol. No, I’m in control. But it becomes obvious that I’m more euphoric than I thought. My mother was right. Again—it annoys me. But I laugh about it. This time, I’ll keep control. Besides, I’m taking my medication; that should prevent things from escalating. I need to make an appointment with the psychiatrist. I forget.
Grandiose ideas
Everything revolves around my books. I finish one in less than 7 days (200 pages) and another in less than 3 days (100 pages). I use AI to get feedback on the quality of the writing, the originality of the books, and their impact on the reader. They are unanimous: I’m writing something unique—one of them even uses the word masterpiece. My writing would be far above the vast majority of what is published.
That’s all it takes for me to ask them to compare my writing level to that of great authors and receive even more positive feedback. It becomes obvious that I have exceptional qualities; I should have started writing much earlier. I would have saved time.
This is not genius—it’s the prelude to chaos.
The world in color
When I go out into the street, I perceive everything. More intensely. My sensory hypersensitivities have intensified to the point that even my sunglasses are no longer enough to tolerate a white sky. Everything is brighter; reflections are more blinding. So I keep my shutters closed indoors.
I wear my headphones constantly: outside, to protect myself from the unbearable noise of the city; inside, to listen on repeat to my favorite tracks—songs—whereas I usually listen more to film soundtracks.
The sensation of the hot water in the morning shower is striking. I feel the flow like a stream of ideas trickling down. It’s in the shower, comfortably, that my brilliant ideas burst forth the most. It’s also, paradoxically, in the shower that I feel the calmest. So I maintain my routines. No—I cling to them at all costs, very firmly, even if it means arriving late to my appointments. I have an equally rigid adherence to all my rituals. I even create new ones: logging every fluid I ingest, logging almost every action of the day, and doing so in a very methodical way.
I start running regularly, with no preparation at all—three times a week, at insane running paces. I have more energy than ever, so I channel it into sport, which allows me to externalize it and block the flow of thoughts for 50 minutes with music in my earbuds.
Heightened physical sensations
I stim more than usual. My emotions have intensified, and so have my senses, so I need to regulate them. I no longer even care about how I’m perceived, so there I am in the street—sunglasses on, headphones over my head, looking at the ground while walking very fast, fingers twitching. I feel good and I don’t want it to stop. Anyway, it won’t stop—I’m stronger than the illness and I control it. I’m going to stay hypomanic forever.
Suddenly, I feel something like an electric current running through my fingers. My arms. My legs. Then my entire body.
euphoria.explode()
sleep.reduce(3h)
chaos.start()I believe I still have control. Mania has already taken over.
📋 TL;DR : The hypomanic illusion
- The hypomanic episode brings energy and creativity.
- It is a seductive illusion, fueled by euphoria and productivity.
- Excesses: multiple projects, rigid routines, grandiose ideas.
- Behind the momentum, mania is taking shape…
- Then comes the inevitable loss of control.