When I was hypomanic (I don't believe it was true mania) I thought for sure that I was the next big thing in art. So, I became hyper-productive in art. I thought I was going to be even more well known than Wyland. Wyland is this marine artist that paints murals on walls all over the world and is worth millions of dollars. I thought I was going to make more than him. Also I bought hundreds of dollars worth of art supplies even though I am just on SSI payments. While there are some people that like my starving art, I starve because it doesn't make any money. I have a failing website with my starve on there and I might get a couple of orders a YEAR. Pathetic. When I was hypomanic I thought I was worth something and worth millions. I was thinking of what kind of mansion I would want and what was going to go into that mansion. I had a beneficial effect of all this it got me into public speaking for the first time. Before that episode, I was absolutely terrified of pubic speaking and the thought of it got me crazy. But because of this episode I joined Toastmasters. I started speaking at autism conferences because I am also autistic. I had this delusion that I thought I was going to also make millions doing public speaking and was going to be the most famous public speaker that is autistic. The real most famous autistic public speaker is Temple Grandin. In real life I never made a penny doing public speaking. The only thing that got me money during it was having a booth for doing the speaking (that was basically my payment) and selling my starving artwork. Then I made a few hundred dollars. When I am "psychotic" (I don't like being called that and every one says I am) I do weird things (I realize they are weird but I AM weird) and start yelling at random things and start being scared for my life and can't be out in the open. Right now I just can't be out in the open and I don't like being near windows. My drapes are closed right now. I move around in patterns outside. I don't want a sniper killing me or a satellite shooting a laser at me. I won't get into the other things here since I am being tracked. I don't mind (don't read it... my mind that is) writing about my hypomania since it was literally the only time I actually feel good about myself and be positive. What does positive mean? I really don't know. it is because I live in the middle of nowhere in the year 1812. Moo. Please God don't shoot!