Oh, dear Lord, do I ever love my 'highs'! I long for them when I'm down, and I crave them when I'm stable. I'm glad I have company, even though I wouldn't want anyone to be self-destructive like I am when I soar too high.

I'm doing really well right now, my mood is as even as it ever gets, and yet.......there's an absence of "wow". And the "wow" is what I miss when I'm normal, to the point where I actually asked my pdoc recently if he'd increase my tiny dose of Celexa to deal with the depression that had set in just after Thanksgiving. He just looked at me and said "I know what you want, and the answer is NO!!"

He wasn't being mean, in fact I know jolly well he was only looking out for my best interests (he is an awesome doctor) and he said it in a humorous tone of voice. But he meant it, because he does know how addicted I am to my hypomania; and as much as I love it, it's not good for me because it tends to turn on me. The euphoria and high energy eventually turns into irritability, anger, and continued high energy, which is the Trifecta of Doom for me. Believe me, you do not want to be around me when I fail to abort a hypomanic episode before the ugly side shows up......my family almost threw me out of the house last summer because I was so horrible to live with.

What gets me is, most of us BPers are intelligent, creative people; so why in the name of all that is reasonable are we so enamored of a state of being that we know does bad things to us?