i was talking to a friend last night, describing in detail my worst / most memorable manic episode. it was nice to get it off my chest! so why not start a mania discussion?
what was your worst/ most memorable manic episode? what were the consequenses, etc...

(i'll list mine in a separate post)

about two years ago, and a few days before new years i said goodbye to my boyfriend. he was leaving for Iraq. that was hard. i was already depressed and it just made it all that much worse.... a few days later i went out with my friend to a new years eve party at the house of one of our buds. at the party i was having a good time but then suddenly i snapped! i can't even remember the exact order everything happened, but i became violent. i was starting fight with a lot of guys at the party, and making threats to my own life. i put my fist through a car window, and i even got a knife out of my friends kitchen in front of about 100 people. i took it to the bathroom to slit my wrists, and they had to force their way in to get me out. i ran down the street and one of the guys ran after me. he picked me up and tried to carry me back to the house but he dropped my onto the cement. chipped my front tooth. that really pissed me off cuz i really care about my looks so i kicked his ***. and i ran back to the house. they called the cops but my little brother was there and he took me home. a little while later the police showed up at my house and 5150'd me. i was put in a psych hospital for a couple days. they even had me share a room with another bipolar chick who told me all about lithium
i didnt know i was manic at the time. i was in denial for the longest time, and looking back on this now, i can see how that was the worst manic episode so far. i have been bottling this up, i didnt want to even remember what happened that new years eve cuz i didnt know how to understand it, and i didnt want to believe i was losing it.
i always think twice now befor going to a party or going out on new years. i havent been to a party since.

[Rebound]

I guess my worst would be back, oh about 20 years or so ago now, when I was out with some people. They sort of went off together. Jealous and with no where to go, I just went wandering around town ranting at the world. I found myself outside a church (I was raised catholic but don't practice it at all). I was ranting, crying by this time, trying to get in, hoping to find someone inside to help me but the doors were locked.

I went around to the rectory, but despite trying to break in (without doing any damage to the place) and making all kinds of noise, climbing the on top of the porch railing to see if i could get onto the roof and trying all the windows, no one showed up to find out what was going on... I felt alone in the world (it was about 3 am and the streets were empty. So there I was, bawling and yelling, but I guess even at that it wasn't too bad because I eventually ran out of steam and just went home. I've been pretty lucky that's about the worst I have to relate I guess. Although I did put my fist thru an interior door in an apartment I lived in once.

It's strange, but there have been many times recently where i would have liked to totally destroy everything in my apartment but somehow I just don't. The feeling is so strong I am shaking, but I just sit here, repressing it. I don't know if that's good or bad, but apparently, things could be a lot worse.

[sqrlb8]

Before I knew I was bipolar, I'd been depressed many times, but never anything like manic. Following the violent death of a close friend right in front of me, I started sleeping less and less. Pretty soon, I was going outside and building a fire at night instead of sleeping at all. I couldn't bear the idea of tuning out my own thoughts in exchange for sleep which I was becoming increasingly suspicious of as a human need. I was married at the time, and my new behavior raised all the alarms you would expect, but I was deaf to them all.

I was soon living on the beach in a tent in Oregon, stealing food by day and building fires by night. After about 8 months of not sleeping except for a nap here and there, I found myself alone and destitute on the beach in Puerto Rico. I broke down so completely I could only cry and pass out, cry and pass out. I cried for two weeks straight, and wasted to a skeletal emaciation.

I try to be real careful about sleeping now.