This is Mania.

I know my medicine is working because I am in a full manic swing but I am still making responsible decisions. I was manic this time last year just a month or two before I got treatment, and made some really reckless financial decisions. I made sure rent was covered, and my bills, but I spent $2000 over the course of a month and a half, the money being my tax return, and most of two paychecks. I have Robbie and Avery on bodies finally as a result, and two minis, Shen, and Amelia to show for it, but at what cost?

That money could have been set aside towards my chest surgery. It could have gone towards any number of things. And I was incapable of being swayed. My lovely boyfriend asked me if this was for sure what I wanted. My best friend asked me if I was sure I could afford to do this. I laughed at their concern, because I felt confident, invincible. Of course I could do this. Of course there was nothing wrong with these choices. They would see when I got my dolls, how happy they made me.

Except they didn't make me happy. I mean yes I was THRILLED to have my SD boys put together proper, and I was very happy with Amelia, because I've been wanting and MSD girl to dress and play with, but the Enn boy I bought wasn't EXACTLY what I expected, and that put me off him. I haven't touched Amelia since I dressed her and set a little one in her lap. I played with the Enn briefly as Finn (From Adventure Time) and then decided that was all wrong and re-shelled him Shen, as an OLD character from a comic I was drawing back in 2003.

This year I plan to use my tax return, and a portion of my medical flex spending account to pay for my chest surgery if I can. I won't know how much money I need until after my first consult, which is in a week, but if the out of pocket is under $3000, I should be able to manage it. I'm hoping insurance will cover a large portion due to the size and my 16+ years of back pain, which is well documented with the doctors I've seen.

I'm terrified of the actual consult, because I know I will need to take off my shirt and binder and show the surgeon exactly what he would be working with, and I hate taking them off even to shower, let alone to show someone. I hate my chest. I've hated it since the damned things sprouted up overnight when I was about 14, and kept growing and growing and growing. I was furious. Boys don't have boobs. And while I couldn't articulate how and why I knew I was a boy despite my wrappings then, I can now.

I should specify the medicine doesn't stop the urges to spend, or do reckless things. It just makes it possible to THINK about what I'm doing, and the long and short term consequences of my actions. I still go "OOOOH I COULD BUY ALL THE LEGOS!!" but then I think about it, and go "Nope, need to pay rent, phone bill, storage bill, etc" and I make the right choice.

I also get bad urges, including self harm, and vivid imagery that seems to want to encourage those urges. This is in combination with paranoia, racing thoughts, inability to focus. And this is ON my meds. Mania sucks. Artistically it's wonderful, you can do so much, and you don't need to sleep, and there is nothing that can stop you from creating that perfect thing.

Except for when you crash. There's also the re-arranging the furniture at 3am because you've been up for 3 days and you need to do SOMETHING. When I lived with my Dad I would go on frantic cleaning sprees. I'd start in my room, and then try to quietly bag up all of his hoarded garbage while he was asleep, and then I'd sneak past his room and out to the dumpster, making several trips sometimes.

I also used to just leave. I'd walk to the nearby park, and if I still felt antsy, I'd walk farther to the Junior Highschool I attended, and sit on top of the jungle gym at the nearby Elementary school. Sometimes the police would cruise by, and I'd have to move on. I might walk home. I might stop in the neighborhood Mom lived in, and just stare at the apartment complex at night. Stars in my eyes it looked so strange, dark, mysterious, dangerous. I didn't dwell there often. Sometimes I would go to a house where I knew people who were awake, and I'd hang out for a couple of hours. I felt safe there until I didn't and then I might go home. One night I just sat on the sidewalk under a streetlamp, less than a block from Dad's apartment and just stared into the darkness, across seven empty lanes. A car stopped and the driver asked me if I was okay. I told him I was fine, and kept staring.

Those memories feel so distant, but I was doing just what I wanted. I have no impulse control. I never have. I didn't steal, and I wouldn't lie if Dad asked where I'd been. But he rarely asked. Most of the time he didn't seem to notice I'd been gone. I wonder if he even knew what I did when I was Manic then. He only seemed concerned when I was on the other end. Sleeping 12-16 hours at a go. Refusing social interaction. Ignoring everything but TV and videogames. I had the occasion phone call but this was before I ever had a cell phone. Most of those calls came later, at odd hours from Japan, from my friend David. He was usually drunk. I didn't ignore those calls though because I felt I owed him. We had dated briefly, but I wasn't really into it, so I broke it off, and apparently he had deep feelings that he only told me about years later. I just felt bad that he seemed abandoned by his friends, and I wasn't going to be another name on that list.

I can tell that I'm manic now because I WANT to buy $3000 worth of Legos, but I won't. I want to buy more BJDs, but I won't this year. This is the year I get my life sorted. I will not be making irresponsible financial decisions, because I finally admitted that I had a problem, and was re-diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. My meds may shift, but they work. I'm still me, but I'm capable of doing the right thing, consistently now. At least, that's what I'm aiming for.