Flirting With Mania: A Dangerous Pastime
Personal Perspective: Manic symptoms can mimic a really great mood.
Updated August 1, 2025 | Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer Ph.D.
I woke up on the sharp edge of exhilaration. I knew, from decades of personal experience with bipolar disorder , what this might mean: mania could be on the horizon. Then again, I might just be in a really good mood. Bipolar people get those, too—we’re not always symptomatic.
But vigilance over my mood is essential, even when it turns out to be unnecessary. I’ve had too many full-blown manic episodes , where my ambition soared while my judgment leapt out the window. Too happy today has too often led to terrible trouble tomorrow. It may be difficult for others without this condition to understand, but precaution—even, or maybe especially, against pleasure—is a bipolar responsibility.
With this in mind, I decided to enjoy the good feeling while it lasted, with an eye out for classic manic symptoms, such as racing thoughts, pressured speech, decreased need for sleep, lack of appetite , grandiosity, overspending, reckless sexuality , etc. If too many of these were present, I knew I’d have to take steps to safeguard myself, like contacting my doctor and increasing my mood-stabilizing medication . In the meantime, though, a gloriously sunny day beckoned.
Although I’m usually ravenous when I wake up, the prospect of food didn’t enthrall me at all. There were too many other delicious things to ingest besides my same old boring oatmeal. Okay, a possible manic symptom, but why feed my face when I could nourish my soul with exuberant experience? Time was quickly ticking by, and I didn’t want to waste a single moment of this precious—if precarious—mood.
I eagerly surveyed the kingdom of my neighborhood from my kitchen window. My neighbor’s jacaranda tree had burst into bloom seemingly overnight, and the scattering of purple snow it had left on the ground was so lovely and unexpected it nearly moved me to tears. Hmmm, was I maybe feeling too much? Intensity of emotion was another thing to watch out for…
But spring had clearly sprung and the world was calling. My little house didn’t feel big enough to contain me, so I went out to seek what adventure I could in the mundane running of my daily errands.
Grocery shopping at Gelson’s, always a bit of a splurge, felt thrilling—so many choices were laid out before me, like jewels at a raja’s feet. I needed to buy staples, like bread, eggs, and milk, but that was too plebeian a task. Instead, I sought out delicacies: Italian truffled cheese, pomegranate seeds, a jar of juicy pink salmon roe, a tin of pâté de foie gras (or whatever passes for it in America). And a crisp, fresh baguette, because it must be spring in Paris, too.
It was the stuff of a splendid picnic, if only I had any appetite. But my choices looked very fine, all jumbled together in my shopping cart. They were a feast for the senses, and sometimes a little indulgence is necessary. Life is hard; we all deserve some pâté.
I must admit, though, when I got to the checkout counter, the price of my purchases rather shocked me. Did it qualify as overspending? Maybe. But how many people can truly appreciate the sensuality of salmon roe? As if to answer my unspoken question, the Gelson’s cashier complimented me on my taste in food. I smiled—no, I beamed—at him. And then he said something that really disturbed me: “You know, you’ve got great positive energy.”
Yes, it’s L.A. and people say stuff like that, but it troubled me because it was the sort of thing I often hear from others when my mood is on a dangerous upswing. There’s some mojo that I always seem to exude that draws people toward me and moves them to say unusually nice things to my face. Uh-oh.
I decided to do my foolproof manic litmus test in the parking lot elevator. It was a busy morning, the elevator was bound to be crowded, and my car was four flights up. If I could last the whole trip without engaging total strangers in conversation, I was probably fine.
I made it all the way to level two before I felt compelled to compliment the woman standing next to me on her porcelain complexion. “Who, me?” she said. “I was just thinking the same about you. You’re positively glowing.”
When I got home, I didn’t even wait to unpack my pâté. I set my groceries down and dialed my doctor’s number. “It’s Terri,” I said to his answering machine. “I’m glowing. Should I be worried?”
It isn’t fair, but it’s reality. When you’re bipolar, you gotta watch that glow.
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Terri Cheney is the author of Manic: A Memoir and The Dark Side of Innocence: Growing Up Bipolar .
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This article is part of the Bringwise Psychology Journal — daily insights on human behavior, mental health, and personal growth.