I saw my shrink last week. He asked, as usual, “Are you still maintaining a state of hypomania?” Why, yes, I am, thank you. My shrink believes it’s a good thing for me to maintain a stable hypomanic tranquility, it keeps me happy and productive. And, I am sure he is thinking: out of depression, out of bed with the covers over my head and out of the loony bin.
I read something about the bad side of hypomania (crashing) and was a bit vexed by it, by that particular article and the insistence by my psychotherapist (not my shrink) that hypomania always ends in crashing. I’ve been hypomanic for 5 years and counting with no “danger” of crashing–or going the other way and having a full-blown manic episode–in sight.
I’m pretty tired of this kind of therapeutic bullshit, professional mind readers and such. I know I’ve blogged here about being very much in favor of both meds and talk therapy and I am still, but I don’t want either to rule my life. NO, don’t worry, I’m not going off my meds nor am I quitting psychotherapy altogether, but I am curtailing the amount of time (and money) I spend on it.
Some people, perhaps even my own therapist, will (mis)interpret my wanting to slow down my therapy (which I have participated in, off and on, for 20 years) as acting out or a case of over-confidence or some other BS. Or just plain anger, which can then be interpreted as moving from hypomania to….well, either depression or full-blown mania. I just don’t buy it, not for me. Maybe it’s true for others, but it ain’t for me. That’s why I hate so much the all the standardization of patient, diagnoses, etc. in psychiatry and psychotherapy. Molds and rues are made to be broken. Just as in writing, I often break rules of grammar and style for effect–it’s called poetic license–in psychiatry there must (or should) be some sort of exceptions made for those who do not fit the rules, which I am guessing is quite a lot of us.
Just random musings on an early Monday morning before I have to get ready for the ol’ 9 to 5 and a therapy appointment after work. Nuthin’ serious, just talking…or rather writing…bipolar, poetic license