The glory of hypomania comes at a cost. I always get sick after an episode. I believe when my mind and body run at such a high frequency, it’s only natural that it lowers my immune system and compromises my physical health. Experience has taught me that once the hypomanic cycle is over, I’m prone to pick up an assortment of physical ailments, ranging from UTI infections, sores/thrush in my mouth to my IBS flaring up.
Despite managing my hypomanic episode quite well, keeping a lid on it and tapering off slowly instead of crashing, this destructive cycle has, as usual, eroded away at my immune system. I’ve come down with a cold that has turned into a bout of the flu that’s turned into bronchitis. So here I sit huddled up in bed, knee deep in tissues, swigging cough mixture straight from the bottle. So much for my grand plan of going to the beach today. But I did get out the house – even if it was only to the pharmacy. I’m sure that counts for something.
When I look back on the few days of joy I experienced, I wonder to myself – was it actually worth it? Bipolar plays by it’s own rules in its relentless pursuit to bringing me down, if not mentally/emotionally, then physically as well. It’s number one on my list of things I hate most.