I honestly don’t remember when I first knew I was bipolar. I just remember not sleeping. I mean, never sleeping. Not at all. I would go days and days without even nodding off. I had college roommates who would say, “I didn’t sleep a wink last night”, and it would infuriate me because I would enviously watch them sleeping while I wasn’t. And while I wasn’t sleeping, I would be cleaning and re-cleaning and studying and doing laundry and writing letters and cooking and cleaning again and pacing and rearranging and anything that would keep my mind busy while I wasn’t sleeping. And miraculously, I could actually function during the days that followed three or four consecutive sleepless nights. I had boundless energy.
And then I would hit the wall. And my downward spiral would begin.