Hypomania: The Misunderstood Mood







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Between crippling depression and spikes in your mood, it’s not surprising that hypomania is often misunderstood by family and friends who don’t experience it.



When my mental health is not 100 percent, I’m open about it with family, friends and colleagues who know I have bipolar I. Although I’m offered a lot of support, I’ve noticed that there is stigma attached to hypomania.

Aside from others who have bipolar, only a select few truly understand what it means to be hypomanic or treat me the same as when I’m euthymic (that is, not experiencing a mood shift).

To begin with, normal actions can be perceived as bizarre. Enthusiasm for the things you’re normally passionate about or interested in becomes a symptom of elevated mood.

People take you less seriously. There is the air of, “Oh, she’s just saying/doing that because she’s hypomanic”—that I have a diminished ability to work or that I don’t really mean what I say. Everything is taken as funnier, more outspoken, or more radical than if I said the same things while stable.

Sure, I speak fast, am fidgety, and have mild flights of ideas when I’m hypomanic, but I am still capable of rational thought. I retain insight and judgment. In fact, I do my best work as I form links and grasp concepts immediately, I’m very good at problem-solving because I’m more creative and more confident in my ideas and abilities. I have the energy to complete a larger number of tasks quickly.

People watch you like a hawk. In my case, family are watching for the evolution of hypomania into mania, which I understand. Nonetheless, it’s still annoying—especially since at age 25, I’m well-launched into adulthood. I have found that at times you revert back to a child in the eyes of loved ones, particularly if they have had to care for you in the past when unwell.

There is also a certain amount of blaming. I feel that people think it’s my fault I’m elevated because hypomania is my favorite mood state. People see that depression is not enjoyable (to say the least), so they assume you’re doing everything you can to fight it. Because hypomania is enjoyable, they’re skeptical when you tell them you’re trying to manage it.

No part of bipolar management is easy, but hypomania is different. Part of you is aware of the consequences of mania, so you want to prevent it. The other part is having so much fun you want it to continue. You’re not only fighting your illness, but also yourself.

I certainly don’t do anything to induce hypomania, and I work very hard to manage the elevated mood state. I have learned strategies to restrain myself and to appear less elevated.

Most of the time, I think through impulsive thoughts before acting on them (an incredibly hard feat).

Before engaging in conversation, I take a deep breath and remind myself to slow down (much like calming yourself before delivering a speech).

I forcefully stop myself from excessive socializing that may come across as odd.

I write notes to keep track of scattered thoughts.

If I’m sitting down working, I set an alarm every hour to do a body check to reduce fidgeting. I also go for a quick walk after every hour of work as a reward. This helps keep me focused. Otherwise, some days I’d be bouncing off the walls.



Importantly, I can do these things because I am hypomanic, not manic, so I still have insight and some level of control—but believe me, it’s challenging.

Correcting the misunderstandings most people have about bipolar is a motivating factor to prove I am not always bed-bound with depression or incoherent with mania when unwell. Instead, I am fighting a hidden and mostly successful battle to continue functioning at my normal level.



Printed as “Hypomania: The Misunderstood Mood”, Spring 2016