My psychiatrist’s goal of pulling me out of a seemingly endless bout of mania was achieved about two weeks ago. Far from turning out to be grateful for this feat, I have gradually found myself pretty much disappointed in what remained of my life after the manic glow had dissipated.
My delusion of being recognized for my writing, something I believed in wholeheartedly because it seemed so tangible when I lived under the manic spell, turned out to be less evident once the bubble burst. The audience I thought I was writing for is smaller than I thought when manic. My judgement of my creative skill today is much more critical than it was under the haze of a manic sun.
These facts caused me great anxiety as I tried to reenter “real” life. I hated admitting that it wasn’t the exciting, passionate and mostly positive life I had believed…
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