“Grandiosity.” That’s the word that convinced me I actually had bipolar disorder. The sleep disruptions, increased energy, racing thoughts and flight of ideas — not to mention the recurring depressive episodes — all these other textbook symptoms somehow left me doubting.
But the grandiosity is what got me. When I think of grandiosity, I look back on my very first hypomanic episode: I was studying music in college… though in retrospect “studying” is too strong a word.
I barely ever went to class or rehearsal, failed many subjects, completely hung my duet and trio partners out to dry, and scored shamefully low at competitions.
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