Sometimes I fear my mania, other times I long for it. I can be full of energy, productive and bright, or paranoid and as sadistic and vengeful as a Greek god. It’s the crash I fear most though, returning to “normal” or worse, depression. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun and having my wings suddenly melt, I fall back down to earth, and either I hit the ground or the earth swallows me whole. The best way for me to describe bipolar in this way, at this time, is that it is like flying with wings made of wax. Only, you never know how high you will fly this time, where you will go or what you will see, and you know you will crash, but never when, where, or how hard. It’s like being a bird with wings that don’t obey, and wind currents you can predict. All you know is the sun is hot, and the ground is hard, and you will hit both, many, many times throughout your life. You just have to learn how to fall, and fall with style.