My official insurance form diagnosis is cyclothymia, which is defined as "less severe hypomanic and mini-depressive periods follow[ing] an irregular course, with each period lasting a few days," or put another way, junior manic depression. It's a shifting balance between anxiety and depression. I've never seen an extensive exploration of cyclothymia, so I couldn't say for sure if that's really what's going on, but the vague yet noticeable alternation between periods of excitation (not necessarily happiness) and lethargy (not necessarily sadness) sounds about right. Manic depression, or more properly, bipolar disorder, is often superficially understood as an alternation between extreme happiness and sadness, but that's not quite right. Mania is not much like happiness.

I actually tend to suffer more as a result of my hypomanic periods than of my depressive periods. In fact, my hypomanic periods will often directly cause my depressive periods. I'm generally a quiet person, so I feel more comfortable playing the depressive role than I do playing the manic role. When I'm up, I tend toward megalomania, arrogance, and smugness. On the good days during those periods, I'm convinced that I'm being witty and ironic. On the bad days, I suspect that I'm being obnoxious, but I can't quite stop myself. In either case, I quickly become uncomfortable with the way I find myself behaving. I go from uneasy to embarrassed to (in the worst cases) ashamed. Before I know it, I'm depressed. The "Circe" section of Ulysses is the best portrayal I've seen of how a mood, following its own logic and inertia, can lead itself back and forth between high and low. Even if you find the rest of Ulysses pointless or impenetrable, I highly recommend that section.

For a more immediate and minor illustration of this dynamic, you need look no further than a couple of days back in this very Weblog. It began with a sense of progress and insight in my therapy, which I shared for the purposes of discussion. I felt faintly triumphant. Several people joined the conversation with the best of intentions, and I thought I'd respond with my superior wit and intellect. That evening, my wife suggested that perhaps I hadn't succeeded quite as grandly in that endeavor as I thought I had. She was right, and my vivacity began to deflate. I apologized sheepishly and felt like an ass. I haven't succumbed to the temptation to delete that entry and the accompanying discussion, but seeing it here on the front page is embarrassing. And there we have one full cycle.