Wild.

I love the word wild. I think that started when I was little-ish and watched a movie or show in which a guy sang "Wild Thing" to a girl. I think being wild must be pretty awesome.

As I've grown up, I've embodied the word in many ways. When I was 16 I was wild with creative energy. I wrote wildly whenever I could. I practically ate books. I think this was one of my first rounds of mania though of course I wouldn't get a diagnosis for over a decade. This was a sparkling mania--a great joy and wild belief in my uniqueness and worth, probably grandiosity. I still think of it as one of the best periods of my life.

I was wild at 17 too, but this mania was like metal, shining but dangerous. I made terrible choices. And after that, I went wild trying to escape my life (and probably myself).

I've been wild about water and swimming. My eye makeup is often wild (a sign I'm feeling well or working toward wellness). I've loved people wildly. Sometimes, my teaching was probably wild, with wild expectations. I feel wild when I see a show that stuns me.

Some wildness is good, and I hope I will keep some of it. It's not just the disease; it's also me.