A trip fueled by mania
When I have to explain mania to someone new, I often talk about a trip I took to Japan. It encompasses many aspects of mania. I went alone, impulsively booking the flight and expensive hotels. Out of the blue, I booked a flight to Japan and planned to travel alone. The idea occurred to me one evening, and my mind became abuzz with the idea. I had to do it. There were voices in my head urging me to, and I couldn’t resist them. I booked expensive hotel rooms, including a suite on the 35th floor. I remember excitedly squealing at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Shinjuku Cho Park. There were pops of cherry blossoms on the trees. Surrounding on all sides were skyscrapers and to the right, Mount Fuji could be seen from the distance.
Everything went on the credit card. I ate out at restaurants every night, went out drinking, and enjoyed trips. I bought expensive presents for my family and friends. By the time I was home, I’d racked up £4000 of debt on my credit card.
Walking around Shinjuku, a district of Tokyo, at night. The lights in this district were bright and vivid, brimming with images and pictures accosting the senses in every direction. People bustled about, swarming at the entrances of the subway, shopping malls and skyscrapers. All of this is a reflection of the mania in my mind. I can’t get enough of the energy the city is expelling; I feed off it. I stay out until the early hours of the morning, roaming the area looking for interesting bars to drink in and people to meet. I party with complete strangers through the night, not thinking about the consequences of my actions.
I play-act, pretending to be someone different each day. One day I would be the average tourist, going on scheduled trips to Kyoto, Mount Fuji and the surrounding countryside. The next day, I was the fangirl, head to toe in cute kawaii-style clothing, heading for the Ghibli museum, then back to my hotel full of treats from the animation studio. The nights I would spend looking for somewhere fun and would end up singing my heart out in karaoke bars. I always found people to talk to, my manic self giving me an ease of conversation I would have otherwise lacked. I invited men from these bars back to my hotel room. I was in a relationship at the time. My partner was back in England, but I knew what I wanted to happen. My judgement was clouded. My mind wasn’t weighing up the positives and negatives as it should have been. My conscience didn’t have a glaring neon sign in capital letters saying NO!
One night, before sundown, I bought a bottle of Yamazaki whiskey and drank the entirety of it as I watched the sunset from my hotel room. At the time, I heard voices and spoke to them as I drank. They were loud and intruding, but I didn’t mind.
When I returned, I decided to move out and rent my own flat. I was still manic and didn’t think of the consequences of this decision. I was already struggling with debt after my Japan trip. I couldn’t really afford the rent, needing a guarantor to say they could help me out if I needed it, but I didn’t care; somehow, I had the bravado and confidence to convince my family and the estate agent that I did.
It was the coldest winter I’d ever experienced, and I could barely cover the rent. I was spending between 5 and 6 pounds a week on food. I lived off the bare essentials of bread, milk and spaghetti hoops. Many evenings, I just didn’t bother to eat. I would sit in a t-shirt, jumper and dress-ing gown under the duvet to keep warm, or listen to music and dance around the flat. I often ran out of gas for heat. The whole place was damp. When my boyfriend would come over, I’d refuse his money to pay the heating bill even though I was living in freezing temperatures.
Mania can make us feel invincible, and I think that sums up how I felt on my trip and when I returned home. Although I don’t regret the experience, I regret many of the decisions I made on the trip. Travelling alone, manic, is not something I’d advise, and hopefully something I won’t do again.