Today is payday. Payday frightens me. It is the day when the most money ever goes into my account, only to shoot straight back out again within minutes.
When I was hypomanic I used to fritter my money away on all manner of useless things; I once bought two umbrellas in one go. At university, I spent about 1/2 of my loan on £50 face creams and jeans that I only wore once. When I left and got a job I thought it just meant that I had more to spend. My bank account and credit limit(s) were never-ending fountains of cash, gushing forth pounds to feed my insatiable hunger for ITEMS. I had at least 4 wardrobe's worth of clothes. I also had 40 handbags. And about 30 pairs of shoes. Products were my smack and I gobbled them like Ms Pacman, blissfully unaware of the creepy debt ghosts waiting to ambush me as I rounded a corner.
One day I tried to take money out to pay for a prescription and the magic money machine ate my card. I staggered home and worked out that I was at least £18,000 in debt. Mentally stable, but deeply, heavily and scarily in debt.
So now payday for me is bitter-sweet. After paying my rent and my monthly transfer into my debt management plan I am left with very little to play with. If I feel anything remotely approaching crazy I have to lock myself indoors, or dole myself a tenner and go to Primark. And my face creams only cost £3 nowadays.