We Had Sex When I Was Manic — And It Basically Saved Our Marriage

I've been with my husbandr for seven years and we've always had a great sexual connection and relationship. Even so, I never foresaw that my nervous breakdown (and the consequent highs and lows of it) would actually improve our sex life ten-fold.

My nervous breakdown was caused by a culmination of factors: stress, poor medical advice, lack of early intervention, and dodgy genetics.

It caused psychosis and I experienced bouts of mania, which resulted in high energy levels, an elevated mood, inappropriate and risky behavior — like spending sprees and speeding while driving — as well as creativity and mystical experiences — like writing all night and believing I was a "chosen one."

Pre-breakdown, I'd been a fairly conservative, almost shy woman when it came to sex. I was a lights off, under-the-covers type of girl.

Our marriage, like our sex life, seemed great. But in hindsight, it was pretty vanilla. We seldom fought and there was nothing "edgy" or overly-exciting about our intimacy. 

So, even though I was clinically unwell at the time, it was during one of my manic episodes that I finally embraced my sexuality.

My senses worked overtime. Smell, sound, and in particular, touch, felt like never before. The sky was bluer, the rain was damper, and the sex was, well, hotter. 

Drunk sex is one thing; it helps loosen inhibitions no doubt, but it can also make sex awkward (and kind of unattractive) as a person fumbles around with their less-than-refined motor skills.

Manic sex was way different. If I could liken it to anything, it would like getting it on while taking a perfect combination of speed and ecstasy.

In my most manic states, I was without a filter and there were no societal constraints or limitations.

I also became a leader in the bedroom. On occasion, when I was busily running around the house, I would yell from one room to the next, "Hey, let's f*ck on the bathroom floor."

I could be who I wanted to be in my deepest fantasies. I vividly recall one heated afternoon, where I licked my partner from head to toe while purring like a minx cat on heat. 

I let my guard down and embraced a new sexual prowess. My new "lover" (read: husband) may as well have been Brad Pitt; that's how attracted I felt to him. As for me, move over Angelina, because in my manic state I felt like the the hottest thing on two (wide open) legs. 

The excitement was like taking ecstasy during a fierce electrical storm, only more fun, because I knew I was safe with a husband who loved me. When we were intimate, my skin literally tingled under the touch of his rough hands.

His man smell was an aphrodisiac, especially when he was hot and sweaty. The sounds he made (in particular, that "oooaaarrrrggghhh" sound) sent sexual electrical shivers down my spine. 

The sexual experience was so good I actually felt guilty that not everyone gets to experience these types of sensations in their lifetime.

Like all manic-depressives, there were dark periods of depression, too, thankfully short-lived. I wanted to stay in bed and sleep all day and felt like an emotional wreck.

In these instances, our relationship reformed to a nurturing role ... and so did our sex life. He played the role of "comforter" and I was happy to succumb (pun intended) to this. 

The legacy that manic sex left on our relationship is a lasting one. I'm no longer passive in the bedroom and my feverish excitement is still roused under his touch. I appreciate intimacy more deeply.

I'm no longer a lights-off and under-the-covers type. I'm open to experimenting things like toys, dress-up and role-playing. 

I'm a firm believer that a good, physical relationship makes for a much healthier, emotional relationship. And thanks to my nervous breakdown (words I never thought I'd say), ours appears to have reaped the benefits.