Surviving Bipolar

During sleep I had a dream I was Muhammad. The feeling was exquisite, like I was made of golden light. My body was perfect, the city was perfect, all relations were perfect. I believed it so much. The sensation and awareness was out of this world. I could hardly believe this person was me until someone said "Ed" to remind me to thank Ed, one of the first people to acknowledge me as Muhammad, and all the others who had supported me. All was golden, all was holy - and yet at the same time all was false, and suddenly the whole intricate fantasy came crashing down and left me forlorn and abandoned, a broken man. This fantasy feels so good that anyone might fall for it, so why does it happen to me? Why do I choose a fantasy over real life? Why do I fall into a fantasy where I am a great prophet? Why can't I live a normal life, with rational dreams and desires? One really important thing, normally or historically, if I have a dream that vivid where I genuinely believe I am the