It's almost comical, really.
It happens so fast and you thought you were doing fine.
Ok, maybe not so fine, you've felt hyperactive and aggressive all week, but stable for the most part.
Not like this not like now. This isn't stable. This is insanity. This is pain and joy and sorrow and relief and anger and heartache and weightless apathy. This is manic.
You thought you were doing fine.
What went wrong?
It was 2:00 pm and you were at the store buying mangoes and almonds, you were fine.
It was 3:47 pm and you were making a heart shaped card out of posterboard, you were fine.
It was 6:04 pm and you were driving to your best friend's house, you were fine.
It is 8:32 pm and you are with your best friend and some strangers you've never met before, slowly noticing every muscle in your body lax as every nerve in your body unravels.
It is God-knows-when pm and you're not fine. You're cognitively aware of how you must appear to the strangers you've just befriended, but you can't stop chattering that rapid, slurred speech that you hate so very much. Your best friend knows what's happening to you, in you. You both know. In fact, everyone knows; you told them.You have no impulse control, you say anything and everything that flies through your head, you babble and go on and on and on until you hate the sound of your voice and so you scream until your lungs ache and you're filled with a raucous satisfaction. You want to drive. You're in your car and pressing the gas pedal harder and harder and there are strangers in your backseat, you hear one of them squeal as you slam the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the edge of the cliff. You laugh wildly. Everything is fine. I mean, hell, if you didn't kill yourself all those times ago then nothing can, right? You’re invincible.
It is 12:04 am, someone just told you so. Your best friend just told you so. Your best friend. You love her so much. You tell her. She says she knows. She says to stop spinning and drink some water. She says you can’t drive anymore, not until you’re stable. You hear someone cough behind you. The stranger is throwing up. You scared them pretty bad. You apologize. You truly are sorry. You don’t know why anyone would let you drive when you’re manic, it's extremely dangerous. They say they tried to stop you and you laugh. Not hard enough. Your best friend smirks. Some sick part of her enjoys this. Just like some sick part of you does too.
It is 2:06 am and you are on an outcrop over the river and you are sobbing onto your best friend’s shoulder. She numbly pats your head in a weak attempt at consolation, she's tired now, drained, just like you. This is a strange regular for the two of you. You'll have a manic episode and she's there next to you, ensuring that if you die, you won't die alone.The stranger wraps their arm around you in a timid yet kind hug. They tell you that it's okay, they're nuts too. You choke out a weak laugh. You want to go home. Well, not home, your family is asleep by now and it would be hard to explain to them why there are twigs in your hair or why your legs are all scratched up or why you've got a bruise on your cheek- it's hard to explain them to yourself. The night's events are distant, blurred, like visions from an awful dream.
It is 2:57 am and you are on your best friend's couch eating cold pizza and rootbeer. She stares blankly at the wall, considering all the times you two almost died tonight. She laughs and tells you that you're batshit. You both laugh.
It's almost comical, really.
One moment you were fine, the next you were manic, and now it is just past 3:00 am and your mind is numbing itself back to stability as you drift off to sleep with cold pizza still in your hand.
