Alcohol is my best friend and my worst enemy. It kicks me down when I’m up and it brings me up when I’m down. Not the typical reasoning for your average human.
I go through bursts of mania. It all happens at once and all of a sudden I can’t move as fast as I want to. I’m irritable. I’m impatient. I’m frantic. I know I don’t need to rush but I can’t make it stop. In moments like these, everything snowballs. I apply to one thing which turns into moving to this place which means needing this and getting that. This is my classic scenario of my bipolar life.
And then I introduce alcohol. While I’ve been diagnosed to having an alcohol abuse problem I don’t necessarily define myself as an alcoholic because I go through sober phases where I heavily reject alcohol. But other time when my mind races, I take my other form of medication, a nice bottle of wine.
Wine is the best depressant there is. It doesn’t make me fall asleep like seroquel. I can see and be seen, as I love as a social butterfly. But no therapist and no psychiatrist wants to hear I self medicate with alcohol. I cover it up in a way that explains my actions through my setting. Drinking alone is a different story but I’ve had my fair share of those moments.
Mania is a wild beast to tame and sometime I hit the bottle to knock it out for a bit. I think it’s excusable while I’m young. But I know it’ll catch up to me eventually