cocaine. cocaine. cocaine. cocaine.
it’s great, it’s like i’m super high on cocaine or speed, except it’s free, and i don’t have to shovel white powders up my nose. it kinda sucks when it happens in the middle of the day and all i’m trying to do is get things done so that i can have money so that i can continue to leave the all star gutteratti lifestyle that i ascribe to. but, no, instead, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, birthed from a long week of running around and doing things, and now, after sitting on ac transit for 2 aggravating yet hip hop filled hours, here i am, at home, sitting in my room, and, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, there are so many things i’m thinking that it’s almost stultifying. as i sit on my computer and i’m laundry listing all the things i need to do, calibrating how much time it will take, when will i have free time, is there time for me to sit down and watch xfiles while twitter beefing with people i don’t really know or should i sit down and hem that ever growing stack of maxi dresses into ill fitting ass revealing micro mini slut wear? gotta pay the bills, i should call my mom, holy shit, i just remembered so many friends i haven’t seen in so long, i should call them. i want to get drunk. i DEFINITELY want to do drugs, and while probably popping some xanax right now would be an amazing way for me to handle this all natural body high, it would probably also help me for the impending manic episode come down, aka depression, but that’s so far away, right now i’m just high on chemical imbalances. and then i start running around the house, and if anybody makes the sad mistake of trying to enter into a conversation with me, poor them, because the words that come zipping out of my mouth at a million miles an hour, an inevitably narcissistic monologue about ME & MY day, and it gets very hard for me to listen to other people. also i should probably clean my room and i think a lot very much about fucking and who i can fuck and if my insane chattiness right now is in any way preventing from getting laid. and then – oh god – and then – the mother fucking paranoia. which is only accentuated by the internet, where my adamant add and desire to constantly click from tab to tab to tab to tab while i refresh every feed, every facebook, every twitter, every tumblr, every instagram, every huffington post, every ok cupid, every email account, every social network while i acutely assess who is hanging out with whom and why i haven’t been invited because the only thing that i want right now is to hang out with other people and TALK to them and then probably FUCK them. insatiably. like a dog. but i’m so fucking paranoid because all these people and all the things that they’re saying, how does that affect me??!?! oh my god, oh my god, and so i just tweet about how paranoid i am and then i kinda also really like how my body feels, and i know that if i synthesize this high with just a little bit of cocaine and then a lot of alcohol then i will feel like a million bucks, and i will be all up in that party, any party, is there even a party tonight? i’ll find a fucking party, and i’ll talk to everybody, and i’ll look really good because part of being manic means that i’ll be ripping through my closet trying everything on and i’ll probably make a big mess which i’ll immediately clean up because i’m feeling oh so tweakery right now. then i’ll stay up til 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 or whenever in the morning because oh my god i feel so good right now. and everybody here looks so attractive, and as i’m thinking about all these things that i could do right now to make my life better, like maybe i should call my mom and i should probably talk to my exboyfriend soon about something, anything. maybe i should destroy something beautiful, and i’d like to get more money just so i can have more money not because i want to spend it, but because all those people that are making me feel so fucking paranoid with their mother fucking tweets and status updates will probably feel like shit if they saw that i had money. i mean, things get kinda hectic right about now, mostly because as i try to voraciously process the precise mechanisms of this american macrocosm and how it affects my precise microcosm, and culture, and my roll in it, and i wonder if i go to this party and not that party what people will say or even if anyone will notice or maybe i should spend more time sexting all 3 of these dudes right now because if i don’t have sex today i’m probably going to explode with frustration and seeing as when i’m manic i talk a lot my poor friends will be subjecting to the insane paranoid ramblings of why is it that this one dude this one time didn’t fuck me, was it because i’m too pretty or too crazy or too weird or too what? what is it?
okay, okay, whatever, cool, my hands are shaking, maybe i should go for a bike ride, but what if i’m peaking right now, and if i’m peaking right now that means that in 3 hours when i meet up with whatever boy i’ve conned into taking me out to dinner tonight i’ll just be sluggish and glum, and if i’m peaking, hell ya, i fucking love peaking on a manic episode, it makes me feel like a million dollars, like the world is mine, like every decision i make right now will be the right one, and everything i say will be witty and charming, and no one is as pretty as i am right now, and no one is more successful, and i can do whatever i want, and i can say whatever i want, and holy shit be manic really galvanizes this absurd superiority complex within my ego, or is it id, or is it super ego? I AM THE MOTHER FUCKING INTERNET. i’m so smart when i’m manic, it’s crazy, i just know everything. do you wanna fuck me do you wanna fuck me do you wanna fuck me do you wanna fuck me let’s get drunk drugs drugs drugs i’m manic blahhhh bipolar disorder hey party party then pull down my pantyhose i’m also a really good writer when i’m manic omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg waaaaaaaaaaasted delusional, am i delusional, is that what it is? is this just not reality? am i just totally wrong, no, maybe the world doesn’t work this way, maybe i’m just fucking crazy, oh god, things are skewing and it’s weird, color just looks so different when i’m manic, like the colors, everywhere, they’re so bright and so beautiful, are they always like this or is it just that the neurological changes as chemicals rocket from synapse to synapse as the things i see and the things i do and the things i say, somehow they’re different, somehow they’re better, somehow they’re shinier, and pleasure euphoria hedonism feels so good flooding everywhere in my brain.
i lie a lot when i’m manic.
but that’s okay because in about 3 hours when my hands stop twitching and my legs calm down and i run out of interesting things to say i’ll probably just be sitting here, kinda drunk and coming off of drugs and alone because i’ll start to feel like shit and generally this is followed by some sort of half assed attempt at suicide because when i’m coming down from a manic episode, that’s when the voices that aren’t mine start telling me things that aren’t my thoughts, mostly that i should walk over there across the room and open up that drawer and take those pills and shove them down my throat because voices, will the voices please stop? when will they stop?