Emphatically not safe for work.
Saturday was boring. There were no stippers. The women were all stick thin and boring. We went to a bunch of very expensive bars and I was bored shitless. The only woman I talked to announced herself with “You’ve been checking me out for the past half hour” and I’m like “No. No I have not” “This is so awkward then” “Not for me it isn’t” “Are you on something? Everyone in here is on something” “I know, I can see that” “So are you on something?” “No, I’m just hypomanic” *high five* “Guess what I’m on?” “MDMA, that’s why you’re acting like a crazy person”. She high fived me again.
You know what strikes me about people on drugs? They’re boring. It’s like being a nurse on a psychiatric ward: everyone around you is medicated up to the eyeballs and happy as larry but nothing is actually going on. It’s not actually a way of having fun; it’s a way of being sedated from reality. Literally it is self-medicating.
Then in the midst of this all is me, fidgety, mind racing, hyperenergetic drinking to feel normal. Everyone thinks being manic is about having lots of fun, often it’s about being mind numbingly bored by things that should be exciting; it’s about the world not moving fast enough and the irritation that brings. I find myself in these situations so often where people around me are going wild with excitement and I am bored shitless but then when I’m having fun everyone else is panicking. I don’t think I often have fun; not much really registers with me. I can be interested, engaged, fascinated by something, but fun is not something that happens often to me.