I love them now.
Before I knew I was bipolar I was a slave to my emotions and impulses. I felt crazed, looking for any fix. I knew I had to do SOMETHING, and all I knew that got me going was weed and sex and alcohol.
So, let's say I'm in a new state bc I got kicked out of my first university. And I don't know any drug dealers. And my chest is tight and looking for a sweeter breath than any I can draw, heart is louder and quicker than a jackrabbit on drums. Why, I drive around the bad part of town in my uncle's leased Audi, looking for shady people past midnight to ask "yo, you got any bud?" Not too many people do.... and so passed a few hours, rarely scoring the green stuff, and when I did it wasn't the dank stuff.
I didn't realize it then but weed took off the edge, it got my thoughts back on track at a manageable pace so I didn't have to jump from one thing to the next. I could listen to music and really hear the songs if I paid attention. Everything was better for that first hour or so. Just me and my weed, I could be silly with no one watching, smile laugh dance giggle and jam out, i was in my own little world where everything was good. Nothing mattered, how could it? I was calm and happy and food tasted even better.
I only went to work high once, years ago. At the clinic, I mean. You can bet your ass I was toking up when it was hotdog cart night at the bowling alley.
I'm not feeling too Up right now anymore. I can't smoke, drink, trip, etc, so I spent the last four hours doing what I love: learning poetry and reading. I'm getting into Francis Bacon, wild art, dark and beautiful. I love it, it resonates with the side of me that isn't all smiles, that isn't friendly and laughing, the one that thinks about cutting and scratching myself. It's nice to know someone else hurt, too, ya know?
My other interests include drawing, sculpting, and many many other wonderful things.
meh, it's all good. pearce