The Crazies

I abhor nights like this one. It’s one of those nights where the thoughts swirling around in my head are threatening to take over and push me over the edge. It’s like a panic attack mixed with depression, served with a side of paranoia. I’m sure someone with far more in the way of qualifications has a proper term for it. I usually just call it “the crazies.”

When I’m alone and having “the crazies,” I tend to drink a lot, which isn’t exactly the answer to my problems. But it does have the effect of keeping me from doing something really stupid. And if you can think of things that are really stupid beyond drunk dialing, texting, driving, getting kicked out of bars for “bringing the place down” or whatnot, then you’ve probably got a good idea of what I’m like when I have “the crazies” and aren’t drinking.

It’s like the drinking curbs the really, really bad stuff. Which, again, probably isn’t the best thing in the world. But, hey, I’m still alive right? Maybe the alcohol renders me relatively inert. That’s what I’m going to continue to keep believing.

I never really know what’s going to set “the crazies” off. My last bout was Monday. I remember going to a meeting at work, hitting the bank right after, and driving to the bar. A few bar-hops and a dozen or so drinks later, I’d been kicked out of a bar, I’d infuriated a good number of my friends, and I was no closer to happiness than I was the day before. But why did it happen? What set me off? I have no idea.

Normally, I can keep “the crazies” at bay if I’m in some sort of enforced busyness, like work. And, in fact, the first few months of my new job did a great job of keeping my brain on the straight and narrow. But now it seems like I’m having “the crazies” a couple of times a week again, which is not helpful. It makes me feel like I’m stagnating, or maybe even regressing. And I tend to be the sort of person who doesn’t think very highly of myself in the first place, so the feeling that I’m backpedaling tightens the knot in my stomach even further.

So, in a little bit, I’m going to take a good, long shower. Then, I’m going to make myself a cocktail. I might do some stupid things that stem from that drink, or the drink after, or the drink after. I might even text you to tell you I love you. Or that I hate you. Maybe I’ll do something really stupid. Or maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning, feeling just fine, only slightly embarrassed for opening up about my fragile psyche.

Tomorrow might be the best thing in the world. Maybe I’ll figure out some techniques at work that’ll expedite the socialization process for my current patient. Maybe I’ll meet the girl of my dreams, and maybe she‘ll think I‘m the boy of her dreams. Maybe I’ll discover something that makes me so happy that none of this will ever matter again. Or maybe I’ll have “the crazies” again, and I’ll have to explain to everyone why I’m acting so very strange.