For me, I was manic before evenings I had planned to see friends; to socialize. Hours before I was to head there, sometimes even the night before, I was overly giddy with excitement. I wouldn't be able to sleep, and I couldn't wait for that moment, to be there, around a group or a few people, the center of the attention. Of course, I didn't think that way, blatantly, that I wanted to be the golden woman in the middle of the crowd, the one everyone was looking at and laughing with at her wit and cleverness, but it's true looking back.
When the time finally arrived for me to get ready for an event, I was so hyped up, I had to slam some alcohol to settle down. I was like a kid in a candy store, only I was waiting on the outside to get in, to be part of, for the night. I rushed and went a million miles per hour as I put my make up on crooked and straightened or bounced out my hair. "I look good," I would think. Making a cat like face in the mirror. Then I'd rush out the door at the speed of light, and drive like a maniac until I got to my destination, sometimes twenty minutes early or more. That's okay, I thought, I'll just drink. I'm revved up anyways.
Before I put the drink to my mouth I was salivating in a manic quench for more. Once the sip went down, I had taken the slide down a black water tube ride, where I was blinded, I couldn't see anything or if and when I would ever get out, and if I would alive. Then suddenly after a long and destructive night, splash, out I come from the dark tunnel into a pool of a mess. Apologies to be said, things to regret, things to hide my head in mortification over, those high manic nights were devastating.
Before the sultry sip of red wine, I was already on fire, and that's the way it went for me, manic. But I was the funniest most likeable girl in the room, or so my big head told me so, probably lying.
