I did too many amphetamines, and kinda went post-crazy, but I should've started with a basic intro. I don't know if anybody reads these, but...
I'm 34. I live in Manhattan. And it goes to hell from there.
Since I was a little kid, I did the whole bipolar w/ psychotic features dance, which evolved into a full-scale opera of self-destruction when I hit puberty and discovered drugs. By sixteen I was shooting coke and dope and stealing pills and money from anyone who had some to steal. Somehow I got into a very good college, but I fucked that up when I stopped my meds and attacked a prof during a bout of mania.
I guess I was 21 or so when my collegiate career ended permanently. I've spent the next 13 years making half-assed attempts to get a life, in between rehabs and psych hospitals (and ODs, and multiple bouts of cellulitis w/ at least 4 I&Ds, and psychotic episodes during which I tried to cut my arm open so I could see the bone and verify that it was human bone, and car accidents, and... you know... all that addict/crazy crap), but now at 34, I've pretty much given up on life. I'm a realist. And, apparently, a moron. The combination is utterly immobilizing.
I've recently found myself wishing I could lose maybe 20 IQ points. I don't think it would take much. Dumber people seem happier.
I'm 34. I live in Manhattan. And it goes to hell from there.
Since I was a little kid, I did the whole bipolar w/ psychotic features dance, which evolved into a full-scale opera of self-destruction when I hit puberty and discovered drugs. By sixteen I was shooting coke and dope and stealing pills and money from anyone who had some to steal. Somehow I got into a very good college, but I fucked that up when I stopped my meds and attacked a prof during a bout of mania.
I guess I was 21 or so when my collegiate career ended permanently. I've spent the next 13 years making half-assed attempts to get a life, in between rehabs and psych hospitals (and ODs, and multiple bouts of cellulitis w/ at least 4 I&Ds, and psychotic episodes during which I tried to cut my arm open so I could see the bone and verify that it was human bone, and car accidents, and... you know... all that addict/crazy crap), but now at 34, I've pretty much given up on life. I'm a realist. And, apparently, a moron. The combination is utterly immobilizing.
I've recently found myself wishing I could lose maybe 20 IQ points. I don't think it would take much. Dumber people seem happier.
