When I’ve written about being on a high before, I haven’t mentioned what I mean. I don’t do drugs: this is not a chemically-induced high I’m on about. This is when my brain, for some reason best known to itself, decides that I need a period of several months where I feel like I am totally invincible. I am deliriously happy, I am able to plan ahead and sort out contingency plans if things go wrong. I spend a bit more than I really should, I am sociable, I burn the candle at both ends and am so up for going out. I get speeded up, and I am promiscuous. I take stupid risks. I eat good food, and lots of it. I laugh a lot. I’m speeding at 2000 k/ph and loving it.
The problems start happening when I crash through the central reservation and into the wrong lane, my foot welded to the pedal. Life gets very frightening. I sleep even less. I hate how I speak. I know I’m going in the wrong direction and it terrifies me, but I have to keep going because that’s what is expected of me. But I am losing control, I’m starting to not text back, I don’t answer phone calls. I start to lose the ability to read and write poems and my appetite dwindles a bit. Panic and chaos sets in.
Then, I crash, and that is the start of bad things.