A Ridiculously Drunk Driver

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep and failing miserably (yes, that's a thing now, go go Geodon!) my mind wanders, and, sometimes, comes up with the most random crap. Sometimes it's useful; I've had some very clever work-related ideas while trying to fall asleep, and I've had a LOT of clever knitting-related ideas pop into my head, and that makes me feel like a genius.

So last night, after I was just in bed...waiting...I got up to take a hot shower to see if that would make me sleepy at all, and into my head popped an analogy.

Now, I bet at some point in time, somebody, somewhere has wondered, "What does it feel like to be bipolar?"

Well, here's what it feels like:

It feels like you're in the back of a car. You're in the back, so you can't reach the driver, but you can talk to him. Or her. Whatever.

Sometimes things are just fine, and you can tell the driver where you need to go and the driver will get you there safely without running anyone over or breaking any traffic laws.

The problem is, the driver is an alcoholic. And on any given day, you never know whether the driver is going to be sober, tipsy, or downright drunk.

So you're driving along, and on the days when the driver is tipsy, the car feels unsteady, but at least the driver will listen to you and go where you want. It's stressful, because you're afraid he's going to hurt someone, but you're still at least partially in control.

There are days, however, when the driver is totally plastered, and sometimes he got plastered because something upset him, but sometimes he just felt like drinking himself into a stupor for no good reason. When he's this drunk, that's when you're completely out of control. He won't listen to you at all. You beg and plead with him to please pull over and let you drive but he just won't do it, and you're stuck all the way in the back seat so there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. He starts driving around and he's hitting people with the car and breaking traffic laws and you're sure something really, really bad is going to happen and maybe you'll end up hurt yourself, but there's no way of knowing when or if he'll stop and you'll be back in control.

And that's the analogy I thought up in the shower last night. What do you think?

Seriously, that's what it's like. You're going about your day, feeling pretty in control of your feelings, and then something upsets you, and maybe you just brush it off and move on, like a normal person would, but sometimes you fixate on it and it makes you start to feel stressed out and anxious, and I'm not talking normal anxious. I'm talking full-out panic attack, the kind that makes no sense because who freaks the hell out because she spilled something in the kitchen? Me, that's who.

So you're upset about something. Sometimes you can think it through, come to a solution (or at least a way to live with it), and move on. Sometimes you can't. That's when the driver has begun the alcoholic binge. Sometimes it's not so bad, and you've been having these mood swings for so long that you can feel them coming on (or your adorable, sweet, perfect, wonderful husband can tell you're about to have one), and you can compensate for it. But sometimes all you can do is take a tranquilizer and hope that takes care of it, because if it doesn't, well, then you're in for a world of hurt.

It wouldn't be so bad if it only affected me, but the problem is, that drunk driver is hell-bent on running over the people closest to you, the people you love the very most. And since I've been blessed with a quick wit and a not-so-lovely talent for inflicting the most hurt with just a few, well-honed words, I can hurt people so very, very badly. I live in fear of the day that I lose control and say something to Scott that will make him hate me forever and ruin this wonderful thing we have going together. It would be something I didn't mean at all, of course, but when I lose control I get irritable and sometimes even very, very angry.

All I can do is remove stressors from my life and faithfully take my pills, three times a day (more if I have a freak-out). Those magic little pills are what keeps my driver sober (most of the time, anyway) and keeps me in control of what happens in my own life.

(And just to be perfectly, crystal-freaking clear, I DO NOT drive drunk. EVER.)