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Alcohol & Bipolar

A lot of people with bipolar (and all kinds of mental illnesses) drink. I mean a lot, and they drink a lot. There is a sweet spot between “I shouldn’t be doing this” and “This is when the bad decisions start,” a sweet forgetfulness, a freedom from the absolute fucking grind that is living with bipolar.

So yeah, I drank. And once I was diagnosed and medicated? I drank then too. Did I know that alcohol and psychotropic medications were a bad mix? Yes I did.

And then my psychiatrist said if I didn’t stop we were "going to have a problem.” Said it just like that, like a mob boss. 

He didn’t define “problem,” so I was free to fill in the blank: maybe he’ll stop prescribing my meds, maybe he’ll stop treating me altogether. Maybe I’ll end up back at square one. Oh fuck.

So now I drink maybe half a beer maybe once every other month. I don’t miss the bad decisions. I don’t miss wrecking the all-important sleep schedule. I don’t miss getting sick and dangling one foot out of the bed to keep the room from spinning. And I don’t miss the hangovers.

But I sure do miss those moments of freedom.





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