One night in high school I went out with some girlfriends. We lied to our parents about where we were going and we went to some older guy’s house to hang out. We took shots of Captain Morgan. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for us back then. My memory of this night is blurry, but here’s what I find important: as far as I know, none of the girls I was with had any sort of mental illness (i.e., “crazy”). We separated. I forget how. It wasn’t a big deal. I remember being outdoors at a patio table with two guys and I’m pretty sure the other girls were somewhere nearby with the other guys. I think I continued drinking (more than the other girls?), but maybe not; I don’t remember. But I do remember sobbing. I do remember phone calls involving my high school “boyfriend” and his best friend who I was also seeing.. at the time. It was all ridiculously, embarrassingly dramatic. I remember them picking me up. Hysterics. Attempting to jump out of the car on I-95 and someone physically restraining me. Somehow my mother must have been called because then I remember being in the hospital.
So I invite you to make up your own opinion about what points in the night I was “free,” when I was not, and how that compares to when my girlfriends were “free” that night.
In my opinion, we were all in some stupid-but-fun high school state of rebellious freedom up until we separated. I don’t know how “crazy” I was before that, but it certainly wasn’t enough to warrant concern. At some point after we separated, I believe my insanity took over. And I just described what exactly I mean by that. So that “crazy” point, whether you consider it the sobbing, the self injurious behaviors, the hospitalization, or something else.. Was I “free” at those points? I don’t think so. So fuck you all. Fuck Jimi Hendrix and Lana Del Rey. Craziness is not freedom. Insanity is not freedom. Fuck. You. All.
bipolarbarbielife 