I don't know if we're running away or towards speed. It's always hanging in the back of our minds, even when we have none. We usually get about enough for a week binge, a long week, ending in a slow depression--our minds and bodies shot. We need to find a new doctor to keep it up, as his old one was not cutting it for his bipolar. As much as we love the amphetamine prescribed to him, he needs lithium to keep his bipolar in check. Without medication, he is basically sent into an emotional hell. Not that we help it with our "lifestyle" or whatever, but what can I say.
He keeps asking me about shooting him up with coke. I keep telling him maybe. The truth might be that I would, but what if that is the beginning of something horrible. Something that I won't be able to control, and it will be my fault, my gift to him. The gift I don't want to give. Worse, it could be immediate death. Those two thoughts dance around the question whenever he asks it. If neither of those things were a possibility, I wouldn't give a shit. If I didn't love him, I wouldn't care at all. But we are our own family, with our pet rabbit and our small apartment. Our tiny life. I don't want it to end. Or get worse.
It's okay right now, just how I like it. It'll always be precarious, but I can deal with that.
At least, I can right now.
- Lucy
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