THIRD DUI.

THE COFFEESHOP.

I could barely sit still at the coffeeshop. I had barely slept the night before, thoughts racing. I had been daydreaming about all of the grandiose ideas and big projects I wanted to start and spend a fortune on instead of focusing on class. Literally anything to get me out of there. I wanted my car back so I could drive around for hours, one of the only things that calmed me down.

Mania

It was unmistakable.

MANIALITE™.

I was upset that my medication wasn't working, but it was ManiaLite™. I was still drinking on the sly occasionally—or so I thought—at home, and the interlock was keeping me sober on the road. My consumption had been up more than usual lately because of this recent episode, and I was very impulsive when it came to drinking.

When grocery shopping, I would turn the cart on a dime down the beer aisle and just buy the booze, not considering any consequences at all. It wasn't reflexive—it was something I did on a complete whim as if I needed to do it or else. I feared it when sober, and I had the "fuck its" frequently.

THE PHONE CALL.

Class was going, and I received a call. It was the mechanic.

"Your car is ready," the receptionist said. Fucking finally. I logged off, gathered my things, and walked over to get my car.

THE INTERLOCK.

I got back into my car, ready to drive away, and blew into my interlock as I normally did. One blow to start the car, and I expected one five minutes in, then one after fifteen. Except one didn't come after five minutes. Or fifteen.

I figured out that the mechanic didn't set the interlock back up properly. My vision almost went blurry with this revelation, as if someone attached jumper cables to my already excitable brain that was flopping round with activity and thoughts going 100 mph.

Jackpot, my bipolar brain said to me. No, said the sensible side of me.

GUESS WHO WON?

THE IMPULSE.

My mind was spinning like a top, utterly focused on alcohol. Nothing else was on my brain other than driving the car to get somewhere that sold booze and drinking that booze. My normal self was screaming to stop, but mania had taken over my body. I wasn't acting right. I wasn't me. It was me, but it wasn't me.

I pulled in to the nearest gas station and bought a pack of White Claws, and I began to chug.

And my memory ends there. I woke up in detox the next day.

WHAT I WAS TOLD.

I was told by my lawyer and the police report says I hit another car at a low speed. No injuries. I was trying to commit suicide. My BAC was .28. I went to jail for five months, and I am still on probation for another two and a half years out of four for this DUI. I did it, and I must pay my debt to society.

I DID IT.
I MUST PAY MY
DEBT TO SOCIETY.

THE REALITY.