The bipolar high hit and I deep-cleaned my entire disgusting apartment at 3 AM. Found three empty beer cans under my bed and a vibrator I thought I'd lost. Now I'm sitting in this actually-clean space wondering why my brain only lets me function in these ridiculous extremes. One minute I'm crying because my pussy aches for a real cock to fill it, the next I'm obsessively scrubbing baseboards. I just want someone who'd fuck me senseless against these now-clean walls and then help me remember to take my meds. Is that too much to ask?