Foot in mouth...
...Cock in hand, as you'll see from two of the three stories below.

1) I'm bipolar. Specifically type 2. It comes from a long history of mentals in my family, so I've not so much as developed something new as been passed the baton on in my family. The fact that I'm bipolar will come in to play shortly.

This was earlier this year, back in February, when I had split up with my long term girlfriend, and tried to off myself in the canal in Chester because I had essentially had a breakdown over the period of three days and had cracked quite successfully. I lived with two other students at the time, both girls, and we were all fairly open with each other and used to each others habits a lot of the time.

I must also admit that I had gone from a state of being highly sexed (woo!) to getting none whatsoever. As I was a bit of a social reject at the time, having completely lost the plot along the way and being diagnosed with being bipolar type 2 (which is treatable but incurable), I decided to spend most of my time in bed drinking and wanking. I had my laptop, 8 meg wireless broadband, an almost limitless supply of vodka thanks to parents saying "Here is £150, we know you've had a really rough time lately, go out and treat yourself", so I was set up for the above plan.

Apart from one thing.

I never tended to lock my door unless I was going out. My housemates, I'll call them R and B because that amuses me and it's also true, would wander in most of the time asking for this, that and the other, and I would generally give them what they wanted (fnarr fnarr). About three days into what would become my worst drinking session, and my last (I quit after it and have been sober since), I decide that it would be awesome to have yet another wank. So I do so. Did I mention that I've been drinking for about three days straight? So you may imagine the state I'm in. I had also somehow cut my cock on my nails, so I tended to ooze blood a bit.

The cringeworthy moment is when my fitter housemate, B, wanders in, and sees me very, very drunk on my bed, naked from the waist down, bleeding, my cock held in some sort of death-grip, and me gurning spectacularly. *Cringe* She left my room pretty damn quickly.

2) About a month after the first incident, I am once again in my room wanking. However, unlike before, I am now on proper medication, citalopram and zopiclone (cita is an anti-depressant and zopi are sleeping pills) as opposed to alcohol. So I'm fairly hopped up on the above pills, and not entirely with it. A wee bit stoned, you might say.

Somehow I fail to notice that one of my housemates brothers, we shall call him W, has turned up. Given that my bedroom door was about 5 foot away from the front door, you may begin to see just how fucked I was on these pills. I had learnt my lesson from the first incident, and locked my door whenever I was wanking, so people now knocked on my door if they wanted to speak to me.

So I hear a knock on my door just as I hit the vinegar strokes.

"What is it?" I call, boxers still around ankles and todger still firmly in hand just as I finish up into my hand.
"W's here, he wants to say hi to you." I hear B shout through the door.

Shit. At this point, my mind clears enough for me to drag my boxers and jeans up, do my belt and flies up, and for me to open the door and say hi. However, my mind hasn't cleared enough for me to remember that I should have wiped my hand really clean as opposed to a quick wipe across the back of my jeans. I remember this too late. There was an audible squelch as we shook hands. *Cringe*

3) Back when I was a wee ghost, there was a talent competition going on at primary school. Coincidentally, this was around the time that Definitely Maybe was released, so I thought to myself, "Ah, I'll just do my best Liam Gallagher impression. I'm bound to win it."

So I practice singing Live Forever, and nail it reasonably for a 7 year old. The morning of the talent competition dawns, and I get The Fear. I manage to squash it mostly, up until the point where the school is asked to assemble in the main hall for the talent competition. As luck would bloody have it, I get volunteered first. I am trying not to drop a brick in my pants at this point.

I sidle towards the stage, completely forgetting everything I had rehearsed, including the small but noteworthy contribution of "I'm going to be doing an impression of Liam Gallagher, and here it is."

I get on the stage, look nervously at the 150 odd other kids, and belt out "Gonna live foreeeeeevaaaah!". Those exact words. Nothing else. Nobody knows what to make of it, teachers and kids alike. I sidle off, face burning, to complete silence. Hell, even a raucous jeer would have been better than silence. *Cringes*
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 0:37, 3 replies)

I was on the same meds
I hated the citralopram and am now managing without, but the zopiclone was lush. I had to give them up when I realised they were becoming the highlight of my day.
(missc, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 1:41, closed)

They're fun aren't they?
I've had to give up the zopiclone as well because like you, it was getting to be the highlight, and I've been switched over to Fluoxetine as the citalopram was giving me hell. Thankfully the fluoxetine seems to be working better than the citalopram and doesn't fuck with me as much. Still, we'll just have to see if I have any more cringeworthy moments.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 11:09, closed)

I had these mental drugs once for about 90 days
They were called Haliborange multi-vitamins. They kept me high as a kite.

*Squelches mouse*
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 13:43, closed)