Part Three: Lamotrigine and The Social Meter

Hugo's girlfriend at the time, called me up saying she wanted to do a surprise party for him. I know Hugo, the last thing he wants is a surprise especially on his birthday. He doesn't really make a deal about most things and his birthday is at the top of the list. Knowing this, I asked: are you sure you want to do this? I don't know how he will react. I was assured it would turn out ok, all I needed to do was call some of our mutual friends to be at the Brazilian restaurant in Angel. I trusted her. I complied, and made the calls.

The event was beautiful. The right mix of his friends, an intimate setting with universal love and appreciation for him. Drinks were flowing, dark rum shots and bottles of Champagne up and down the table, every kind of meat you could imagine was being served in copious amounts. The jokes, the banter, the loud laughter and gleefulness flooded the rustically decorated restaurant. I was the wing man to the life and soul of the party. People were there who had never met Hugo's other friends. Hugo would be bust receiving all the attention from others, so I integrated the outliers. I was charming, witty, funny and intellectually engaging. I wasn't taking myself too seriously either. I was able to laugh at myself, pull punches and pivot effortlessly between multiple conversations. I was comfortable. No. I was elated! I was amazed at how my extraversion showed up. It wasn't overbearing, obnoxious or arrogant. It managed to shine the spotlight and highlight the best versions of everyone. Accommodate for most social situations, being sensitive and including those that had no friends in common. But equally, keep the language universal. I read the room vigorously. I stepped back letting the scene play out for itself. I spoke and behaved on cue. Just call me Steven Spielberg, because the directing was faultless.

About an 2 hours in, after the 4th bottle of Dom, countless rum shots and the meat sweats. I agreed with Sam I'd go back to his. We had plans the next day and it would be easier to go together from the same spot. We had all been at work all day so this was running into a 16 hour day. Something changed right after that interaction, though. I felt spent, like I just used my last fiver. There was this lethargy and disengagement. A complete contrast to what I was experiencing literally 60 seconds ago. Everything in that moment came to a spluttering halt!. The low gaslight on the dashboard wasn't working. I was socially exhausted without warning. I got up. Put my coat on. Said goodbye. I walked out. As instantly as magician pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

I was done like a ruined steak. I couldn't discern words; it felt like a foreign language on amphetamines. I felt excluded. I was no longer interested in making conversation either. The sentences that were once hilarious, were now offensive. The sound of laughter was annoyingly loud and piercing and jarred me. I couldn't stand the happiness and the drunken behaviour of the people I loved. In fact, I started to hate them. Resent them. I was disgusted by the way they were eating. The constant flirting with the waiting staff, the loutish behaviour disrespecting the other diners. I didn't want to be seen with them. I was embarrassed to be in their company. And Sam, a place of comfort and calm, become hostile, threatening and chaotic.

This wasn't the first time I've upped sticks and left. There have been other occasions where I wasn't even trying to be extra, like a punch from Mike Tyson, I was out. The funny thing was, there are times I left without saying anything, to anyone. Adam used to tell me all the time he knew the second before I was done and would remove me to his room to recharge. He'd even set me bath. One particular occasion does spring to mind. I was going to Ministry of Sound. Funky house, garage and jungle were the musical genres of the night. I could listen to it all day and night, so that gives you an idea of what my happy place looks like. I was with some likeminded friends, it was about to be a: come-home-at-8am rave. The night was warm. We pulled up, roof down on the cabriolet. Jumped out over the side in a white polo short sleeve. My boys, equally fly, jumped out the whip smelling a mix of Jean Paul Gaultier and Yves Saint Laurent. We queued up and entered the strobe light club. About an hour in however, I haven't even managed to make white tee translucent, I walked out. Left my crew in the club. Got the bus home. Walked in my flat. Fell asleep. People wondered where I'd gone; some were concerned. I had no way of explaining to them how I felt.

I failed to reconcile how much energy a natural introvert has to expel when they switch on extraversion. My mood swings are irrespective of my extraversion; they are exclusive of one another. I can call upon it even when I'm pissed off. For example, I can charm the birds out of the tree, whilst feeling like ordering a 1000lbs of Semtex and blowing up a small portion of London. (Please note, this is an expression independent emotions and action, and not an intention to blow up anything, let alone London).

I think about work. An environment that thrives off of enthusiasm and buzzing energy. As a manager, you must cultivate and nurture those environments. After 8 hours of this, I have nothing left to give when I get home. Refuelling the tank involves isolation. Meditation. Music. Video games. Essentially, lonesome activities. It's absolutely imperative. This might even mean zero social interaction for the rest of the day and after 8 full hours of sleep. Which is difficult for most people to understand. Switching between extraversion and introversion is almost bipolar. Externally, it can be perceived as such.

But it's not.

It is however, an inability to actually assess the current situation and feeling responsible to fix it or contribute. I no longer carry that burden. My moods are more stable, (thanks Lammy!). Which means I don't have to flick a switch. I am, what I am, in any given place or time. I'm naturally engaging. I can also be a lot more silent and be a part of it, rather than being the part. I could voluntarily contribute over being feeling responsible. Especially if it didn't go to plan. Now, it's not solely on me if something doesn't work out.

The only part you can play is yourself, not a version of it.