Spiking Endorphins.
I don't own Scrubs.
You see, I never understood it. When I was younger - god, was it that long ago? - I would never drink, apparently alcoholism runs in the family, so of course I always figured I'd be a depressed drunk... you know the kind, they were your best friend once, then you couldn't turn your back on them after they've had a few cause you know they'll realize their life is meaningless, and grab a knife, and you'd see their blood, and you'd scream, and you'd apply pressure, and you'd call the ambulance, and you'd watch, half fascinated half terrified as they died, and... but now I've lost my train of thought... that's right, see I'm the opposite... I only hate my life when I'm sober, and when I've been drinking I'm happy. Damn, I don't know why, but I'll laugh, and I'll act crazy, and my endorphins will spike, until I wake the next morning, wishing I had the balls to grab that knife.