Question

It hurts so bad. I never thought of it until now. The fact that I took so long to get there is either a testament to my affliction or testament to my insistence that she is beyond reproach.

How can she leave me because I’m ill? Is that just?

But I had/have a drinking problem. Right. So is that a sufficient character defect? How does one mistake affect the other?

Why does she think I wanted a second child? I love her, that’s why. I had no great dreams of anything but to make her happy with another child.

Oh god. I hate to think this:

What’s the difference between me and a man who has cancer?
The other man would have already died.

The bad part is that I know this has occurred to me already, and I keep forgetting.

God Help Me

I just can’t sleep, and I don’t know what to do.

Principle of Least Action

At least we had a better love life than Richard Feynman had with Arline. Sad smiles.

Hello again world.

Well.

It’s been a long time, eh?  Lots of stuff has happened since my last post.

I got to Day 100, by the way, before I caved in and drank. Took more than two years to figure out I really needed to stop, and so I have stopped again. I’m nowhere near 100 days yet, but my will is a heck of a lot stronger than it once was.

More to come.

 

JB

The good and the bad of sober life.

So I’m coming up on 40 days drink-free, and not planning on starting back anytime soon, if ever. If you ask my wife, she’ll say she prefers me this way. But it you ask me? I’m not so sure.

See, alcohol was a great mask for my anxiety problems. Not so much good for depression, but oh well, I have yet to find a perfect anti-depressant. I’ve been depressed and/or chronically anxious for years and years. I always have these little periods of clarity and calm and yeah, maybe even self-confidence, that keep me going until the next storm hits.

Anyway, long story short, I completely freaked out at work today. I had forgotten my Latuda, my Cymbalta, and my Vyvanse, and by 11 a.m. I was in a mental shitstorm the likes of which I honestly can’t recall. It was two parts free-floating anxiety, and one part terrible depression. The depression is on almost all the time, and asks me to consider suicide all the time, though I’ve never take it further than ideation and I don’t think I ever will.

Before everyone tells me to seek therapy and a psychiatrist, I’ve already got one of each. they do their best to treat me, but I’ve heard both of them say that they just don’t understand how to fix me, not that stops them from trying.

Anyway. Today I wanted a drink really bad. I had to get my medicine from home at lunch, and I looked longingly at the wine rack (I don’t even drink wine, it just all looks good to me now.), but I guess the upshot is, I resisted because I felt all the shame a drink would give me later. Not shame, not on top of depression and anxiety. That’s just the last thing I needed. So I said no. And I know I can say no again.

But, brain, will you ever start working right again? I thought stopping all the boozing would help me out. So far it’s just been more grief, though I enjoy seeing the days add up. I am a creative type, I write music a lot, and I know everyone on the internet is a badass, but I really do write some good stuff, but I have to to emotionally stable in order for this to take place. So I’ve missed out on some great music because of my mental issues. That’s another thing that disappointed about stopping drinking: I thought I would run out of excuses to not make music, but that’s just hasn’t been the case.

Sorry for the rant. I guess I just read the success stories that float up top, and I just get immensely envious of the relative ease at which some of you have quit. Anybody in my situation? What did you do to stop the incessant whine of the mind? I just can’t for the life of me get ahold of it.

I’m supposed to get my thoughts out from here.

So here goes:

LIFE ON THE WAGON

Can’t believe I’m stuck thinking about drinking at work.  I don’t drink here!

Not drinking itself is in fact not that hard.  It’s not purchasing when it’s right there which is hard. It’s looking yourself over, finding something lacking, and still not trying to substitute your bad time for alcohol which is hard.

20 days, w00t w00t. Not getting any easier other than the initial ease that followed after day three or so.  Still getting cravings, and anxiety (though that is constant anyway I suppose).

I guess I had hoped that alcohol was exacerbating things?  But I seem to be no worse for wear after this time sober.  Still with the shaky hands, the deflated ego, the anxiety, the trouble sleeping, the depression, the anxiety…

RUMINATING ON RUMINATING

I think here’s the point in which I know I’m having a mental episode.  I get to obsessing on things, like even thinking itself, and how otherworldly it can all seem when seen from a vacant mind’s eye.  Like my third eye is stuck in my bellybutton, like a cork being flushed down a toilet, tending towards bobbing up and up, while always sinking down and down in spite of efforts to rise.