Days like this--sometimes I think about drinking again.
It’s like...nothing at all went wrong or was wrong. It was a perfectly normal, completely average day where life just seemed to be and I just seemed to exist and maybe that’s the problem. Or maybe the problem is that it feels like a problem--or I want it to be a problem like...give me a fucking reason, world, and I will pick up a drink because, why not?
There are plenty of why not’s, just like there are plenty of yet’s (the well, that hasn’t happened to me, yet--it all happens eventually).
It was completely fine. The day. I felt like I could be normal. Like a White Claw outside in the hot tub would make it more enjoyable. Or a glass of wine in bed while attempting to write something worth it might make it...worth it.
It’s never one White Claw, it would’ve been a bottle of wine. A pint of vodka. An endless spiral down a path of self destruction.
Maybe the problem is that I crave chaos. I crave insanity. I thrive on it, live for it. I want a bad man who smokes too much, lets me drink, drives his car fast, and tells me I’m special--made for something more.
Rather, I think I want that--but I want to know it. I want to know that I meant for something more than listlessly trilling away at doing nothing everyday, trying to find meaning in things that are relatively meaningless.
I don’t want to drink again. I don’t want to lose myself in chaos and calamity.
I think I just want more. More out of life. More excitement. More fulfillment. It was so much easier when I was writing fanciful worlds and characters online, roleplaying in places and mindsets that aren’t real, creating excitement and chaos that didn’t extend beyond the screen, that wouldn’t ruin my life.
I became like...a character in my own life when I was drinking. I would do things that you’re just supposed to read about, or watch in a movie--the trainwreck coming-of-age-twenty-something year old blonde chick driving in cars with boys and a whole lot of baggage mixed with self-identified “crazy”. I’m not crazy but I perpetuate.
The life I wanted to live was not the life I was living. The life I want to live now is not the life I am living. No amount of vodka made it better then, no amount of vodka would fix that now.
I’m an alcoholic in a lot more than just the drink. I’ve got to kind of figure out why that is. I’ve also got to find a therapist. Get some labwork done so I can go back to the doctor. Find a job that isn’t too stressful so I can save money while I work up the life skills to go back to Social Work, or something like it. Tomorrow I gotta do some cleaning. Maybe some serious self care.
Ah, and a gratitude list. Things I’m grateful for--that’s a good idea too. Who would have thought I’d be craving rehab coping skills to band aid my current situation? Not this mother fucker, that’s for sure.
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