My moods have always run in cycles. There’s no good day, bad day, good day, bad day. Its two weeks of good followed by a week of bad followed by a week a good followed by two weeks of bad. The odd part is nothing has changed around me. So guess what that means. I’ve lost the wisdom to tell the difference.

My depression is one part hopelessness plus one part anger. I concentrate on all the things I cannot change and dwell on those for a while, then I move on to the things I can change and work out reasons why I can’t.

It’s this type of mental mixture that sets the stage for returning to the drink. My alcoholism made it wonderfully impossible to concentrate on my shortcomings. I knew they’d be still be there tomorrow, so why not blow them out of my mind for tonight?

Fill my shoes with clay. Strap fifty pounds to my back. Tie my hands to my knees. Life’s hard enough, yet I push it towards unbearable. The absence of good doesn’t equal bad. And the harder I cling, the more it hurts.

Remember: The only thing that’s changing is the mush between my ears.

2 thoughts on “liquid procrastination.

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