Today’s blog is going to be short and depressive and to this oxygen-deprived, exhausted alcoholic, totally, 100% accurate. Been up since 6:00. Spent 8 hours trying to buy a used car, 7 hours doing work from home, and all the time in between watching the net tighten around my existence, forcing all those too close to be caught as well, hauled up out of the water to suffocate.

My choices suffocate people. I need to suffocate my choices. Cut off the choice maker’s hands. Eliminate options. Stare at something of little consequence until a tear falls. And whenever I stay perfectly still and stare at something long enough, eventually I’ll cry. What does that tell you?

It tells me I don’t belong here. Never have. And I can attend all the meetings and hug all the old ladies and say all the platitudes I want, but at the end of the day, those who love me, stop.

This is why I drank in the first place: to fill the void that comes from eliminating human interaction. And come hell or high water, I’m determined to prove to everyone who ever cared about me that they were right to get out when they did.

Heed my warning: nothing to see here.

2 thoughts on “move along.

  1. I am sorry to hear that you’re in this dark place, Paul. I felt like this often, and to be honest, the times I felt most suicidal and most depressed and ready to off myself was early in my sobriety. Nothing to do with being hammered. Not just some drunken thoughts, but actual sober ones. And it was frightening. I too hated human interaction. I still have to force myself to get up out of my seat and shake someone’s hand. To smile. To muster up the courage to introduce myself. It’s not easy always, but it does get a tiny bit easier. But I know that for me, human interaction always equalled pain. Pure and simple. But it got better when I spoke about how I was feeling and realized that I wasn’t the only one who felt like that – so I am passing this forward here. I too felt the same. I wanted to end it, and prove others right. But that wasn’t supposed to be – I realize that my HP needed me here. And I wonder if you’re in the same boat. Your words here are important to me, your writing. I think if I was meant to be gone, it would have happened during the countless times I drank and drove or got myself in dangerous situations. But I survived, so I am here. As are you.

    Anyway, you are right that platitudes and hugging old ladies doesn’t keep any of us sober, but for me my connection with my HP does, working the steps keeps me fit and right. I hope that you get past these feelings (which aren’t fact) and see that you are needed.


  2. Thanks so much for the response – I wrote that one in a pretty bad state, and it’s amazing how caught I can become in my sticky thoughts. I agree, it’s definitely the insane musings I have sober that leave me freaked out.
    A day at a time, and that only works if we’re here to work it.

    Thoughts and prayers,

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