I’ve been giving the normals far too much credit. Getting rid of the alcohol didn’t make me happy, joyous and free. So why do I think those not born with alcoholism are inherently happy?
Today and for the rest of this month, I’m going to learn to like myself, or die trying. I’m going to concentrate on the positive things – not in my life, but in me. I need to learn, accept and know that me, alone, is enough.
Actually, I think I know why I assume normals are free from sadness, depression and other emotional shackles: it makes them easier to resent. There could be a Project Manager who, on a daily basis, brings a smile to the conference table while his life in slowly unravelling. He’s just trying to fake it until he makes it as well, just in some other area. Meanwhile, I’m angry and jealous of the strained grin.
See, when I’m super-sick, it’s all about me. That guy could’ve spent the last twenty minutes in the handicapped stall in the men’s room weeping, desperately trying to pull it together. But I look past the signs; past the swollen, red eyes, past the slumped posture, and see only that which I don’t have and which he, by extension, doesn’t deserve.
And what doesn’t he deserve? Everything that I don’t have, of course. That’s another neat way to hate everyone: always assume everyone is unworthy of their largess. It’s not even all about the Benjamins. It’s about them not having to dealing with alcoholism. It’s not fair.
As long I concentrate on what’s wrong in others, I’ll never get around to finding out what’s right in myself. Once I’m done focusing on those around me with their perceived unending joy, it’s usually time for bed.
Today: Understand that it’s always easier to look outside than in. But since nobody’s asking for my advice on how to be miserable, I’ll start concentrating on being right-sized, within myself.