I'm drinking tonight. And I drank last Friday night. And I spent the entirety of last weekend in bed, yet again. I keep straying onto the path of virtue, only to stray right off again. Last night, I was using a measuring spoon to dole out my salad dressing at the start of my healthy meal. Tonight I'm going to consume over a thousand calories of alcohol followed by at least that much in "comfort" food.
I actually possess an amazing reserve of willpower, but I have to be inspired to use it. I have no inspiration to hold onto. The vague belief that my life will somehow be improved if I overhaul every single one of my personal habits into a paragon of rectitude can move me in short sprints, but not in the marathon of self-actualization. Not when I can just damn the consequences one more night at the end of yet another dreadful day. Just one more night. It's always just one more night. Forever and ever, one more night...each a pavestone in the well-trodden path of my own destruction.
L-L-L-O-S-E-R
Every dream I have had has died. I am forty-two years old. I am seventy-five pounds overweight. I have only had one significant relationship in my life, and that was twenty years ago. I gave up a good job in a city that I kind of love because of a loss of nerve. I can't fly on airplanes, and I can't stand being more than a few stories above ground. My world continues to shrink and close in until I think it will strangle me.
It's hard not to feel desperate. It's hard not to think that all I have to look forward to is the decrepitude and demise of those friends, family members and creatures that I love. With nothing left but my own infirmity, faced in loneliness and isolation, and then the utter terror of my own death.
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Philosophicalish. Queer Musings. Severe Psychopathology.
And Struggles with Sobriety. All in One Convenient Location!
