The previous post in the alcoholism-series was about the liberating feeling of sobriety. Since then I have broken my inofficial vow of abstinence on a small number of occasions. What happened was the same thing that always happens when I get drunk by myself in recent months: I get suicidal ideation and start cutting myself with a carpet knife. That's no fucking good. In December (last year), January and April it ended in me having an emergency admission (in the middle of the night, all three times) to the crappy local psychiatric hospital and staying there for a few days. I completely freak myself and everyone else out. So, hey, that sounds kind of serious, so what is happening here?
The obvious first. I am really unhappy with my life, and I suppress it very well. When you suppress something and get drunk, chances are what you suppress comes boiling up with a vengeance. I don't like to whine, but there are a lot of things wrong with how my life has been going in the past, well, thirty-three years or so. If it wasn't for my awesome dog and a few hobbies I can still get excited about - like writing this stuff - I'd pretty much be unhappy with every single thing that my life consists of. No, I'm not going to post a picture of my dog, stay focused. It's not just that I am unhappy, I also see no feasible way of changing it because the environment I live in is so suffocating. I'd have to get far away from this place, but where? Are other places better? And I need better friends, but how? There's no mailorder for those. And wherever I go I have these mental disorders in my head that I like to write about in this blog. And I need to do something productive, something I can be proud of, but what? I don't think of myself as particularly good at anything. I'd also like to be with someone again, but I promised not to whine.
Of course I can't talk about this to anyone when I'm sober, partly because "don't whine" is a strict rule of mine that was shoved down my throat by family my entire life, and partly because my social anxiety tells me no one wants to hear it anyway. Can't even hint. So I suppress. And try to look like nothing's bothering me. Then I get drunk, feel great while I'm mildly to moderately intoxicated, and then it explodes out of me. Basically I am The Inverted Hulk. I turn green and become a superhero of self-destruction. It literally builds up in the space of a minute, from a great mood to completely messed up. Start talking about suicide to friends and family, something which I hate, and start cutting up my arms. All the while living through a feeling of misery the word "depression" can't quite live up to.
But how did I arrive there? I used to not do that when I was drunk. Even though I've been unhappy with my life and bottling it up for as long as I can think back. Got whiny or annoying sometimes, but nothing to anywhere near that level of dysfunction. At one point I turned from a normal obnoxious drunk to The Inverted Hulk. And I think it has its roots in little over a year ago when someone close to me started making frequent, very dramatic and very convincing suicide threats to me. I was never one who could in any way live with the idea of the death of someone close to me, so it hit me hard. And it happened more and more, until it was all the time. What made the whole thing infinitely worse was that I was always given the feeling that it would be my fault, that I would be responsible for that person's death, which was a burden that exceeded what I could carry by a factor of a million. I'm not particularly good at carrying any of the burdens I have in life (as we all do), but that one was like putting a Himalayan mountain on the back of an ant and expecting it to keep going about its life normally as if nothing was there. Far lighter things have been known to flatten an ant (fuck off, PETA), so don't expect it to live very long with the weight of Mount Everest on its shoulders.
So I started breaking and falling apart. It wasn't that suicide threat thing that caused it, that was the general unhappiness with everything else with my life. But it brought me to the point of being unable to deal with everything. While I continued to bottle things up while sober, the drunk stage now got infinitely worse. My faith in life was shattered, and my tortured brain knew only one way to live it out. The way that person taught me so thoroughly.
For now that means drinking is absolutely out of the question. And there are a lot of areas in my life I need to work at very hard. I am soon going to be admitted to a day clinic to continue the therapy started at that clinic I've been to from mid-May to mid-July, and while I'm there I have a lot to build for myself, a life, something to have faith in and a future to look forward to. Something far away from what has been suffocating me all those years. Figuratively far away, not intending to move to Australia. Huge spiders. I have some big decisions and changes to make, and it won't be easy. But I need to have something. Anything resembling happiness. And you can bet your life on it that I will do everything in my power to try to accomplish that. I have no intention of ending my life as a fuck-up. Like nobody should.