Just looking for some place to vent. If you’re reading this, I’m already a happier sad person and humbled by your sympathetic presence.
In my own case, thinking about death has more to do with very specific problems i have. With my health, to be exact. Still, feeling the blues takes you to the place where you cannot ignore your very human attempts to put everything into perspective, and to look for any meaning in seemingly unrelated circumstances in your life. And that’s why me posting this doesn’t mean that I’ve completely lost it. I think.
So, the health related “problem’ I’m talking about today is not even a problem. It’s a possible solution. But if you’ll read this for just a couple more seconds, you’ll know why this solution is also a Mockery nr.2.
The solution-problem is alcohol. The next day after a heavy drinking session, my depression lifts. I feel normal. I loose my inattentiveness, my anxiety, I stop thinking about dying and forget about you guys. My mind is considerably less blank. Simply put, I start to think and to feel more. I think, in my case, it works as an antibiotic, if we’d use this term loosely. And it’s not an attempt to justify drinking. I know this for some time now, and I tried everything in my power to find another solution. I’m spending half of my laughable salary on pointless health supplements. And the only thing that really helps is a poison. Not only that. It’s the same poison to which some of my family members are slaves to.
You’ll say that this is the wrong place to talk about this stuff, but I don’t seek a medical advice here. I just want to share with you what was my personal middle finger from our mother nature. The latest one I found out about, at least.
A week ago, I googled “prominent alcoholics”, “functional drinkers” and such. I found some. But you guys are the ones I respect and love. I believe that you, people who suffer and are sad and lonely, are the ones who understand life-stuff. I think that the circumstances that made you find this place makes you wise. Maybe I just want for someone to justify my actions, even if they’ll change my already sad life for good. Maybe I just want for someone to tell me that I’m such and arse for even saying this stuff. That it’s like a 16 yr old complaining about the birthday cake which is not a Ferrari. It’s just a F****** Acura.
How should I proceed, friends? You’ll decide for me. That’s my decision. I also feel lonely, so even you reading this makes me feel some.
I love you, friends. Whatever you decide in your own lives, I’ll love you always. You play with the cards life dealt you. And considering that, you’re doing great. You are my heroes.