thebends

A little while ago I posted about self medicating with alcohol or other drugs, and most of the replies confirmed what we can all guess: it’s not a good idea. Since then I haven’t touched a drop. I guess maybe 2 weeks. Surprise, life is still a steaming sh** and I still want to kill myself on a daily if not hourly basis. The only difference is without the alcohol, I lack the courage. Yay, a win for suicide prevention huh?

What kind of f***G life is this. Alive only out of sheer cowardice. No, I’m not “strong” and I’m not “hanging in there” and I’m not “holding onto hope”. It’s pure sniveling cowardice and there’s nothing honorable about that. So my friends I raise a toast. Here’s to liquid courage.

“Professional help” isn’t what I’m talking about. In my experience, the doctors and therapists don’t give a damn about you, they give a damn about their success in treating you and that’s very different.

So we seek relationships, lovers, friends, family bonds where we can find that 1 person who genuinely gives a damn. Some of us find it. Some of us don’t.

Suppose, for those of us who are tired of looking and paying doctors, we could instead walk into a store and sit down with a salesperson who will take your $100 and for exactly 1 hour they will give a damn about you. Like truly care, listen, want to know your story and why you reached this dark place. They will not focus on treating you or even saving you from yourself. All they are paid to do is give a genuine damn.

I would be their best client.

Whatever country you’re in, anywhere, any situation. Imagine finding a job or some opportunity to leave your country for good. Never looking back. Would that give you the strength to live again?

For me the answer is a resounding yes. Go figure I didn’t realize this until this global lockdown where it’s literally impossible, due to restrictions, red tape and outright denials, to get to another country. Easier to kill yourself. Valhalla’s doors are always open.

It’s been proven that alcohol makes depression worse, right? I won’t argue with that. But sometimes it’s the only reason to get out of bed. Just wondering if anyone else is struggling with this conflict. 5 minutes of feeling good, as that shot slides down your throat, for the price of 12 hours of suicidal agony. For those of us who are truly at the bottom of the barrel, 5 minutes of feeling good is worth any price.