Earlier today I made a comment about wanting to drink until the new year, and of course, being an open recovering alcoholic, that scared a bunch of people. Here’s where that comes from:
I was abused and neglected a great deal as a kid. I drank to cope, and for a long time, it worked. This year has been the worst. After getting divorced and driving 2700 miles from anything I’ve ever known, I worked out of my place for the better part of a year, only really ever interacting with my daughter.
That ended this year. I lost custody of my daughter, and I have seen her twice in the past 8 months. My ex’s family stopped talking to me, so that effectively ended family ties for me (I cut ties with my own in 2006). I have only work friends (now), no one I am close to or hang out with. Nor could I, my severe social anxiety disorder makes it very exhausting to spend time around people.
But my clinical depression makes me sink if I’m isolated too much. My PTSD from my abuse makes it hard to trust. I’m overly empathetic, so I relive all of that whenever I hear about others going through it. I also can’t help but imagine what other things I haven’t experienced are like. I can’t control it.
My dogs ignore me except to beg, which is fine. After a lifetime of allergies, I have a hard time getting too close with dogs. But they also find something new to destroy every day I’m at work. Today I came home to find the litter-box overturned and the trash knocked over and dragged out. They’d managed to drag the Christmas lights out and I stepped on one, getting glass everywhere. The vacuum spread it rather than picking it up. I swept up what I could and the stuff that wouldn’t stop going under the dustpan I swept under a cabinet because fuck it.
This is after leaving early from work to get home a little early and getting stuck in traffic for an hour instead. I went to Burger King for dinner because I’m still sick and overtired (and depressed) after almost 2 weeks. All 3 cars in front of me ordered food for large families I guess. I sat trapped in a drive through for 15 minutes.
My dinner wound up getting cold because I had to clean up the dogs’ mess. Given all of this I understand why my younger cat bolts from me: she’s afraid of people and very young. That doesn’t stop it stinging every time I get rejected.
Earlier this year I tried to kill myself, when everything fell apart. I promised to never do it again because my daughter needs to know I am here even if she doesn’t see me. I made this promise to my ex wife, and I intend to keep it. Which sounds “good” except when i have days where the Wellbutrin and Lexapro don’t work (which is often, I build chemical resistance very quickly), I have no hope. No out. Not even the idea that I could do something about the pain and emptiness. Sleeping does no good. My suicide attempt was 48 sleeping pills, a 6.4% APV beer and half a liter of vodka. I slept 7 hours.
So sleep aids make me sleepy, but all they accomplish is me waking up every 2 hours instead of 1. All of these symptoms have gotten WORSE since 14 hours in an ER and 5 days in a ward where I had to share a claustrophobic shower and hang out with angry young people who had no homes and thought Ghost Catchers was real.
I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since April 7, 2016. And I have felt every single ounce of pain since then with crystal clarity. I have no way of dulling it. No one to physically hug to feel better or share a moment with. And I’m afraid to crate those bonds because I might hurt them like I did my daughter and ex wife and I can’t handle that.
I’ve had my power turned off 3 times this year from lack of funds and now have to walk into a store to pay them off because they won’t let me make electronic payments any more. I have a huge mountain of debt I will likely never come out from. I want to file for bankruptcy but that requires paperwork and court time and I’ll refer you back to my social anxiety.
Life isn’t a TV show. You don’t just “get over” that because you need to. It terrorizes you into inaction then guilts you for it. I just stopped paying the loans and blocked the debt collectors while I try to figure out what the fuck to do. I’ve only recently stopped worrying that I might wake up one morning to find the cops ready to arrest me, although when they arrived back in April it stuck with me so hard I assume it’s them whenever I get a package delivered.
My best friend didn’t speak to me for months; she was ALSO scared and hurt.
I’m stuck in a place where every turn is suffering and I have no way to stop it. I have to suck it up and endure. I desperately want a real vacation, although I do love my job, but I never get to stay with a job long enough to accrue the time for one, and now that I have one that will probably work out that long, I have no one to go anywhere with, assuming I had the money.
So when I finally get that time, I will probably spend it isolated. I won’t relax or heal because it will be like every weekend for me: trapped in my home, alone, watching movies and hoping I have the energy to escape into a game for a while and do well enough that it’s not just an exercise in frustration, also hoping some other tragedy hasn’t crept into the news to make me worry for more people I’ve never met but still care about.
So that, my friends, is why I want a beer. A break. A moment or two, for a few days before the new year, where I can at least dull the pain I carry with me all the time.
I probably won’t, but the fantasy made me feel like there was some hope for a reprieve.