“They tried to make me go to rehab,
but I said ‘no, no, no.’
Yes, I been black,
but when I come back,
you’ll know, know know.”
Honestly, in retrospect, only Amy Winehouse will ever own that song.
Well, the good news is, after a two week change in lifestyle, I’m sober. The bad news is it’s probably because I couldn’t afford more alcohol.
I don’t think I was ever in serious danger of getting lost. I had my last drink around 10pm on Sunday, and it was definitely the hardest one I’ve had in the last two weeks, but it was still only 2oz of alcohol. That’s the problem with drinking after taking an eight year hiatus, and also being on prescription meds… any alcohol is too much alcohol.
If there was a serious problem I think I’d be into my girlfriend’s fridge where she stores her own little vodka stash. We’ll see what happens.
Beyond the slight, week long depression brought on by the booze, I don’t think the (nearly) two weeks of drinking pushed my recovery any further back, keeping in mind two things: my recovery has already been stalled and even substantially reversed for six months now, and; I wasn’t drinking that much. Well… 26oz of Kahlua and 13oz of vodka over two weeks, so almost 3oz/day.
I don’t know if that sounds like a lot… when I was still a social binge drinker it wasn’t unusual for me — on any given Friday and / or Saturday night — to go through eighteen to twenty or more ounces of hard stuff, as well as a whole lot of beer. But that sounds like bragging. I was also hanging around with a bunch of people who could pretty much go shot for shot with me, so it never felt weird. And now one of them owns a successful brewery.
I know people are worried about me. I know my mother keeps wanting to cry over my current state of being. Which is weird. She doesn’t know about the drinking, but she does know about my psychiatrist scheduling me for weekly appointments, and she has watched my mental state of health deteriorate over the past few months.
I’ve been quieter, I don’t laugh nearly as much as I have, I’m not funny anymore. And, to be frank, I’ve been having some mildly disturbing thoughts. Not about the act of killing myself, I still have the general warm blanket of nihilism that comes with having lived with two decades of thoughts and fantasies of killing myself, but not the thoughts and fantasies themselves. Not anymore.
I had a friend back in high school who “didn’t care enough to be apathetic”. Right now that applies to a large piece of my life. It’s almost as though I’m wearing ‘black face’… like every morning I’m putting the paint on so I can show the face people expect, or the face that’ll most likely get me through the day. Like I’m acting.
But the more I act, the less I care about what’s going on around me, so the more the act is either fraying, or taking over, or both.
I really feel thin at times. Like I’m exhausted, but still being asked to perform some complicated task. But I just keep getting more exhausted, and now I’m at the point where I’m barely performing the tasks correctly, and only out of muscle memory. So if anything changes, I’m fucked.
It’s in that exhausted state of mind, combined with the feeling of being frayed by pretending to take part in the life around me, where the disturbing thoughts come in.
It’s like I’m running out of paint. Like there are cracks. Like I’m drowning, but trying to let the people on shore know there’s no reason to worry.
The disturbing thoughts are mostly about my father, and the opportunities I’ve missed because he abandoned me. It feels as though I’ve already started comparing who I am and who I’ll become, to who he was and continues to be. When I start thinking “this might be too much”, I start to wonder if this is how he started out. Is this the gate he walked through when he lost interest in his sons.
I find a lot of the things I do for my girlfriend, the unselfish acts, are more motivated by my not wanting to be anything like my father, than by how much I care for her.
That’s one of the more disturbing thoughts I’ve been having. There are others like that.
But I have to stop here.
I have to be awake in four hours so I can go see my girlfriend in Ottawa… we’re into Week 31, and they’ve moved her over to “self-care”, so the doctors think she’s out of any immediate danger. So once we get into the eighth month I think we’re going to bring her back home and wait out the rest of the pregnancy here.
My itinerary today… wake up for 5am, my ride leaves at 6am then I’ll be at the hospital from 8am until 5pm. Then it’s home by 7pm. After that it’s pretty much random.
My girlfriend is healthy, the baby is healthy, and we’re getting closer to having a full-term baby… pretty fucking cool.