i don’t like to drink heavily, anymore. such activity brings on the dark fear of complete and utter doom. i wake up feeling like i have passed the point of no return and will surely die and go to hell soon. of course, the recovery moment from this state is one of great peace and catharsis. i feel like something deep inside me has been cleansed, and i am now ready to drink only the most purified water and eat raw fruits and vegetables.
i don’t like the person i become throughout the week when i add one more drink each night to the drink total from the night before. i lose control over my ability to recognize the difference between a mountain and a molehill. soon, i am lashing out about little things and forgetting big, important things.
every part of life starts to feel like it has some type of cyclic component to it. i don’t ever return completely to the same place i was before, but i keep coming back around to things that are familiar and chewing the cud of them, ruminating and moving on. perhaps the overall trend is upward or downward in some fashion, but many times it just feels like i’ve been running around the same track my entire adult life.
i don’t get depressed like i used to. i used to be incapable of getting out of bed some mornings. i didn’t like this part of myself and so i killed him. i saw no need to kill my entire self, when the act of dismissing the unsavory parts seemed to be good enough. of course, i let go much of the exuberant boy in the process. i no longer get excited about a new mexican restaurant, band or used book sale. i don’t anticipate ever undertaking an exercise regimen that will have me running three minute miles for hours on end.
my expectations were lowered to nil, and what remained was just the abiding stream of life. it was what it was. it flowed on, even as i tried to dance in and out of the waters and make new streams. but, no, my stream was my stream. there never was another stream for me to be in, no matter how hard i tried to prove that i was somebody else.