A Dumber Kind of Strong
I didn't do what I intended to do today. I decided I was too tough to be a pussy. I'm not great with vulnerability. Especially with strangers. And I was not going to walk into some random doctor's office and admit that I'd fucked up my life so badly that I needed prescription pharmaceuticals to help me deal with my inability to deal with the consequences of my fuck up. That's a rough one for me. Of course when the anxiety gets so bad that you can't sleep or eat and you begin wishing you didn't have a failure complex about tying knots, it's time to take some action.
So instead I decided to buck up. I'm going to give it one more shot before I admit defeat and medicate away my problems. I'm not even considering counseling this time, which is what I usually do. I've counseled my problems several times. I like counseling. Mostly because I like analyzing. Who else in my life is going to play along with my overwhelming desire to analyze if not my shrink? In any case, one or two visits a week and I'd be completely distracted away from my problems. This time I'm not so sure the fun of talking about myself would do the trick. I think I need something more powerful. And I really don't want to spend weeks on end talking about how I royally fucked up my life. Yes, when or if the time comes, I'm planning to go straight to a pharmaceutical intervention.
After I try one more thing, the aforementioned bucking up. Don't think that functional alcoholism didn't cross my mind because it did. I need to not be where I am and I know rum could do the trick. Come home every night and have enough drinks to deaden the consequences of my actions and actually sleep? Sounds pretty good. Until you consider the expense and the potential of daily hangovers. In lieu of all that, I'm going to try strength. It makes me tired (yet not tired enough to sleep most nights... weird, I know) and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up. I'm going to fake it 'til I make it, or until I end up an inpatient. Whichever comes first. Seriously, I'm going to go back to what I know to do in these situations - keep moving. I'm not sure how that will quell the anxiety, but I'm going to give it a go. I'm going to walk and go to the gym and not sit still. I'm going to give the mania what it wants - action. Hopefully, it'll quiet my mind and let me adjust to the fucked up state of my life.
If it doesn't, I'll lay myself and my vulnerability before a stranger and beg for drugs. Let me make it clear that there is nothing wrong with medicating away problems. I know many, many, many people who get a small pharmaceutical boost every day. They are good people who just need a little help to get over life's rougher patches. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Of course, they aren't me. They don't (falsely) pride themselves on strength until they hit rock bottom. They are strong enough to acknowledge their weaknesses and let themselves be vulnerable. Not me. I'm a different kind of strong, a dumber kind of strong. And I'm pretty much okay with that. Right up until I Google knot tying. Yeah, don't ask.
So instead I decided to buck up. I'm going to give it one more shot before I admit defeat and medicate away my problems. I'm not even considering counseling this time, which is what I usually do. I've counseled my problems several times. I like counseling. Mostly because I like analyzing. Who else in my life is going to play along with my overwhelming desire to analyze if not my shrink? In any case, one or two visits a week and I'd be completely distracted away from my problems. This time I'm not so sure the fun of talking about myself would do the trick. I think I need something more powerful. And I really don't want to spend weeks on end talking about how I royally fucked up my life. Yes, when or if the time comes, I'm planning to go straight to a pharmaceutical intervention.
After I try one more thing, the aforementioned bucking up. Don't think that functional alcoholism didn't cross my mind because it did. I need to not be where I am and I know rum could do the trick. Come home every night and have enough drinks to deaden the consequences of my actions and actually sleep? Sounds pretty good. Until you consider the expense and the potential of daily hangovers. In lieu of all that, I'm going to try strength. It makes me tired (yet not tired enough to sleep most nights... weird, I know) and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up. I'm going to fake it 'til I make it, or until I end up an inpatient. Whichever comes first. Seriously, I'm going to go back to what I know to do in these situations - keep moving. I'm not sure how that will quell the anxiety, but I'm going to give it a go. I'm going to walk and go to the gym and not sit still. I'm going to give the mania what it wants - action. Hopefully, it'll quiet my mind and let me adjust to the fucked up state of my life.
If it doesn't, I'll lay myself and my vulnerability before a stranger and beg for drugs. Let me make it clear that there is nothing wrong with medicating away problems. I know many, many, many people who get a small pharmaceutical boost every day. They are good people who just need a little help to get over life's rougher patches. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Of course, they aren't me. They don't (falsely) pride themselves on strength until they hit rock bottom. They are strong enough to acknowledge their weaknesses and let themselves be vulnerable. Not me. I'm a different kind of strong, a dumber kind of strong. And I'm pretty much okay with that. Right up until I Google knot tying. Yeah, don't ask.
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