How can so simple a question have so complex an answer?
Someone asked me this morning how I was doing. I still haven’t answered that question.
Outwardly, things are going great. I have a wonderful girlfriend whom I love. She is amazing. My children are healthy and doing well. My mother’s health, while still under close scrutiny, is doing well. I have a job I (mostly) love and work with amazing people.
But still I hesitate before answering. Most of the time I’ll say I’m fine, but that’s far from the truth. For reasons I cannot identify, a feel like I’m drowning. The slightest bit of stress drives me straight into a bottle. Motivation eludes me. Anxiety drips from me. Things I should care about I do not.
I should care that I’m putting some weight back on. I don’t. I should care that the constant drinking is unhealthy for both my mind and my body. I do not. I should care that my latest labs showed high cholesterol and triglycerides (likely due to excessive alcohol consumption). I do not. I keep telling myself I’ll get back on track tomorrow. When tomorrow comes I tell myself, again, that I’ll start again tomorrow. And the pattern continues.
It’s a fucked up thing to look around your life, not find anything wrong, yet still feel the grips of despair.
I asked my doctor for a referral to a psychiatrist last week. I can see clearly that I’m on a path to destruction, yet can’t muster up a lousy fuck to give that I’m on it. I don’t want to lose what I have, yet can’t seem to find a way off this escalator down.
I love myself and hate myself simultaneously. I love my sense of humor. I love my compassion. I love my intelligence. BUT…I hate how I see myself. I hate how unworthy I feel of even the slightest good fortune. I hate hating anything about myself.
My appointment is the 25th. That was the soonest they could get me in as a new patient. I hope this time I can build a relationship with this doctor. My last attempts at counseling didn’t go well.