Well, I've been drinking again, adding to the steaming pile of failure that is my life. I had to have some dental work this past Tuesday, and I was given nitrous during the procedure. While I'm glad that there's something to help manage my anxiety, the taste of anxiolytic euphoria set my mind abuzz, and not only did I resolve to fall off the wagon, but I also decided to steal narcotics from my parents' home for an orgy of pleasure. I think the experience of certain pleasures triggers me (and addicts in general) to crave further pleasure, to keep pressing the lever until we starve to death. Fortunately, after my head cleared, I came to my senses and didn't carry out my plans. I'd been having so many close calls with falling off the wagon over the past week and a half. Each time I was tempted, drinking again didn't seem like a big deal. But I was always so thankful for resisting the next day.
Then came two shitty, shitty days at work where I busted my ass (for eleven straight hours on Wednesday) only to be criticized and called unprofessional for requesting half a day of comp time for all the extra hours I had to put in to get done what had to be done. In the cosmic scheme of things, I've never actually had a bad day, but the more grievous suffering of others does nothing to ameliorate my own challenges. Just making it through my day when things are going well is a constant struggle. I'd had enough, and I drank Thursday and Friday and Saturday. Which brings me to where I am now, two days sober.
The Will Towards Death
It seems, then, that an instinct is an urge inherent in organic life to restore an earlier state of things which the living entity has been obliged to abandon under the pressure of external disturbing forces; that is, it is a kind of organic elasticity, or, to put it another way, the expression of the inertia inherent in organic life.
{Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle}
Then came two shitty, shitty days at work where I busted my ass (for eleven straight hours on Wednesday) only to be criticized and called unprofessional for requesting half a day of comp time for all the extra hours I had to put in to get done what had to be done. In the cosmic scheme of things, I've never actually had a bad day, but the more grievous suffering of others does nothing to ameliorate my own challenges. Just making it through my day when things are going well is a constant struggle. I'd had enough, and I drank Thursday and Friday and Saturday. Which brings me to where I am now, two days sober.
The Will Towards Death
It seems, then, that an instinct is an urge inherent in organic life to restore an earlier state of things which the living entity has been obliged to abandon under the pressure of external disturbing forces; that is, it is a kind of organic elasticity, or, to put it another way, the expression of the inertia inherent in organic life.
{Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle}
I just don't know how long I can go on like this, trying to build a life on a foundation of nothing. I don't believe I have the strength to navigate the barren desert of self-improvement needed to reach the promised land of a more actualized existence. So do I surrender to being an irrelevant drunk as I've done before? Do I kill myself as I've tried before? Do I try to go on some kind of disability, which brings with it a whole host of challenge and problems since there is rarely help for those who need it? I simply do not know.
