Hair of the dog
I drink way too much.
That much is becoming clear to me. Sure, I've never blacked out, been hungover, or thrown up, but I still drink too much nonetheless.
It's never a reasonable amount. It's always a binge - half, an entire bottle of wine; three or four ciders in under an hour; not stopping until I can feel that my equilibrium is affected.
I'm not even sure anymore what my motivations for quaffing multiple glasses of wine in a sitting are. I used to get a sort of pleasant fuzziness in my head, a soft block on all the garbage that normally churns around, but not anymore. At best, my thoughts are slower, and my tongue is looser, which is a help because while I've always had a hard time voicing my thoughts/feelings, it's become especially pronounced lately. The old benefits don't happen anymore, but the reflex remains.
Even though there's an awareness that my coping habit is beyond unhealthy, I'm reluctant to outright stop, even though it's fully within my power to do so. I don't have a lot that I can do anymore that reduces the continued agony of living, and I figure that intoxicated is a lot better than dead or mutilated.
At least that's what I tell myself.
In a way, I'm disappointed with myself, as far as how this is turning out. I had the delightful opportunity to finally meet one of my internet friends in person last November - Mama Goat, I believe I've mentioned her here before - and we talked about a lot of things, from how great it was to finally be able to put a face and voice to a personality that has become so familiar, to our respective but somehow shared complaints about family. One topic that I remember vividly, though, is her discussing her own former struggles with alcoholism, and how strongly she...I don't know if begged is the right word here, but how strongly she expressed a desire to not see me go down that same path. And I feel like I, slowly but surely, am doing just that. Drinking to cope. Not because I like the taste (though with my high standards, that certainly plays a role), not to be social, not to relax, but to chase a period of time when I can, if only for a moment, stop feeling, or at least feel less.
I feel like I'm letting her down. I feel like I let a lot of people down.
All this I reflect on as I sit in my lab after hours, sipping bourbon chilled in the lab freezer. I'm such a hypocrite.
That much is becoming clear to me. Sure, I've never blacked out, been hungover, or thrown up, but I still drink too much nonetheless.
It's never a reasonable amount. It's always a binge - half, an entire bottle of wine; three or four ciders in under an hour; not stopping until I can feel that my equilibrium is affected.
I'm not even sure anymore what my motivations for quaffing multiple glasses of wine in a sitting are. I used to get a sort of pleasant fuzziness in my head, a soft block on all the garbage that normally churns around, but not anymore. At best, my thoughts are slower, and my tongue is looser, which is a help because while I've always had a hard time voicing my thoughts/feelings, it's become especially pronounced lately. The old benefits don't happen anymore, but the reflex remains.
Even though there's an awareness that my coping habit is beyond unhealthy, I'm reluctant to outright stop, even though it's fully within my power to do so. I don't have a lot that I can do anymore that reduces the continued agony of living, and I figure that intoxicated is a lot better than dead or mutilated.
At least that's what I tell myself.
In a way, I'm disappointed with myself, as far as how this is turning out. I had the delightful opportunity to finally meet one of my internet friends in person last November - Mama Goat, I believe I've mentioned her here before - and we talked about a lot of things, from how great it was to finally be able to put a face and voice to a personality that has become so familiar, to our respective but somehow shared complaints about family. One topic that I remember vividly, though, is her discussing her own former struggles with alcoholism, and how strongly she...I don't know if begged is the right word here, but how strongly she expressed a desire to not see me go down that same path. And I feel like I, slowly but surely, am doing just that. Drinking to cope. Not because I like the taste (though with my high standards, that certainly plays a role), not to be social, not to relax, but to chase a period of time when I can, if only for a moment, stop feeling, or at least feel less.
I feel like I'm letting her down. I feel like I let a lot of people down.
All this I reflect on as I sit in my lab after hours, sipping bourbon chilled in the lab freezer. I'm such a hypocrite.
Comments
Post a Comment