And when you've forgotten your medicine...
I left my meds at Mike's house and I didn't realize it. After not having them for about 3 days I woke up and felt like crying. My heart hurt for seemingly no reason, and I couldn't bear to get up. I've been feeling like shit since yesterday afternoon. The medicine evidently stays in my system about 2 days before I get to restart the course of sickness. At least I know that now.
I've come to the realization that I self-medicate when I feel like shit, because I went out with Frankenstein last night and got way too drunk. I wasn't an idiot, and I didn't do anything stupid, but I didn't NEED to drink as much as I did. I've thought about it, and when I'm depressed, I drink to excess more than a person should. I never realized it, but I do now. Most people say, "No, I've had enough. I'll feel horrible tomorrow if I have another one."
I just don't care.
Feeling like hell the next day isn't a concern, because my pain is erased for the time being. It's my little chance to escape the horrible static, the ocassional voice, the weight on my heart, the urge to just fall to the floor screaming of the hurt, the tears, the possibility of bloodshed, the want to fall asleep and never wake up. It chases away the fact that, at the time, I didn't have someone to hold me when I needed them most.
Here's the crooked optimism that came from this:
Maybe someday I WILL acquire an alcohol problem, and maybe someday I WILL be published.
I've come to the realization that I self-medicate when I feel like shit, because I went out with Frankenstein last night and got way too drunk. I wasn't an idiot, and I didn't do anything stupid, but I didn't NEED to drink as much as I did. I've thought about it, and when I'm depressed, I drink to excess more than a person should. I never realized it, but I do now. Most people say, "No, I've had enough. I'll feel horrible tomorrow if I have another one."
I just don't care.
Feeling like hell the next day isn't a concern, because my pain is erased for the time being. It's my little chance to escape the horrible static, the ocassional voice, the weight on my heart, the urge to just fall to the floor screaming of the hurt, the tears, the possibility of bloodshed, the want to fall asleep and never wake up. It chases away the fact that, at the time, I didn't have someone to hold me when I needed them most.
Here's the crooked optimism that came from this:
Maybe someday I WILL acquire an alcohol problem, and maybe someday I WILL be published.