Self-Destructive Patterns
So for those of you who don't know (which I'm sure by now, there are very, very few), I got drunk last saturday. And I mean...DRUNK. Completely blacked out drunk. Normally, when I'm supersmashed, everything is blurry, but I'm still SOMEwhat aware of whats going on. This time? Nothing. There's three hours of my life that I was apparently running on nothing but alcohol and bipolarness, because I sure as hell wasn't in the driver's seat.
No, I don't remember anything. So don't ask. ANYthing. I've been told a few pieces here and then, and based on those lil pieces, I don't WANT to know anymore. I feel bad enough as is.
In three hours, I remember two things, at about three seconds each. First one is the inside of a pitcher as I chugged it. The second is pavement coming up really fast.
Yes, I know I had to be restrained. For some reason, even as a little kid, whenever cops, EMTs, etc are involved, I freak out. I don't know why.
And yes, I've been told I swallowed multiple goldfish.
Someone apparently told someone downtown (I have a fairly good idea who the one(s) were), who told his mom (whom I work with), who told my boss. Thanks a lot, guys, I appreciate it. *sarcasm* At least it was the boss who understands me. Big mouths.
I have 6 stitches in my forehead. I have a broken nose. My left arm has not fully regained feeling/sensation, my hand is still "tingly". I was three times the legal limit (is what they tell me). I managed to knock my heart out of rhythm, as it started out beating WAY too fast, then way too slow, then back and forth. As an irregular heartbeat is what killed my father and grandfather, they naturally became worried. But it's back to normal. I believe.
The thing that hurts the most is my pride. I feel like a buffoon. I feel like a joke. I know for a fact that some of you consider me a joke. I'm ashamed, I'm embarassed, and there's a lot of you I don't want to face. Some of you out of shame, others...
The worst part is how nice some of you have been. Chris took me to Devin's to pick up my phone and wallet, who had tried to take it to the hospital, but was refused. Ray and Kyle both texted me to check up on me, which, honestly, made me feel a hell of a lot better about things.
So, yeah, drinking while knowing full well that A) you're bipolar, and B) alcoholism runs in the family is a dangerous game. I've been flirting with serious disaster for a while now. How long before something happens and I'm seriously hurt, or worse?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I'm completely giving up drinking (as of yet). I don't want to lie to you, or more importantly, myself. But for the time being, at least until I feel like I have my head screwed on straight, I think I'm done. It's not going to be easy, but it's something I want to do for my family, my real friends, and myself.
So for the few of you that have read all this, and actually give a crap, thank you, I appreciate your friendship. The rest of you? Meh.
No, I don't remember anything. So don't ask. ANYthing. I've been told a few pieces here and then, and based on those lil pieces, I don't WANT to know anymore. I feel bad enough as is.
In three hours, I remember two things, at about three seconds each. First one is the inside of a pitcher as I chugged it. The second is pavement coming up really fast.
Yes, I know I had to be restrained. For some reason, even as a little kid, whenever cops, EMTs, etc are involved, I freak out. I don't know why.
And yes, I've been told I swallowed multiple goldfish.
Someone apparently told someone downtown (I have a fairly good idea who the one(s) were), who told his mom (whom I work with), who told my boss. Thanks a lot, guys, I appreciate it. *sarcasm* At least it was the boss who understands me. Big mouths.
I have 6 stitches in my forehead. I have a broken nose. My left arm has not fully regained feeling/sensation, my hand is still "tingly". I was three times the legal limit (is what they tell me). I managed to knock my heart out of rhythm, as it started out beating WAY too fast, then way too slow, then back and forth. As an irregular heartbeat is what killed my father and grandfather, they naturally became worried. But it's back to normal. I believe.
The thing that hurts the most is my pride. I feel like a buffoon. I feel like a joke. I know for a fact that some of you consider me a joke. I'm ashamed, I'm embarassed, and there's a lot of you I don't want to face. Some of you out of shame, others...
The worst part is how nice some of you have been. Chris took me to Devin's to pick up my phone and wallet, who had tried to take it to the hospital, but was refused. Ray and Kyle both texted me to check up on me, which, honestly, made me feel a hell of a lot better about things.
So, yeah, drinking while knowing full well that A) you're bipolar, and B) alcoholism runs in the family is a dangerous game. I've been flirting with serious disaster for a while now. How long before something happens and I'm seriously hurt, or worse?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I'm completely giving up drinking (as of yet). I don't want to lie to you, or more importantly, myself. But for the time being, at least until I feel like I have my head screwed on straight, I think I'm done. It's not going to be easy, but it's something I want to do for my family, my real friends, and myself.
So for the few of you that have read all this, and actually give a crap, thank you, I appreciate your friendship. The rest of you? Meh.