It's 1:30 pm on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. The birds are chirping. Sunshine is all around us. The trees are releasing their pollen and turning our vehicles a lighter shade of yellow. All in all, it's quite a marvelous day.
Alternatively, I've been in a horrible, depressed mood all morning. No real reason to be so... just have been. In the course of correcting my mood, I've ingested roughly five shots of whiskey in forty-five minutes. I feel great!
As I sit to write this blog post, I must face a harsh self-criticism. I shouldn't use alcohol to make myself feel better. Now mind you, I don't drink that often. In fact, when I do drink, it's usually just one mixed drink in a pint glass. I definitely don't meet the criteria of an alcoholic. Alcoholism runs in my family, though; I must be cautious with my drinking habits. I do find it terribly amazing how alcohol can make one forget all their sadness and animosity... even for just a short while. Scratch that -- forget is not a proper word. Perhaps I should say subdue. Yes, let's rephrase that.
Alcohol can subdue all the sadness and animosity I feel.
It's a temporary fix to a long term problem. It's also one I shouldn't be exploring. It's too late now though. Best to write about it, get the emotions out in the open and move forwards.
The other point I'm reminded of in my libatious debauchery is how, no matter the positive progression I make towards emotional wellness, the rot that exists in me will always be there. A small fragment of the poison that has tainted my existence shall forever hook itself to my being. Again, this blog aims to educate myself in how to best contain that poison. Perhaps my heart needs a hazmat suit?
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