“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.” David Foster Wallace
This will be the last post for a bit- I am checking into an inpatient facility today. The suicidal thoughts, and the drinking have become too much to handle. I was thinking about jumping out the window of my second floor house last night but wrestling has taught me that won’t work. I would either land on a car, or a wooden fence that would break my fall and just leave me with an insane bump that would break my ribs among other body parts. I also thought about taking all my meds with alcohol but knowing my tolerance I would survive that too and end up full of charcoal. My brain tells me to do this but I can’t. I don’t want to put my family and friends through another loss. So I drink to numb these thoughts with alcohol- a slow suicide in itself. I have so many people that care about me yet I don’t reach out unless I am in a blackout and god knows what I say then. For anyone out there feeling like I do fucking have hope. Do whatever you can to get help. I am not preaching, but I just don’t want anyone to go through every day feeling like I do. I survived one attempt before- I don’t think I can survive another. Honesty will cure you. If you don’t think anyone cares I do. I started this blog to be honest with the world, and the honest truth as much as I want to end my life I really don’t. Hey if this saves just one person and allows them to get help I will have succeed. I showed my dad this blog yesterday- it hurt his heart. He can’t understand my suicide desires and it hurts his stomach to think about. It’s weird how a naked piece of paper can be the canvas to expose are sins, flaws, and fears to the world. How when the ink hits the page, and the innocence of the lines those words fit in are corrupted, that from this exposing to light of the world they lose the power they once held over us. We all can sin, but not all of us can be honest. I am hardheaded and pain is my best motivator, and after hitting so much of it I got to admit this faith thing works a lot better. Better to be free of my sins and suffering than living a lie and flourishing. I hope one day from my trust in god I will be able to find that balance. Until then I drudge onwards to spiritual enlightenment with an honest heart as my compass. With an honest heart as my only beacon of hope to ever arrive there. And With an honest heart as the only way to fight off those demons of self-destruction for another day.
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I quarantined myself to my house like I was in that Alway’s Sunny Episode (shout out to Boyz II Men). This mental obsession seems to grow worse everyday, and if I leave I know alcohol would be the first thing I searched for. I am mindlessly watching old episodes of Hell’s Kitchen in a bit of a librium haze. Loneliness surrounds me, and all I want is the embrace of all those past lovers I left behind for the warm embrace of alcohol instead. Alcohol is the most enticing mistress I know- never has something just touching my lips gave me such comfort before, and with the ability to take away all my negative feelings. But tonight is almost over, and ideally tomorrow will be another day sober. I know my insecurity is the devil’s tool that is consuming my mind in these early days. That fear that wipes over me as I get sober is normal since I am taking away the solution I have used for so long to mask myself. But think about the fact that any perceived insecurities are created from false thoughts created inside me, or from belief in the false negative from outside influences that take myself away from realizing the truth in myself. So today I am looking deep into me heart and realizing this obsession will past. Even though tonight will be brutal- this discomfort will help me grow. Or so I have to believe this to get through the night.
It’s day four and sometimes my brain feels like it’s fighting itself- when I start to feel good I always want to destroy it. I realize that for some reason I hate myself deep down and I don’t know why. Alcohol helps with the sabotage turning myself into that person I despise. The person who tries to ruin every relationship I have. I am trying to change this, but I don’t know how to sometimes, and I just feel pain. I want to find the love I am missing inside, and I am going to keep on searching. If not only for myself, but for my sister, niece and nephew for the love they lost I want to regain. So on day four I want to give myself the gift of forgiveness, and I hope that freedom allows me to work to be forgiven for all my past sins. I know words can’t undue what I said or how act while drinking, but I hope as time passes in this new year I can work my way back to the person I know I am deep inside, and hopefully you will get to know that person too as I continue to write more. Today has been brutal. Every portion of the soul of my body wants to drink. The Librium the doctor gave me is not helping as much as I would like. My IOP and the hour long yoga session web did helped for a bit. In the session today they asked when they should know when I was bullshitting them and myself- and I said when I hide my emotions and pretend everything is alright. I also admitted for my initial intake interview this past Monday I had a fifth of vodka with me, and never told my counselor about that Edgar Allen Poe Tell Tale Heart in my pocket. It was my eldest brother’s birthday that day which was something else I failed to mention. He is currently in jail for triple murder from a schizophrenic break from reality when he murdered our sister, four year old niece, and two year old nephew in a blackout. I have just rekindled a relationship with him after s few years, and understand he was mentally ill and not in his right mind during that fine. Although I hate the situation I don’t hate him. The realization was I hate myself for my reaction to it after it. That incident is what led to my alcohol dependence, and the turmoil I put myself into in the aftermath. So today I am reaching out for help, and putting my faith in this universe around us. And also opening myself up to all you strangers reading this, and hoping my honesty can help another person, and also my own self struggling just be able to get through another day.
It’s day three sober and my brain has me feeling like the Geto Boys as I stay steady staring at candles like my mind was playing tricks on me wishing I could be like Holden Caufield- just a catcher in the rye. Just standing on some crazy cliff catching addicts before they fall off into the abyss. I wish I can catch their pain, sadness, and fear and devour it away. Just take it all and store it into my soul. I know eventually one day all that ugliness, sorrow, and horror would tear apart my insides like a machetes through the unwanted orphans that surround my heart- but I would do it. And I know I could carry it for them, and if that pain destroyed me it would be worth it to free just one person from that living purgatory that seemed more like hell than hell could possibly be. And I would gladly choke on the bile of bitterness trapped in my throat all day if I could see just a hint of happiness in their heart. I would devour that pain with a smile if they only asked me to. Because suffering for the freedom of others is a noble gift. And self sacrifice- even when it means eternal damnation for yourself- is truly blissful at the end. For I was blessed to carry this pain with me so they wouldn’t have to.
As night falls on Day 2 of sobriety, and the wind grows as cold as my soul has felt these last few weeks drowning in liquor, I am not feeling my normal detox symptoms. My usual extreme anxiety, tremors, creepy crawling skin, and a brain that feels like it’s on loop as if it was a air ballon lost in a hurricane hasn’t happened-well yet. The mental obsession is here of course- but weirdly the cravings haven’t had me figuring out ways to sneak to the liquor store. It could be that I am on high alert, and finally went to a new IOP that I thoroughly enjoyed this morning. Or, maybe, this blog thing is keeping my anxiety in check because I am not keeping any secrets from the world anymore. Being vulnerable is terrifying because it opens you up to emotions which can paralyze you in fear. Fear which makes you settle for a comfort zone that makes you miserable. But misery can be a safety blanket from that fear. The catch 22 of pain because it’s all you know. I have lived for so many years in a haze of anesthesia numbing myself with anyway I knew just so I didn’t have to feel life. Emotions terrified me. And from that fear I ruined so many relationships, friendships, and opportunities for success. But I finally realized my greatest strength is vulnerability because it makes me feel pain so I can experience joy again; a freedom to connect with others, and break down my wall. A freedom to pursue my dreams and realize even if I fail I am growing. And most importantly a path to the peace I have always been searching for under those bright stars that hide in the sunlight. Never had failure looked so tempting because on the other end is the journey to the joy of success.
I am not big on resolutions-especially New Year’s one. I used to have a blog called Drunk and Focused which I wrote about drinking, culture, music, and even reviewed every flavor of Maddog 2020. But it’s the first day of 2019, and my first day sober once again- and yes I know how fucking cliche it is to get sober on January 1st. Getting sober on the first is on some basic as fuck shit that it could be an American Eagle commercial. This also a chance to prove I am not washed up in the blog game. This site will not just be about not drinking, though I will journal each day of my sobriety, but it will also highlight the myriad of many other things fucking up my mind these days. So I will write about the joys of mental illness, rap music, tv, pop culture, rants, wrestling, why you should never Facebook message people while in a blackout, and a place to share my writing to prove all that student loan debt I am in was totally worth it to get an MFA. So get ready for the return of the LeBron James of this blog game- this time with a 12 step habit.
Patrick Bernard 