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LJ Idol- Week 7- hikikomori
Aug. 22nd, 2024 07:26 am* Housekeeping
Zeke and Hannah will return if I do, as Hannah goes to Hell. It wouldn't be my first choice of for a date after so many years, bold strategy Cotton, we'll see if it works out for him.
The prompt this week was simply too "on the nose" for me to do anything else.
In the past, in keeping with my villainous persona, I have railed against "trigger warnings" and I still think it can spoil writing for the rest of us if we know what is coming. But my goal with "my story" is to help people someday, and I can't do that if I start out hurting someone. This entry features a suicide attempt, animal neglect and very frank talk about late-stage alcoholism *
*********************************************************************************************
How do you make an introvert out of an extrovert (and I am a true extrovert, not an introvert/extrovert which seems to be all the rage nowadays). I would add copious amounts of alcohol and shame. I know, TV and movies have taught you alcohol makes introverts extroverted mostly to comedic effect, and that does happen. But on the "this is serious" end of drinking all those Dudley Moore/Amy Farrah Fowler expectations are thwarted.
There was always an element of drinking at home for me, even when I could trust myself to drink in bars. I am not a Rockefeller and 7 nights a week in "the club" would be prohibitively expensive, when I got to the stage where pissing myself and verbally fighting were part of almost every time I drank, "taking it to the house" seemed prudent.
I was unemployed at this time, and never set an alarm, but I woke up at 6:45 religiously, it was long enough to throw on some clothes, sometimes comically seasonally inappropriate ones (on one occasion suit pants and a t-shirt with shoes on the wrong foot, frequently shorts on the coldest days of the year, whatever I could grab quickly) and go to the corner store.
I started drinking then, about 7:10 A.M, and I stopped between 2 and 3 A.M when I passed out. Part of this was during Covid, part of it was not, the difference was only if I wore a mask when going to the beer store or the liquor store. Either way I saw no one, but my wonderful dog Dixie (Ava was nearing the end of her life at the start of this, but that is too dark, even for me...She had Cancer and I couldn't really afford vet visits, I did what was my best at the time). Dixie is a blue heeler (eventually she was taken away from me, the day I was evicted) but at this point my love potato was working full time to keep me mentally afloat. (As opposed to literally afloat, my brain was swimming in so much alcohol it was pretty pickled).
My days consisted of a lot of pacing around while listening to loud music (rock and alternative mostly but my Spotify list seems like it was selected while drunk, for some reason, even now that I am not.) Watching good movies, reading good books and making bad conversation with people that loved me, usually via text or especially Facebook Messenger.
You see, even though I was so hammered, all the time, that sex would have been a pipe dream and even er, self-service was a demeaning, humbling chore...I felt compelled to start up sexual conversations with any woman in range, and with Facebook friends as far away as New Zealand, it was quite a range. Most of them used the unfriend/block method to eliminate this pest, and it became a game with me to see how many friends I had before I started chatting vs how many I woke with the next morning.
One day I got tired of it and decided to kill myself with Benadryl, why Benadryl, sure...I probably guessed it wouldn't work and would maybe get me attention, oh internet thought police. I also had already taken all of my aunt's slightly expired Vicodin and Hydrocodone and everything else that might get you "high". Anyway, I don't recommend Benadryl in the 250 plus pills dosage, it leaves you completely aware but paralyzed, or it did me, your mileage may vary, but I am confident it will be a nightmare. Dixie lay on me for hours, keeping my fraying mind from dissolving entirely. This is where the dramatist in me would say "Inject some humor, you have to get up off the audience's chest at some point if you want them to not be numb to the horror" very well, the TV was on "Everybody Loves Raymond", I lost the ability to walk and it was some kind of TBS marathon. I HATE that show, to see it now, would provoke a trauma response. I guess it could have been worse, Fox news existed then as now.
Eventually I broke the TV and found myself watching a 2-inch screen most of my days. The days I didn't drink, due to finances or some misguided return of morality, were, if possible, worse. My blood pressure shot to 200 over something and my tinnitus forced me to the couch crying at almost exactly 4 p.m. my body was convinced that it was drink or die and my survival instinct was strong.
Blue Heelers are an active breed but mine was reduced to love and worry, long walks became me letting her out the door and hoping for the best. When they evicted me, she was taken by animal control to a shelter, then her own rehab. During early recovery, someone told me she had found a family with a child, I hope that is true. It feels true, she is such a great dog someone would want her.
I don't know how I got out of this. I just had no other moves, I had to die, or I had to stop. Enough people cared enough to help me somehow, get to stop.
O.k. so FINALLY here is the hope part. If you are like me, no, you will never get to "drink like a lady or a gentleman" again, it's over, it's probably been over a long time. And the withdrawals will absolutely kick your ass like it has never been kicked before, I recommend medical supervision, God has many names, among them Valium and Ativan.
The good news is the Withdrawals end, you don't get to get a righteous buzz anymore, but sometimes you get to catch a ballgame, or a play, or do some work (paid and unpaid), meet other people like you who actually understand. You get to connect with something better, regardless of your religious beliefs. I even kissed a girl (and like Katy Perry, I liked it).
This entry is dedicated to the wonderful Dixienne Consuela Donuts, I would not be here without you Dixie, I love you, wherever you are!
Zeke and Hannah will return if I do, as Hannah goes to Hell. It wouldn't be my first choice of for a date after so many years, bold strategy Cotton, we'll see if it works out for him.
The prompt this week was simply too "on the nose" for me to do anything else.
In the past, in keeping with my villainous persona, I have railed against "trigger warnings" and I still think it can spoil writing for the rest of us if we know what is coming. But my goal with "my story" is to help people someday, and I can't do that if I start out hurting someone. This entry features a suicide attempt, animal neglect and very frank talk about late-stage alcoholism *
*********************************************************************************************
How do you make an introvert out of an extrovert (and I am a true extrovert, not an introvert/extrovert which seems to be all the rage nowadays). I would add copious amounts of alcohol and shame. I know, TV and movies have taught you alcohol makes introverts extroverted mostly to comedic effect, and that does happen. But on the "this is serious" end of drinking all those Dudley Moore/Amy Farrah Fowler expectations are thwarted.
There was always an element of drinking at home for me, even when I could trust myself to drink in bars. I am not a Rockefeller and 7 nights a week in "the club" would be prohibitively expensive, when I got to the stage where pissing myself and verbally fighting were part of almost every time I drank, "taking it to the house" seemed prudent.
I was unemployed at this time, and never set an alarm, but I woke up at 6:45 religiously, it was long enough to throw on some clothes, sometimes comically seasonally inappropriate ones (on one occasion suit pants and a t-shirt with shoes on the wrong foot, frequently shorts on the coldest days of the year, whatever I could grab quickly) and go to the corner store.
I started drinking then, about 7:10 A.M, and I stopped between 2 and 3 A.M when I passed out. Part of this was during Covid, part of it was not, the difference was only if I wore a mask when going to the beer store or the liquor store. Either way I saw no one, but my wonderful dog Dixie (Ava was nearing the end of her life at the start of this, but that is too dark, even for me...She had Cancer and I couldn't really afford vet visits, I did what was my best at the time). Dixie is a blue heeler (eventually she was taken away from me, the day I was evicted) but at this point my love potato was working full time to keep me mentally afloat. (As opposed to literally afloat, my brain was swimming in so much alcohol it was pretty pickled).
My days consisted of a lot of pacing around while listening to loud music (rock and alternative mostly but my Spotify list seems like it was selected while drunk, for some reason, even now that I am not.) Watching good movies, reading good books and making bad conversation with people that loved me, usually via text or especially Facebook Messenger.
You see, even though I was so hammered, all the time, that sex would have been a pipe dream and even er, self-service was a demeaning, humbling chore...I felt compelled to start up sexual conversations with any woman in range, and with Facebook friends as far away as New Zealand, it was quite a range. Most of them used the unfriend/block method to eliminate this pest, and it became a game with me to see how many friends I had before I started chatting vs how many I woke with the next morning.
One day I got tired of it and decided to kill myself with Benadryl, why Benadryl, sure...I probably guessed it wouldn't work and would maybe get me attention, oh internet thought police. I also had already taken all of my aunt's slightly expired Vicodin and Hydrocodone and everything else that might get you "high". Anyway, I don't recommend Benadryl in the 250 plus pills dosage, it leaves you completely aware but paralyzed, or it did me, your mileage may vary, but I am confident it will be a nightmare. Dixie lay on me for hours, keeping my fraying mind from dissolving entirely. This is where the dramatist in me would say "Inject some humor, you have to get up off the audience's chest at some point if you want them to not be numb to the horror" very well, the TV was on "Everybody Loves Raymond", I lost the ability to walk and it was some kind of TBS marathon. I HATE that show, to see it now, would provoke a trauma response. I guess it could have been worse, Fox news existed then as now.
Eventually I broke the TV and found myself watching a 2-inch screen most of my days. The days I didn't drink, due to finances or some misguided return of morality, were, if possible, worse. My blood pressure shot to 200 over something and my tinnitus forced me to the couch crying at almost exactly 4 p.m. my body was convinced that it was drink or die and my survival instinct was strong.
Blue Heelers are an active breed but mine was reduced to love and worry, long walks became me letting her out the door and hoping for the best. When they evicted me, she was taken by animal control to a shelter, then her own rehab. During early recovery, someone told me she had found a family with a child, I hope that is true. It feels true, she is such a great dog someone would want her.
I don't know how I got out of this. I just had no other moves, I had to die, or I had to stop. Enough people cared enough to help me somehow, get to stop.
O.k. so FINALLY here is the hope part. If you are like me, no, you will never get to "drink like a lady or a gentleman" again, it's over, it's probably been over a long time. And the withdrawals will absolutely kick your ass like it has never been kicked before, I recommend medical supervision, God has many names, among them Valium and Ativan.
The good news is the Withdrawals end, you don't get to get a righteous buzz anymore, but sometimes you get to catch a ballgame, or a play, or do some work (paid and unpaid), meet other people like you who actually understand. You get to connect with something better, regardless of your religious beliefs. I even kissed a girl (and like Katy Perry, I liked it).
This entry is dedicated to the wonderful Dixienne Consuela Donuts, I would not be here without you Dixie, I love you, wherever you are!
