Coming Up For Air

My plan as the year wanes is to write a couple of brutally honest entries in this beast known as Whiskey Wisdom. A warning to family members and those who care about me - some of this may make you uncomfortable but please read all the way through. You'll feel better.

After writing that paragraph, I laughed inwardly at the pretentiousness. As if there are those waiting breathlessly to read my words, as if I am so deep that the words require a disclaimer. I'm leaving the paragraph intact.

I have had very little urge to come up here and write in the last couple of weeks. Which, for me is the same as saying I have had very little urge to breathe in the last couple of weeks.

Which is not far from the truth.

I am down. About as down as I get.

I have had periods of depression in my life all my life. Periods when it is excruciatingly hard to even leave the house. I do not want to talk to another person. When somebody gears up to say something to me, I cringe inside because I know I'll be forced to respond.

I cannot control this. I cannot think my way out of it. I have tried. It is brain deep, soul deep and physical. I just have to ride it out.

A memory just dredged up in my brain from many years ago. A depression summit meeting with my parents. As is typical with these memories, I don't remember the circumstances surrounding it. I must have done something to upset them or not done something that upset them.

Anyway, we met in a restaurant and I defended myself by explaining the crushing nature of this depression. How I can barely leave the house, how it is difficult to have a conversation with another human being. They suggested I see a psychiatrist.

I could see a psychiatrist. I could take a pill. I choose not to.

Our Christmas tree is invisible this year. I usually meditate upon it. It brings me peace. It hit me this morning as I clicked it on that I barely noticed it last night. And every night that it has been up.

Christmas Eve and Christmas day were beautiful. Family moments. Truth and emotion. Other than that, I feel nothing this year. Less than nothing.

When I crawled into bed Christmas night I thought to myself it would be a good night to die in my sleep.

I despise 2012.

I started a blog in 2011 and was excited about it. I honestly believed it would lead me somewhere. It has lead no where, other than to lead me into a couple of extreme moments of hope that subsequently crashed me to the ground. I made the pain worse by talking to family members about how this was going to happen and that was going to happen. These things never materialized and I looked the fool. Like a child believing Santa is coming down the chimney.

I worked hard in 2011 to lose weight and get down to a goal of 169 pounds. I did it. I now weigh close to 180.

I had hope in 2011 that the liquor store job would lead to stability. It has not. I travel to work now in anger and despair.

I wasted a year. I don't have years to waste.

I am afraid to think a positive thought or hatch another brilliant plan before the end of the year. I am afraid 2012 will kill it at it's inception. I am keeping my head down, crawling on my hands and knees towards 2013.

Having said all that, I can also say I am not done. Having started the blog, having lost the weight, having made the job move, I know I can do.

I can do. I am better than this.

I am not giving up. I am hungrier for a life change than ever before. And for concerned family members, no, I do not want to die.

As superficial as it sounds, I want to prove that I can rise to the level of my potential. Obviously inwardly but, and here is the superficial part, I want to prove to family and friends and enemies that I am not a lifetime underachiever. Even if they don't expect me to prove it. It is important to me.

I hope I come up for air on my birthday. I want to be happy on that day. New Year's Eve will be tough. Emotional. You can count on me giving the finger to 2012. The hope I direct at 2013 will be tentative, a little wiser, a little more protective, given my performance this year.

I have thought about this a lot through the weight of despair over the last couple of weeks. I recognize the need to make changes but I am not going to name them, I am not going to make promises.

Sometimes I think the depression is good because it shuts down my emotions ( no easy feat) and allows me the opportunity to think. I can wallow or I can think.

I am not looking for empathy or sympathy or understanding. I am not looking for anything other than something from myself.

Years come and go. Some are good, some are bad. I can accept that but I cannot accept that I contributed to failure in 2012. I thought I was trying as hard as my diseased brain would allow, but we humans are delusional, me first among you.

I have to examine that possibility.

I need to go deep. It is important. It is everything. Apparently I have been using the wrong tools because up to now I have only scratched the surface.

I will be fifty nine years old on January 1, 2013. Fifty nine years completed.

Sixty is a nice round number. A milestone. I could accept success at sixty. Happiness at sixty.

We'll see.