Painful Evolution

I am coming around.

Coming out of my 2022 coma. With intermittently dire consequences, strangely enough.

I have incorporated beauty back into my life on my days off. Exercising, writing, reading, watching good stuff on the television machine, not drinking - allowing my body and brain to recover from the nasty beatings I have self-administered this year. Leading back to the life-saving disciplines I adopted during Covid to allow my soul to breathe.

The flip side to that are the days I have to work. I cannot handle them. Cannot rationalize them away, cannot grateful them away, cannot zen them away. This job is toxic. It is destroying me. More honestly, the way I deal with work days is destroying me.

The contrast is too much. The difference between a beautiful day off and a horrific day at work is the difference between heaven and hell. A fucking psychological roller coaster ride that splits my brain and confuses the fucking shit out of my body. One healthy day, one self-destructive day. Ping and pong. Yin and yang. Jekyll and Hyde. And it happens every other fucking day. No way to recover from it, no time to deal with it, no room for my bruised brain to heal.

No room to breathe.

Dissociative Identity Disorder: "A mental health condition, people with dissociative identity disorder have two or more separate personalities." 

The difference in my behavior is that pronounced. Again, I truly hope my therapist is good. Carol mailed the paperwork out on Monday. Things should start moving soon.

With a little more focus I have transformed my days off into a Sandals-like all expense paid vacation. Peaceful. Tranquil. Appreciating the beauty of where I live smack dab in the middle of summer, appreciating Carol, loving our cats. Appreciating the fact that, once more, my brain is coming back around.

By contrast, I have transformed work days into an all expense paid trip to the den of the Marquis de Sade.

I did not have to be into work yesterday until 2:30. I made it a beautiful day until 1:30. Then I began the process of destroying myself, which I continued throughout the grueling 4 hours I had to work. I won't get into detail because I would get fired. Suffice it to say, I got home at 6:30, downed a shot of whiskey, fell asleep in the recliner at 7:00, woke up at 9:30.

This situation was helped along by the fact that I barely got any sleep - again - the night before.

My plan was to come home and enjoy a peaceful night watching the Red Sox with Carol. My anger and self-destruction would not allow that. I slept through the fucking game and went to bed around 11:30.

I have the capacity to introduce serenity into my life when I do not have to work. My brain works on those days. I have the capacity for self-destruction when I do have to work. My brain does not work on those days.

A strange dichotomy. An uncomfortable one. It is not healthy for one of my personalities to be at war with the other one on a schedule of alternating days.

Apparently, when I evolve it has to be done painfully.