I have a confession.
I’ve still been drinking. I’m nailing 4 or 5 beers in a session.
I have another confession. I drink to hide my guilt. I have a major part to play in the downfall of my marriage.
I began this post to give a overview of my life in the past 20 years. But as I began to write it, I realized that I am only responsible for my own actions. The truth of the matter is that I screwed up in some major ways in my marriage – in spite of how I felt, I didn’t have the guts to stand my own ground in a positive way. On some level, I want to discuss the physical, mental and emotional abuse I experienced. But what does it matter when I made the decision to cheat almost 15 years ago? What does it matter when I chose to match toxic behavior with a toxic response? I sought a quick and easy way to make myself feel better.
It solved nothing…
My 44th birthday is in less than a week; I was going to wait until then to stop drinking, because dates matter to me. But that’s an excuse, isn’t it?
I bought a 6 pack last night and drank 5, sitting in my hotel room and feeling sorry for myself. I dumped the last one out this morning. I opened the bottle and dumped it down the toilet.
Fuck it and fuck this shit. I can’t expect the people in my life, or the situation of my life to change to suit my needs, but I can make sure that I’m matching calamity with serenity.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it, or how I’m gonna fucking survive, but I’m sick of feeling sorry for myself. I was a fuckin’ bad-ass once, why the fuck can’t I be a bad-ass again?
I’m on Mutha-Fuckin’ Day 1, bitches!