Well, things got too much for me, and Monday evening I snapped, or let go, or whatever.
I wilfully ‘got fucked’. Partly as a response to constant work/money issues. Partly other stuff; which I’ll simply call general depression (arising from numerous causes; least said, soonest mended).
On this occasion it was just booze that I abused: a small-ish bottle of gin, and a standard bottle of red wine. The intended aim? Oblivion. Which I succeeded in. But not without dire consequence.
I smashed a picture frame, cutting my hand, and raged and raved, behaving pretty atrociously, by all accounts. The oblivion I sought was found, such that some of this sorry episode – perhaps I should be grateful? – is entirely lost to me.
I posted a message to FB – obviously both venting and a cry for help – which is, obviously, very embarrassing once the fit has passed.
Since this occurred I’ve confined myself to bed, and ‘recovery mode’. Near enough sleeping around the clock. Or just resting. Reading a bit, if I can muster the wherewithal.
Yesterday (Wednesday) I managed to do several hours of telephone based admin work, that desperately needed sorting. All of which revolved around sorting a working mobile phone (my latest iPhone SE not working has, it turns out, been part of the lack of work issue taking so long to resolve).
A new phone has been procured, via an insurance claim, costing me £55 (at a time when I’m totally broke), and should be arriving today. And all the documentation Amazon have requested – and which I was unable to successfully supply via the old/broken SE – has, via a secondary/backup iPhone 6S, now been sent.
So, hopefully, I’ll be back to delivering, fairly soon; could still take ‘up to five working days’! That’ll bring this current period of unemployment to a full month. Or £1200+ out of pocket.
I’m trying – tho’ barely managing (or more accurately not managing) to succeed in doing so – to sell some more drum stuff. I’ve got as far as getting it all down from the attic. But I have yet to place adverts, or whatever else I might do to sell the stuff.
I’ve had – as I always do, when things go south – a constant loop of self-destructive thoughts playing in my mind. One reason I’m confined to bed is that if I did get up and go out, it might be in search of rope and a tree.
Teresa remains my rock. She stayed home on Tuesday, to keep an eye on me. Which I think was very necessary. That got me through the worst post-meltdown period. I called Samaritans several times that day. Probably spent a total of about two hours talking to them. Thank goodness they are there!
Having just got and read Tolkien’s Lay of Aotrou & Itroun, I think it’s (fairly?) safe to say that it touched a raw nerve, for me, re our childlessness. Whilst Tolkien’s doomed Lord takes a potion to bring forth issue, my ‘potion’ merely seeks oblivion. But both have dire results.
I don’t want to go into this aspect of my current struggles. But the Tex Avery pics, and Tolkien’s tale, I think, will convey something of the issue.
Rather tragically, for me, at least as I see it, my fate must needs be more that of an ascetic monk than a princess-rescuing dragon-slaying adventurer.
It seems that I’m a hyper-sensitive endorphin junkie. And that to manage my ‘condition’, if I want to survive (never mind ‘prosper’, which seems an outcome that remains totally beyond reach) I must abstain from everything my pleasure-seeking self longs to indulge in.
