Sitting here at 2:30 am drinking my forth black russian of the night, too tired and emotionally hurt to sleep. This will be my last drink for tonight though, need to pull myself together enough to work tomorrow. With out my make-work job that I'm sometimes able to convince myself is important, I would no longer have a purpose or any structure in my life. And without that, I would quickly succumb to a psychotic break again after a few more months of isolation in my apartment.
But nothing else brings me any comfort, nothing else takes the pain away anymore. There aren't any more video games or movies to cure me of my melancholy. Cooking no longer brings the enjoyment it used to, everything tastes the same. Nope. It's all dead to me now. Instead, alcohol and the drugs I'm sometimes able to source are my only friends left. Being married to a bottle of vodka is the closest I'll get to experience actual marriage. The two gallons of apple cider I'm currently brewing are the closest I'll get to experience in raising children. And then, when I get my two weeks per year off and away from the salary stall, I go for an extended vacation into my bag of psilocybin mushrooms and experience the only kind of trips I could call memorable. And for a time, the pain and hurt is forgotten, which is kind of ironic given that the only way to induce this state is to incur pain and hurt of my brain.
I guess what I'm trying to say is I need my two weeks of vacation soon.
But nothing else brings me any comfort, nothing else takes the pain away anymore. There aren't any more video games or movies to cure me of my melancholy. Cooking no longer brings the enjoyment it used to, everything tastes the same. Nope. It's all dead to me now. Instead, alcohol and the drugs I'm sometimes able to source are my only friends left. Being married to a bottle of vodka is the closest I'll get to experience actual marriage. The two gallons of apple cider I'm currently brewing are the closest I'll get to experience in raising children. And then, when I get my two weeks per year off and away from the salary stall, I go for an extended vacation into my bag of psilocybin mushrooms and experience the only kind of trips I could call memorable. And for a time, the pain and hurt is forgotten, which is kind of ironic given that the only way to induce this state is to incur pain and hurt of my brain.
I guess what I'm trying to say is I need my two weeks of vacation soon.
