a/k/a me and my big mouth. you know, i always think i’m doing some great thing in my head by making some confession or telling someone something or speaking my truth. and sometimes, i really feel justified in doing it. i do. and sometimes, even in my head later, i still feel like i’m not all that off course.
but, god just keeps telling me and reminding me that it’s not my place to tell people how to act and stuff. i don’t know. i don’t have any level of acceptance about anything. i want people to act the way i want them to act so badly. and that’s why i am so solitary these days, i think. who wants to be around that? that’s what the 4th step is all about. finding about your part. finding about my part. that i can’t stand myself and that i want others to accept me exactly who i am even though i can’t accept myself for who i am and even though i can’t accept them for who they are.
ack. ack. ack.
i don’t know. it’s such a struggle. i don’t know what’s going to happen. one way or another, something’s going to happen. i want to be happy, but i don’t want to do any work. it’s so ridiculous. it’s like sheer laziness will be my downfall. it’s like am i really that lazy? or do i have to get that miserable and desperate? it’s horrible being that sort of kind of just half-assed kind of majorly horribly shitty, but really you know, it’s just not that bad, really it’ll be okay, really you know i think i can manage to live this way.
and you know WHAT!? that’s *exactly* the kind of behavior i was judging the person that i sort of told what was what the other day. and i don’t think i realized it until just fucking now. god, i hate myself for that shit so much. and *that’s* why i don’t want to write my 4th step. because for the one moment or two i allow myself to sit down and start writing honestly (even if it’s at this darned old blog), i start to see the things about myself that make me a failure and that hurt my soul. and i know that i MUST go through to get out, but it still is so fucking painful.
and so, i do the thing that i judge this person for. i bail. i run. i chill. i isolate. i turn up the tv and pretend i don’t hear the god phone. it’s fear. it’s all fucking fear and loathing. the thing is, if i keep going, eventually i’ll drink again. and i don’t know if he’s got anything as acute as that. you know, the thing is, the other option is … i -don’t- drink again. and i’m just midlevel horribly miserable for the rest of my life. “dry” as they say around these parts. i’m suffering from a horrible spiritual malady and slowly dying on the inside.
there’s always that option, too. god. the thing is, he’s at least working out and eating right. i don’t even have that mojo going. for fuck’s sake! i know, i know. it’s all a self-pity fest. maybe it is. and that’s all part of the fucking disease, too. that’s the part that will get me to go, ‘who cares? it doesn’t matter. no one cares about you. what’s the big deal? you are overweight and lonely and no one gives a fuck. and you suck and nothing matters and you are a fuckup. drink!’ yeah, i know.
so, i’m talking about it. in public. like an asshole. oh well. it won’t be the first time, and most likely won’t be the last. if augusten burroughs can get rich talking about pseudoincestuousstatuoryrapeblowjobs, then i can do my thing in my little corner of the blogosphere.
time to get some project runway on.