Not another false start, false promise. No I can’t continue. And though my wits end came a long time ago, I continued then with no change, and in full awareness of everything that was wrong with me. Believing that the tragedy of it was a lie that I manufactured. Ignoring the slowly increasing despair, and the sense of doom that defined my lowest moments. A moment I am in as I write this, waiting for the brain chemistry to normalize again. Doom might be the greatest teacher within these experiments of folly. After so many trials, what’s left is the helplessness of the fear that I will be doomed to repeat them despite knowing their verifiable conclusion. Illness, and the life of a slave to the vices that only produce compounding illnesses.
I know it’s as simple as rejecting. I wish I could wipe the slate clean and be free of the past, and the knowledge of all those failed attempts to reject it. All the strength I had once enacted in myself to face my issues, seems to be very far away. Maybe I was ignorant to a battle that never truly ends, and never rewards in a break to regression that I convinced myself was ok. Those moments stole from me my inner strength. I thought I was doing good by them but they instead fed into my slow capitulation. To impulse.
I breathe heavy as I think about my future days. But try to remind myself to only think of today. Then tomorrow. To convince myself that as far as the days ahead stretch, the doom that I’m awaiting will likely never come, and even less likely sober. That a man with a clear head facilitates his own survival, his own health. That these days now will be looked back on with forgiveness and understanding deeper than anything I currently hold. That the darkness I have stumbled into is only shallow water. It isn’t, and never was, a well to die in.