Today I'm going to talk about what an absolute fail I am at life as an up and coming something. When I got out the Navy I was upbeat optimistic and honestly terrified at the prospect of starting over again. I was dealing with the fact that I had accepted that I am an alcoholic and also that I'm mentally not stable. I was trying really hard to overcome all the things that made me slip so easily into that dark place that made me want to take my life.
I wish I could say to everyone that I've overcome all of that. Instead I've given up. I want to live, I'm not ready or willing to go down that path so easily, I'm just done trying to pretend that I can beat myself. I don't want to win, I don't even know what the competition is about. I'm never going to school, I can't find a job, I'm no writer, I'm no book reviewer. I am a failure. It's time I stop pretending to be something I'm not.
I have no friends, I sit in my apartment, everyday. I'm not productive, I don't read, I don't write, I don't exercise. I made a cake to other day that was to say the least interesting. I ate the whole thing then cried about how fat I'm getting. I'm destroying myself, I'm rotting away inside and out. I don't want to see anyone because I'm too embarrassed at how disgusting a human creature I've become.
I stop caring about my future and I don't even have a lame excuse to fall back on. I normally say that I need to get back on my meds. Lets face it darlings, I've been off my medicine since forever. And there's no one else to blame for that but me. My last appointment was scheduled for Monday. I didn't go. There were "people" outside my door coming to get me.
I can't face reality certain days. But I can function when it matters to me, like getting to the bar. I complain to the people I hang with at the bar, who BTW aren't my friends, about never getting laid. It's not because I hang out at gay bars. It's because I don't feel sexy. I don't feel safe and I don't want people getting close enough to me to see what a mess I am. I'm embarrassed of myself, I'm sure I've said that already.
I'm outright embarrassed about the person that's left. The talent vacated the premise a while ago and there's nothing left worth saving. I'm a sad clown. This isn't a rut, this isn't temporary, this is me. I will never aspire to be anything other than washed up.
I am the waste of space I talk so lowly about. The only thing that separates me from the welfare biddies every republican complains about is my outright refusal to procreate. I'm black, obese, a woman, uneducated, lazy, and dependent on others to allow me to survive. I'm everything I hate and completely unwilling to change.
Did I mention I'm embarrassed to be me?
I am my own worst enemy because I hate myself but I'm too lazy and scared to rise above that. There's help out there for people like me. I just need to ask. But I'd rather take the slow spiral downward into faceless, windowless anonymity so that when I get there I can cry that everyone left and I can play the victim. God I hate myself. And from the looks of this hairdo it shows.
Since the last week in July I've been on the silent and even a little bitchy side. I've even been quiet on the blog. AA and a bunch of uber smart and over paid people would call it isolating. They'd be right, but I'm not paying any of them to have them tell me that. Nor am I looking to join a meeting just to share in the moment.
It's my anniversary. August First 2011 was the day I tried to kill myself. I'd come to the end of my rope with my Chief on the Mustin and the Mustin all together, I felt like an absolute failure. The shop and the ship exhausted everything I had, faith in myself as a sailor, a leader, a woman, a human being. I had two options kill my Chief, which I'm pretty sure a lot of people would have thanked me for, but she wasn't and still isn't worth the bowl I shit in, or kill myself and risk an eternity reliving what a failure I was to myself.
I obviously choose the latter. Then for five months I fought the command, whom I trusted initially with my life. They did everything in their power to make me say I never took the pills. I wanted to die that day. I almost did, and while I was trying to recover I had to revisit that feeling just to prove I had them. I can't say that I've recovered. I probably never will. I've seen Klan members on Youtube act with more decorum than the people at the command during my case proceedings. I lost friends, but then they were truly friends I'd still be talking to them.
So before during and after August First this year, I locked myself in my home. I turned off my computer and made very little ventures into the real world. I got worse, I stopped cooking and worser still, I stopped writing. It was like I shut off my brian. All the supposed progress, the attempts to be functional, the reaching out for friends, none of that mattered. I parked myself in front of the TV, I watched 007, Mad Men, Doctor Who, Serenity, The Nightmare Before Christmas and a really bad version of Snow White.
I'd love to say I'm over my funk, I don't think so. I think when I'm ready I'll listen to Brave Bird. It's the song I played while I waited to die. If I could fly away that would be my theme music. I can imagine my wings getting sun kissed as I soared. Maybe I might skip the song. For me it's not ruined but I'm sure a few people would be creeped out if they heard it playing.
But alas I'm not the brave bird in the song. I'm Ms. Townes the very damaged piece of work. Regardless of what else is going, I still aspire to tell a great story.
So, baby steps. I'm once again two books ahead in reviews and once I get my sleep patterns back on track I hope to get back into my writing. The outline is all good, it's still an outline. But the outline is up to Chapter 11 while I'm stuck in funk central on Chapter 9. Oh what I've give to just let go and move on.
Hey if anyone is interested in actually hearing the song, or just morbidly curious here it is and it's lyrics: http://www.jango.com/music/Amel+Larrieux?l=0
I'd love to get over this and a bunch of other things. I'll never be anything if I shut myself up in the house and never reach out. I'm like that kid in Return of the Dragon: I'm missing all that heavenly glory because I'm still focused on the finger. Bruce Lee was a fucking genius.
