I am 34 years old, in the year 2019. It is a Sunday morning.. well, afternoon. I can hear the washer machine downstairs running its cycle. Downstairs is also where I half-assedly just finished my chore of cleaning the bathroom, as to get it out of the way, so I can justify playing video games all day. That is, until I am able to step outside to go to the 7:30 AA meeting in South Side. Did I mention I am on house arrest? Well, I am. I also reside in a “3/4” house, in Mt. Oliver: a dilapidated ghetto town that’s just over the mountain from the city of Pittsburgh. How did I get here? Why am I spending my Sunday cleaning someone else’s bathroom? What in God’s name is a 3/4 house? Unfortunately, for me, this is just one of the many far-too-familiar scenarios I find myself in.
It seems like Russell is complacent with his seemingly never-ending cycle of chaos and dereliction of responsibility. He must be a Sociopath. Either that, or he’s just a plain ol’ loser whose given up on life.
A sociopath: No. At least I’m pretty sure.. I mean, I was tested. But, then again, how would they know?
A loser? I thought so at one time. But I feel like the essence of “winning” is based on the fear of losing. My timeline of peaks and valleys consists of meteorite-like crashes, followed by “epic wins,” only to have my figurative Tower of Babel crash to the ground, sparking an existential crisis accompanied by chaos, and the utter realization that everything I thought I knew is wrong. After some time, once my ego takes the wheel, I am once again, some kind of deity.
Ok, enough analogous prose. I am here to journal.
A: I am an alcoholic. Simply, I can not drink.
But I do anyway.
Well I must be stupid.
See figure ‘A.’
Alcoholism, for me, is not a moral failing, nor is it a symptom of some post-traumatic stress. I was never beaten, abused, or touched as a child. My childhood was terrific I had more fun in my life than I could have asked for. I am a genuinely good person. I just… have an abnormal reaction to mind and mood altering substances, accompanied by a mental obsession. The sooner I stop trying to figure it all out, the sooner I can start “living.” And good fucking golly I think I owe it to myself to finally start living. Not only do I owe it to myself, but I owe it to my friends, family and the world itself. Every individual is worth it, and has the opportunity to make a positive difference. I’ve been through enough trial and error to finally openly admit defeat. It is not a weakness, but a testament of strength through humility, a concept that has eluded me for 15+ years.
Thank you and God bless.