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I am stupid.

I’ve got so much to live for. There are quite a few things in my life that many others envy – not in the least my past. I have two gorgeous children, an even more beautiful wife, a safe place to live and enough to eat every month. Who in his right mind would want to kill himself?

I am stupid.

I am not right in my head. Why would I possibly hang my dirty laundry out for everybody to read? I’m going to regret this, probably. And that adds one more drop to the buckets of burden my mind keeps telling me I’m carrying. Because that’s exactly it: my mind plays a fucked up trick in making me believe it’s all burden and no joy.
I have not experienced any form of exhilaration outside my bedroom for so long, that there is nothing anymore that gets me excited before it happens. Perhaps I should use some substance to get me going again.

I am stupid.

I am dumb enough not to have the insurance to go see a shrink; neither the mind-molding, nor the drug peddling version. Every month again I prefer to feed and clothe my kids and make it possible for them to have a good time during holidays. That has – for me at least – the obvious preference. But on the good days, where I don’t look at every train as a possible out, or check every rope to see if it would be strong enough, I realise it is a dumb idea to not go and see a shrink: what good am I to them if I can’t hold my own shit together?
But thankfully there’s Facebook. First I received the expected responses to last week’s post from unexpected corners. There was a friend, W, who very to the point read between the lines where some of the issues lie, and who invited me for a cup of tea – some time. But there are also others who advise me not to blog about this; I wonder why. Is it because of Buddy Kane’s motto: ‘one must always portray an image of success’, and they advise me to do so too? Or are there other reasons. Are they afraid I will alienate myself – from them?
Whatever it is, this blog is here to stay; better get used to it. I know I’m fucked up to the core, and it’s a risk writing this blog.

I am stupid.

For continuing this blog. But also for having tried substance: alcohol. I downed a bottle of liquor in a week, and I’d be doing a bottle a day by now if I hadn’t rigorously stopped myself. It was just too good to be healthy. It is true what they say – the down after alcohol is deeper than the high with alcohol. And I have so much to live for, and so many depending on me, it is unfair to go that way and tell everybody to go fuck themselves.
This is the reason I gave J when I declined his offer to visit him with a bottle of booze and talk it over, last week. And I didn’t respond when he said it was meant metaphorically – a good talk, to put my misery in perspective. Let me tell you, down here, there are shades of black, and hundreds of shades of grey (it’s bullshit that there are only fifty), but there’s only one perspective: me. Nobody else’s misery, nor your own possible pleasures matter when you’ve been as far down the well as I have. I feel like the snail climbing out of the well – during the day I climb up two meters, but at night I slide back down. Some nights I slide only a few feet, but there are moments where I am thrown back down all the way to the bottom. A brain with a short circuit has a habit of doing that.

I am stupid.