Because it’s the only thing that makes me happy anymore.
Because it’s the only thing that makes me happy anymore.
This is such good writing. It’s not corny and is like genuine words of support and motivation for anyone dealing with addiction or struggles in general.
I really like the conversations in this final episode because of the context of these people moving on with their life from revolving around BoJack. It’s like when Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter first got divorced and they said how it’s cool that they’re mature enough to still have a conversation together.
These people realize that BoJack is toxic to their life, but they’re mature enough to be above their relationship and acknowledge that BoJack is still human who deep down wants to be a good person, and treating him with respect.
That’s something I want to strive for in life.
Staying sober alone is fucking hard. I feel like the longer I’m on my road the less respect I get from the people around me. It’s like the new has worn off and everything in their lives has gone back to normal to the point that my sobriety isn’t remotely a concern to them. It makes pushing forward so much harder. It was easier when I had support and they made a point not to wave it in my face but I guess 5 months in they don’t feel like it’s necessary. But I guess to be fair it’s not their cross to bear? I don’t know. I just know it sucks.
Tw: violence n alcohol
Shoutout to the time I hit my head on the curb while blackout drunk n the wound i got bled for 2 days straight n I didn’t go to a doctor n now 2 years later I can still feel the scar n get headaches in that area.
Time to grieve the person I mightve been if i didnt fuck myself up so severely
Who’s got two thumbs n is at severe risk due their drinking??
futakuchi and terushima would be a chaotic duo but if they asked i would take my pants off so fast
I have been wanting to walk across the street to buy a bottle of vodka these past few days. I know I won’t, but I know that maybe some day soon I probably will. I don’t want to fuck up my months of sobriety, I don’t want to go back to the person I was when I was drinking. I miss the numbness though, I miss the feel good numbness. I still can’t get over that I haven’t had a drink in the past six months; a whole half year. There are a few musical artists that have recently gotten sober that I have been listening to their music, and watching newly interviews with them; they are helping me along the way without even knowing, well I do manage to comment on some of their ig posts thanking them for their music about addiction, and alcoholism, and getting clean, and sober. Music really heals the mind, and soul, and helps guide me in the right direction. I think that without a few of these artists, I wouldn’t be sober me today. I have my family, and a group on fb that gets me through when I crave/urges to pick up the bottle; and once places slowly open back up, I am going to try to get to meetings each week, and pick up a sponsor if possible. I just don’t want to burden anyone with my venting/issues on this subject matter, and other things that are going on in my life. I already burden my family by still living at home, but they say I can live here for as long as I need to, and that I will go for a job interview when I am ready, that to try not being so hard on myself with things, that a lot is going on with me mentally that I need to deal with first. I am thankful, and extremely grateful that I have such a great support system/family during my times of need. I lost so much back when I was drinking, I even lost myself. I recently found God, and have restored a bit of my faith in Him, and the great beyond. I have been praying like you wouldn’t believe, and begging for forgiveness from my past doings. I have done so much to my family, that I shouldn’t be forgiven by any of them really, I truly am an awful person deep down, if not being shown outwards towards them daily. I try to be good for the better yah know, it’s just difficult when there is so much going on inside my head. I’m trying here, I really am just trying, plus that’s all that I can do is just that: Try.
6 Months Sober 🖤
Thank you to those here on this website who are part of the reason I’m alive and who never left me despite how difficult it or I became. I am forever grateful and will always work to show that.
Just started my fourth today and I’m already feeling some type of way.
Can I put that I resent my fourth on my fourth? 🙃
It took me up until today to realize I am a victim of domestic violence. Many people believe that domestic violence is a boyfriend or husband who hits you, but that is not the case. Domestic violence can be done by anyone close to you in your household and it isn’t just physical. Domestic violence can be verbal abuse, which is what I have endured by my father for the past 23 years of my life. The other day, I was in my room and I overheard my Dad talking on the phone. He was talking about going to a Super Bowl party and he asked the person on the other line if he can bring Wendy. I know what you’re thinking. Who the fuck is Wendy? Beats me. I immediately called my mom and told her what I had just heard and she was just as confused as we all are. After I hung up, I went downstairs and calmly asked what his plans were for the Super Bowl. (Like I care. I just needed to act interested in order to get him to talk). He began telling me and after he was finished I came out and said “Who’s Wendy?” His face immediately exposed himself. He was completely caught off guard and was just like “What?” as he began playing with his ear. I repeated the question and he goes “A guy I know. Wendy.” I say, “A guy… named Wendy?” He goes “Yeah why is that weird?” I said, “Uh, yeah.” He goes “Well I know a guy named Wendy”. I said “Okay” and walked away. I didn’t need to be lied to anymore. How stupid does he think I am? I called my mom back and told her our conversation where she decided to call him. He answers the phone and I overheard him again (he has a really loud voice and our house is very open). I hear him go “Why do you care? What, is she spying on me? It’s a guy I know”. My Mom told me that she said to him “It’s normal for a daughter to get suspicious when her dad asks if he can bring another woman to a party.”
Later on that day, My mom went to the store to go pick up her paycheck from my Dad. She stayed over 2 hours because she could tell that my Dad wanted her out of there. My mom took a picture of the schedule and noticed that there is a woman who works there named Wendy. Turns out, she was working while my Mom came in. My Mom noticed how dressed up she was, she even took a picture of her lol. To paint the picture of who exactly Wendy is, she is in her 60s, has short, black dyed hair that was all over the place, make up on that aged her, and the ugliest outfit ever. She was not a looker. My Dad though, is still insisting that he’s going to this party with a guy named Fred Wendy and they call him Wendy. (These lies, man.) He really thinks he’s slick or/and we are dumber than dirt. Wendy walked by the office a couple times. She peaked her head in and noticed my Mom and didn’t say Hello. She definitely knew who my Mom was. When my Mom and Dad got alone, my Mom finally said “Is that Wendy? Have fun with her.” When she left, Wendy was ringing up customers (she’s a cashier) and my Mom goes “Bye Wendy!”. Wendy did not respond. My Mom described it as she was a deer in headlights. Even though My Mom and Dad basically have just a business marriage, it is still so disrespectful to be married and cheat. Nothing changes that. Unless you have some sort of agreement, which they do not. Also, what kind of fucking woman goes out with a married man? It is fucking 2019. Show some class. I know it may seem like I was exaggerating on how this woman looked because of my own feelings on the situation, but I’m not just being petty. Also, doing something classless as that just makes you ugly.
me during the day: ok hangovers fucking suck, I should drink less tonight
me at 12:16am: you know what sounds great rn WHISKEY
You couldn’t tell by looking at me but I have bruises all over they’re just on my head covered by by hair my hair is literally falling out it’s so thin now but you’d never know cause I used to have very thick hair. My back hurts and my ribs keep sliding like popping out (yes that’s a thing it hurts like fuck) my stomach hurts my whole body hurts my eyes hurt. I did this to myself. Bulimia for almost 13 years now and I’m still fucking fat. I can’t take the abuse to my body anymore. An alcoholic and a bulimic I mean how much longer till my body just gives out?
What if what was wasn’t
If life could be of your own accord
What you wished to be would be
And what you didn’t was ignored
If only each little detail could be
Manipulated by sheer will
Never you’d have to wonder
But your ego would surely kill
No matter how gracious
Regardless of how kind
Possessing that control
Would make anyone blind
Acting on spiritual direction
Following a will that is not your own
will unshackle the chains of conceit
And guide you through the unknown
Mommy can’t you understand,
the bottle is now my best friend;
Friends without addictions: when you feel like drinking just go tf to bed
Same friends: wtf no you can’t go to bed at 3pm?!
Me: …sooo which is it?
Ain’t that the truth?! 😆
dissolve the grunge
settled on my bedrock
steer the manure out of my thinking
and bring in the clouds
that fog the existence
of memories that remain
only to validate
the played moves
i now see
No quiero volver a sentir el alcohol o las drogas corriendo por mis venas y entrando a todo mi cuerpo,
antes de haberlas probado, esas mierdas ya me estaban destruyendo.
-Vengo de una familia disfuncional en donde eso me afecto desde que estaba pequeña, y ya no quiero más dolor.
Why do people even buy books that big? Books like that can only be described one way. Academic. A collection of jargon and theories so dense they aren’t even sold in commercial book stores. Books with more pages than a dictionary lining his shelves and collecting dust. For what? To prove he’s read them? To tell people he can read them? To let people know that he owns books than are seen more as a sign of intelligence than reading material? He probably hasn’t even read them.
Normally, you can dissect a human’s personality by looking at the spaces they spend most of their time in. My eyes bounced from shelf to shelf and I couldn’t find an ounce of him. No family photos, no fishing buddies and a big catch, no candid shot on a golf course – nothing. Just textbooks and degrees, and a massive clock mounted right behind his chair.
“Are you going to answer my question, or are you planning to watch the clock for the rest of the hour?”
He sounded a little irritated, but if anyone should be pissed it’s me. Once a week I have to listen to this educated professional tell me what my problems are cause I got a little drunk and started yelling at a gas station attendant… for the third time. So what? I’m an adult who’s allowed to make adult decisions. Besides, there are people with bigger issues than mine out there. If this has to go on until he has a consolidated list of all my problems, I’m dying in this office. He doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, so let’s not and say we did.
He let go of a deep disappointed sigh and said, “One more time.” Another sigh as he said, “Name a time you remember feeling thoroughly disappointed.”
“That goddamn purple bike,” I said.
“Elaborate.” With that, there was a click of a pen and the sound of yet another page turning. This needed to be over soon.
“You’re the shrink, aren’t you? Dig deep into that statement. What can you find, doc? You think it’s cancer?”
“We go through this every week.” He arched a grey brow, “Your statements are vague declarations that have proven to be nothing more than suppositions, so there isn’t anything to dig into. I have a PhD, not an MD, and you were funny in the beginning but now the jokes are becoming quite unimaginative,” he said as he took a sip from his water glass.
Why do old men always make drinking anything such an auditory experience? His swallowing was louder than the car horns outside.
As he swallowed he said, “Don’t forget why you’re here Jeffrey.” With a satisfied exhale, “you family is worried about. You’ve been in and out of prison cells and rehabs, it’s only a matter of time before you end up in a morgue. Is that what you want, Jeffery? You would rather end up dead than talk to me? If you don’t cooperate, thing aren’t looking too good.”
I sunk into a lumpy couch I didn’t want to be in, and stared up at a ceiling I was tired of looking at. I started counting the cracks in the plaster. What kind of shrink doesn’t invest in a comfy sofa? Isn’t that counter intuitive?
“You know, I feel like I’m doing all the work for you. I’m the one that has to answer all the questions and then I have to tell you about how it screwed me up. Where’s my degree in psychology?”
“You probably soaked it in booze while you were out binge drinking – now what about the bike, Jeffery?”
He put the glass down, sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs. His black pants rode up enough for me to see his socks. He was wearing pinstriped socks. Who wore pinstriped socks? Then he just sat there… just staring at me. Those beady eyes peered at me over his reading glasses, those decrepit looking fingers tapping his pen against his notepad. I could hear the clock ticking. Tick. Tick. I wondered how long we could sit in silence before he said something again, maybe til the end of the session. Hopeful-
“You know Jeffery –”
Apparently not that long.
“You could simply talk. Who is it gonna hurt? Your ego? It’ll heal eventually.”
I hate that guy. I hate all the guys like him. Talking like living 100 years makes them experts on anything other than their own shitty lives. The life he’s lived isn’t the life I’m living.
He sighed deeply again and dropped his notepad and pen on the table next to his water glass. He stroked his temples as he looked at his watch, relief washed over his face when he realized what time it was.
“That is our time for today. We will pick up where we left off next week.”
“I never thought the smell of cigarettes and road work could be so soothing. That office was stuffy.”
It was clean, I guess, but being in there made me feel like I was in a box – no, under a microscope. Everything felt sterile and I felt like something that had to be observed, not a person that was being talked to. The bookshelves towed higher than I could reach, that clock was loud, the way that guy swallowed made my skin itch. The idea of going back there next week made me want to jump off of a bridge.
“Well what about the bike?”
“I don’t particularly care about your life mister, but I am sorta interested in that bike story,” she says as hands a man in a trench coat a hotdog haphazardly wrapped in a napkin. “What was so depressing about that bike?” she says while she waves a pair of tongs dripping with hotdog water in my face.
“When I was eight years old, there was this purple mountain bike I begged for. We walked into this store – can’t remember which one so let’s just say it was a Walmart – and you know how they have those displays that go all the way up to the ceiling with bikes? They’re so high up and convoluted, you have to call a worker to get one. Then that worker has to get a stick that has a funny looking hook on the end and another worker with, like, keys or something. Anyways, I wanted this bike that was at the top of the display. I begged for that bike, I was ready to sell my soul for that shiny bitch. So I asked for it.”
“One sec,” she flips a few sausages on the grill and grabs a few more out of the cooler next to her feet. The smell of raw and cooked hotdogs fight and mingle with the smell of concrete and exhaust fumes. “’kay, what happened next?”
She hands me a soda I didn’t ask for from of the cooler and sits down on the empty crate next me.
“I was given a set of rules and conditions. All the usual ones: gotta clean my room, gotta get the grades, ‘don’t get into any shit – don’t let nobody be callin’ my house about you,’ is what my mom said. I was ready. I was the best I’d been since infancy.”
“Hey! Can I get some service here please,” some suit with a scowl says.
The lady hotdog vendor hops up, snatches a bun off one of the selves on her cart, and tucks a sausage into it. She hands it to the suit and the suit hands her some change.
“Continue,” she says. She plops back down onto the crate next to me.
“Shoulda known my poor ass family couldn’t afford to get me a new bike. You know, months went by? I remember biting my lip and fidgeting at night thinking about how cool I was gonna be riding that thing to school. I would stay up wondering when it would come. Then I turned ten and gave the fuck up. Never even bothered asking about it.”
“Hm,” She takes a sip. “So let me ask you this, you just told a stranger what your therapist has been trying to get you to say for weeks. Why are you willing to spill your guts on a sidewalk behind a hotdog cart but not on a couch in therapy? ”
“Cause I’ll never see you again after I pay you for this hotdog,” I say while sipping on the soda I’m assuming is free. “The more I tell him, the longer I have to sit on his couch.”
She furrows her brow as she stands up to hand the next customer their street meat.
She says, “Your family went out of their way to set all this up for you so you don’t end up dead in an ally somewhere, and you’re worried about impressions? You sound like an idiot.”
“Well they wouldn’t have needed to pay for therapy if they had bought me that bike now would they?”
“That’s foul?” she says.
“No what’s foul is making your kid promises you have no intention of keeping with no follow-up or apology for twenty years. But hey, that’s why I’m seeing a shrink,” I retort as a finish my hotdog.
They pick and choose when they want to care about me and it’s contradicting – some would argue the root of all my issues. But I’m the one that looks like the bad guy. I’m the one that looks like the ungrateful drunk with no feelings or sense of decency. Fuck that shrink and this lady too. I finish my free soda and stand up. I pay for my food and tip the hotdog lady for her time. If I was drunk I probably would have yelled at her for telling me to go talk to that bitch of a therapist.
I walk away and sigh. I need a drink a lot harder than a soda.
- r.s // “Tick. Tick.” // 2020