I was drinking again. I had slumped into one of those bad habits where all I could do was drink. I would wake up and have a glass of wine, go vomit in the bathroom, put on my clothes, show up for work for a couple of hours, go down to the nearest drugstore to grab a bottle of beer and head back home. I would chew on a piece of bread while pouring myself a nice fifth of whiskey before washing it all off with another beer.
Every day was pretty much the same cycle and it’s safe to say it lasted for a while.
I also cut off writing during that time. I used to write 5 to 6 times a week. But now, I just can’t seem to find that kind of discipline. Every time I sit in front of the laptop these demonic thoughts start coming back to me – irritating questions pop into my head like why the hell am I spending so much time typing stuff nobody would probably ever read or trying to pose as a writer when all I could write was shit.
And let me tell you – once those questions start popping, you know things have gotten dangerous. That’s the world and all the soul in it telling you to step away from that art and protecting it from your humanness.
It irritates me to think I’ve grown apart from writing, but it irritates me even more to know I’m not ready to get back to it.
I think it’s natural in every writer’s life to face that sort of problem or setback or challenge or whatever the hell you want to call it. I think it’s also natural for every writer to want to stick a gun in their head whenever that happens.
But not me; I’ve thought of other ways to go out of this world and escape from its poverty and misery and tyranny.
But man, it’s really not that simple – you reach a time when you begin wondering if it’s supposed to be that easy. If you’re supposed to just drop everything and let life win and go out without a final bang. If you’re just made to go work 9 hours a day and raise a family and buy a house and pay your bills and get a car and widen your social circle.
You start to question that plan and the universe containing it.
You look around and you see people joyfully adhering to that invisible circle. You turn away and look again and notice the poisonous expressions ravaging their faces.
I guess the bottom line here is you just can’t win.
The others don’t want you to win.
The system doesn’t want you to win.
The world doesn’t want you to win.
Life doesn’t want you to win.
Hell, your soul doesn’t even want you to win.
So take pleasure in the things that make you forget life’s a merciless race. Because when you find yourself in a dark corner on your kitchen floor with a knife pointed at your throat, those are the things that’ll stick with you. Those are the things that’ll make you feel you’ve done something with the time you had here.
For me, it’s always been in writing…or at least, it will be when I stop drinking.