I have been sitting here for two days fighting the oldest fight in my life–depression.
I am not okay. Last night I made a mistake and did something I thought was long gone in my life. I went down to my local store and bought a bottle of Jamison whiskey. I fell off the wagon, and it gelt good. I have been resisting for so long.
Things have not been good. Yesterday was six months since the passing of my mother. I thought, okay, if I could get through today, then tonight, and I would be okay. I even hung out with a friend, but it wasn’t enough. About midnight, I felt the need more potent than ever, and I drove to the store that is less than half a mile. I bought a bottle. I took shot after shot, and then I went to sleep, hoping that things will be okay in the morning—a grandiose thought.
My thoughts have been dark, and I am not sure where they will go from here. The dark thoughts are hard to suppress.
I am not okay. My dark passenger has returned, and it is the worst feeling in the world. Not sure what is next, or I will continue to throw away over close to five years of sobriety. Not that I have been perfect in 2020. Back in April, I began to drink a beer here and there, but it was always a justification. I am not making excuses. I am not okay, but that’s okay. We make mistakes, giving me a chance to get back to where we want to be. I am not sure what is next for James.
Always Keep Fighting
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