Reckless Endangerment

I think my death will be rather violent. Call it morbid curiosity or just wishful thinking. I do not want to arrive safely at my end. Whether it come while I'm in a bed or in some foreign country, I'm not expected a peaceful transition to wherever or whatever comes.

My body will probably be covered in scars and tattoos from life. I'll probably be screaming, either something like "Yee-haa!" or "Oh, shit!" Not all of my senses will be working correctly since most will have been overused and maltreated during the course of my life. My hands and feet will be callused more than most fire walkers and construction workers. My skin should have parts where hair no longer grows as it used to. I'd better arrive at this finish line with more than one broken bone and torn muscle. I hope I can eat damn near anything. My ears should have at least 50% less capability than when I was born, while my eyes should have at least 50% more. I hope I will have some permanently dislocated knuckles from good fights and tweaked ankles or knees from good hikes. All in all, I want to be damn near broken.

Let's see. I want to have loved and lost, loved and won, and sometimes barely loved at all. I want to have deep laugh lines, tear trails, some frowned-out areas, and experience scars. I want to have felt every emotion, deep and broad, for a long period of time. My heart should be just about worn out by the time I reach my end. Perhaps that's how I will die, who knows? When I start laughing my last, crying my last, or making any inadvertent noise whatsoever, it might just give out. My heart will have been torn and rejoined, stepped on and puffed up, gloomy and glimmering. It will have beaten more and faster than any athlete, slower and more purposeful than any monk. I want my heart to ache, yet be soft and easily humored, just like I want my eyes.

I could probably edit this and add more (and I still might), but there it is so far. I want to be utter worn out when I die, ending as helpless but more helpful than I began it.

ABC Worksheet - Homework #2

This is going to be ironic. You'll see. My last therapy session I was given an "ABC Worksheet" to fill out every day. Under the "A" section for "Activating Event" I am supposed to write about something that happens, under the "B" section for "Beliefs" I am supposed to write about what I tell myself about the event, and under the "C" section for "Consequences" I am supposed to write about how I feel.

Two things you should know. First, I take two milligrams of Klonopin per day. I am also on Paxil, which as you will note, gives you cravings for alcohol. Second, I am not supposed to drink alcohol, both due to the drugs and the moral impression I give my "support system" about my recovery. So, let's begin with the worksheet for today.

Currently, I've had two Captain and Cokes on ice and feeling pretty damn good about myself. Not really, that's a lie, I feel terribly guilty because I am drinking.

Section A - Activating Event: I am drinking and want to drink more.

Section B - Beliefs: I am an alcoholic. I am an unlikeable loser and failing recovery. I should be stronger (I am a soldier after all), but I am quite pathetic as both a civilian and a soldier.

Section C - Consequences: I feel guilty and ashamed. I feel used. I feel out of control of myself and deserving of disregard and disrespect.

See the irony yet? I have a problem with drinking and wanting to drink so I'm drinking and writing about wanting to drink. On a piece of paper. On a blog. Is this really treatment??? Seems silly. But we're not done.

At the bottom of the ABC Worksheet are two questions. The first is this: "Are my thoughts in 'B' realistic?" Now, how do I really answer this? I'm on drugs that give me cravings for alcohol, yet I shouldn't drink, and so I feel guilty about it. I'm on drugs that give me these cravings, bad ones. So, I think I should honestly answer "Yes, I am a medicated, functional alcoholic." Now, who exactly and "realistically" likes functional alcoholics? Who thinks they are making progress in recovery? For whatever root reason, alcoholics drink to cover it up or coop with it, as do I. Now, who ever felt that alcoholics were decent citizens? Not me, I pity them. Like I do myself, I guess. Or perhaps I'm being too polar with the issue. Whatever. I need a refill, straight up this time, before I get to the next question.

Ok. How can I avoid thinking section "B" in the future?

....

I don't know.
I just talked to both my sister and my mother about this question. Both of whom agree that I do not know how to be loved. They're concerned and want to help me, but I just don't know how to accept their help. Great. I guess I'll just wait for the therapist to tell me.