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I Don’t Know What to Tell You

These thoughts aren’t normal

By Rick PensionPublished 8 months ago 4 min read

I started drinking at 9 A.M. this morning. You’d think it would take longer for a day to drive someone to drinking, but sometimes it’s not that day, nor the day before. What was a cup of coffee with a little whiskey to someone who worked from home anyways? Sure, there was a sip before the shot went into the mug, but it wasn’t like I had anywhere to go.

Sometimes I would take a drink and say, “Last one”, but it wasn’t. This morning, I didn’t even lie to myself, I knew it wasn’t the last.

What’s more valuable? Living a successful, prosperous life, living a live that is just enough to get you by, or living a life in hopes to do what you want but struggle the whole way through? Live a life or prosper, you have a chance to give your family the world. Survive? We’ll, hopefully your children do better than you. Or stuggle to do what you wanted to, just to disappoint everyone that matters to you, everyone you love because you were selfish enough to choose you over them.

Is that what it is? Selfishness? I can’t even remember how I was raised to believe the best path was. I always thought we were supposed to live successfully, doing what we love, and giving our children every opportunity in the world to surpass us. What am I doing? Why didn’t I suck it up and just do that job I hated? Why did I promise to support us and then choose a hard way to live? Am I a coward?

I am a coward. I’m so much of a coward I can’t even take my own life. I would never. Never knowingly take my life, but would it be better if I was gone?

What if I drank myself to death?

Would people look back at memories with me and be sad or relieved? Would the weight lay on their chest? Or would it lighten from their shoulders?

Why don’t I feel drunk?

I’m drinking and drinking but feel no different, it’s starting to hurt. My legs are stiff, I’ve been lounging all day. No, all week. When was the last I saw the sun? When I took out the trash?

When was the last time I did anything? I’m becoming short. My son asked for food and I told him to hold on because I’m working, but I lay in front of my computer without a key pressed in the last 30 minutes.

“I love you” I tell my son in my head.

“Let me work” I say out loud.

I never wanted to become my father. Absent from my life, yet always pretended he was so proud of me. The difference is I’m physically here, but I’m mentally checked out.

“But I’m hungry.” my son whines.

“Hold on!” I burst.

“You’re pathetic!” I let my mind criticizes me yet again. What’s new?

How many sips did I take when I was making their food? I wonder if they’d be sad if I slit my own throat. Maybe they’d think I was playing. How much of this will they remember? Is it too late to get better? Have I ruined my children’s image of me indefinitely?

What if I say something? Will anyone care, or believe it’s a call for attention? That’s selfish, isn’t it? Asking for people to care about you or help you? Why do I have to bother them? They have their own problems to deal with.

How do I get this agonizing absence of feeling out of me?

My therapist cancelled our session. They wanted me to reschedule, but I refused. Logically, I know she was probably out that day, either due to scheduling issues or emergency. So why do I feel like she just didn’t want to handle me? It doesn’t make sense, but it hurts almost as much as if it was.

The other day I cut myself.

It wasn’t deep. It didn’t really bleed, it was comparable to a scrape but done with something sharp.

I kind of want to do it again, maybe I’ll get better. Maybe I deserve it.

What a waste to society.

Nobody believes me.

Maybe if I write it down and never speak of it, I can hang in just a little longer. I’ll get a day or two of relief, then another week of a head full of damaging thoughts. I can’t say this to my doctor, or my therapist. They’ll think I’m attention seeking.

Are you a danger to yourself?

No, not physically.

I hate you. Be better.

Maybe I’ll type this out and post it as a fictional piece. Will people trust the label, or think this line alone was put specifically here as a call for help?

These thoughts aren’t normal. They’re not healthy. This makes people uncomfortable. Don’t say these things if you don’t need help. There are people out there who actually need help and this isn’t helping.

I don’t know what to tell you.

I talk too much, who even wants to hear what I have to say? Maybe I use too many words to say what could’ve been said in a sentence.

Anyways, I guess my point is, I might be drinking a little too much lately.


About the Creator

Rick Pension

Writing has been a passion of mine since before I was 8 years old. I’ve evolved my stories in various ways since, and I only want to write for people to enjoy my stories. I don’t like to typically stay within a specific genre.

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