All They Can See is the Beer Can

I had to write this now. I write many things on Medium, but most are for my therapy. Let's be honest: I don't make any money doing this. It may help me sometimes to have strangers read what I'm going through. Sometimes, I write something hoping it goes viral and makes me some money, but that still won't happen.

If you follow me at all, you have probably read a few things I have written, and if you have read some of my more personal shit, then you probably know that I'm not okay as a human being. 

I dealt with addiction and mental illness my whole life; all anybody can see is the beer can. Don't get me wrong, I was clean from everything for about five years. Honestly, I was miserable the whole time. I always tell people that I didn't stop doing drugs because one day I didn't like them anymore; I stopped because the negative outweighed the positive.

Mental illness is a bitch. People like to judge addicts, point fingers, and put their input in, but they have no clue. Honestly, I don't know what I'm trying to mask. I feel I have accepted my past traumas, but I guess not.

I mean, how do you deal with being the victim of childhood abuse when you are a male, and everybody sees you as a bitch if you complain about anything? I put on a stern face, but it's just a mask. I have had many moments where I almost died. Does any of this relate to my constant anxiety and depression, or was I just born this way? I mean, we all go through shit, right?

There is so much shit I could tell you, but the pain is relative… it wouldn't do me any good to compare myself to anybody. One thing I can say is that my pain, it seems in my life, mental or physical, has been constant. I am weak and do not want to feel it, so in the past, I did what was necessary not to feel the pain at any cost.

I tried; I did. I stopped. I quit. But one thing led to another, and here I am drinking. It's the only thing I can now use to curve the pain. I have tried to stop. I'm going through intervals where I am sober for two or three days and then drink again because I give in.

I have a beautiful family. A loving wife and the best son any man can ask for. (he's eight months old.) I have gotten to a point where I quit doing hard drugs and can maintain a lifestyle that affords me a lovely home, vehicles, and my loving family. All the toys I could want, but none of that makes me happy.

The other day, my son saved my life. I was at the river shooting guns just to pass the time. I was down, and I honestly thought about ending it. I'm tired of the constant ups and downs, but that day, I thought of him, went to the truck, picked him up, and loved him. At that moment, I realized there was no way I would leave this child fatherless. I love him so much; he put me in a better place and gave me a reason to hold on.

The point is this is a mental illness. One day, you're okay. The next, well, who knows what you may do. It leads to addiction. Addiction leads to death or recovery but never returns to normal. We all have struggles in life, and judging someone who copes with a substance makes you a horrible human being.

You can try and try, but in the end, even if you are doing good in life, if you are drinking the pain away, all people can see is the beer can.