have you ever been so ‘tired’ that the word doesn’t seem right when you use it as a vague description of your current state of being? it’s not even being exhausted. maybe bone weary is a better way to express it. physically worn out, run down and feeling pretty gutted. barometric pressure changes bringing on some very long and persistent headaches that threaten the migration into a migraine. fighting off a cold, which won’t entirely come on or entirely go away, leaving a raw mess out of my poor nose.
emotionally. it’s been a rough week. dealing with the death of a friend is hard. he was an alcoholic, a drunk. and he committed suicide 1 shot at a time over the last 18 months. of course he was a functional alcoholic for years before things got critical. it’s been hard for me to see alcoholism as a ‘disease’ because i don’t believe it is. i believe it’s a mental health issue which becomes diseases, but being an alcoholic is not a disease. being a drunk is a fucking choice.
addictions; booze, drugs, food, sex. so many to choose from and they all start out innocently enough. then something happens. something becomes behavioral, instead of situational and before you know it, you crave it. need it. get angry without it. then you have to understand you are at the beginning of the slope of addiction. and you have to all you can do to get up and away from that downward slope. the longer you stay on it, the longer it takes to climb up from it.
i just can’t get over how his death is impacting his family. just like i was angry at how his addiction impacted them when he was alive. they are dealing with being grateful it’s over. that they no longer have to worry about him killing someone from drinking and driving or that he might accidentally burn the house down or kill one of the dogs in a drunken rage. the emotional turmoil he had them suffer for years is at an end.
and yet he was their father. her husband. we all remember who he was before he decided booze was more important than anything else and ultimately his very life. how can you fault someone for their choice to drink over being with you, when they commit to it to the extent that it takes their life. that they go back to their little hotel room, lock the door and drink and pass out repeatedly until finally, they drop the bottle and never wake up again.
he never had to hear the screams of a wife being held back by police, fire and ems as a door is broken down and the decay of death roll out over everyone in the hallway, so you know what will be found once they entered the room, long before they crossed the threshold. he never had to see young men, almost out of teens, face a hysterical mother, desperately trying to gain control and tell them their father is dead.
he chose to destroy his family one drink at a time and then he tossed his dead body at their feet and said a final ‘now deal with this shit’ with his dying breathe. i’m not angry he did it. i’m disgusted he was so weak that he didn’t even try. because i am judging him based on how i feel about my family and the sacrifice i made to keep things together. and because everyone who loved his family now has to deal with watching them suffer as they clean up his mess while being grateful it wasn’t worse than it was.
at least he can’t hurt anyone else, other than his family and those who loved him, ever again. because what he did and how he lived his life and how he ended things, will hurt us for the rest of our lives.