2. 1st October, 2009

I realise that life isn't simple.

I also realise that I may have done irriparable damage to myself, family and friends.

I was always of the mentality of myself, family, work and then friends in the order of things.

Lately, all this has changed.

Now all than can be thought about, is where my next fix shall be coming from. It disturbs me that I have let myself get so sucked in after two years. I am killing myself. People that care are worried. People that don't will just see it as my number being up, and just deserts.

I like to think that I can be informative, impartial and intelligent. However; most of the time, I'm in a lack of comprehension, believing all is about me, and brain dead.

One thing that I would like to point out is that this is not purely because of the death of my mother, I have been going downhill, as alluded to earlier, for a couple of years. There is no doubt, however, that the passing has resulted in a negated impact on my own life, which filters into those others around me.

I can be fine as rain, one minute, meandering on my own little path, and the next I can be insenitive, snappy and shallow. But this, in general, is the alcohol.

Even my own grandfather has attempted to gleam information from our communal doctor, only to be denied; due to the (thankfully) code of conduct that he (the doctor) must keep. All I can tell my own grandfather is that I am not well, and the things that go on in a medical capacity; Blood tests, Ultrasounds, what may be wrong with me; etc.

The over-riding feeling that I do have at the moment, however, is guilt; and no matter how many people I say things to, it never feels any better.

The guilt stems from me feeling that I didn't do enough for mom in her last few months. In some cases, it was because there were things that I couldn't do, which can be understood, or in a muddle, I can turn them into instruments, with which to torture myself.

In other cases, such as the final time that she was being taken into hospital, I can recall Paul shouting at mom, and just thinking they were having an arguement. It continued. Knowing she was ill, it was obvious something was wrong. Mel was with me, and I daren't get out of bed, for fear of seeing something that I didn't want to.

Family and friends came by, as if they knew something I didn't. I barely visited mom in hospital over the time she was in there, instead; focusing only on the times when she seemed ok, whilst at home, and obviously as fit as can be. I didn't want to see the suffering. I honestly believe that if I did regularly go, I would not have been able to cope with it, and I wouldn't be here today, due to stupidity involving more alcohol than I was already intaking, and a nonsensical idea.

These are the cases of guilt I speak of. The overwhelming power of wanting to do something, but not having the inclination to do it, or, I guess, some would label as fear and / or cowardice on my own part.

The bizarre thing is, the more I think about it all, the worse I get. Nothing is ever happy or fun anymore. Everything I do is a  seemingly routine task, that has been done so many days in a row, or even once before, and I never want to do it again. Things are really beginning to bore myself.

Again, with boredom, alcohol starts to creep back into my life (as I told work) to eleviate the boredom.

Friends have come and gone; some have stuck with me, albeit barely talking, and in no uncertain terms have I told a few exactly what I think at the time. It's like a natural reaction, when I feel that I'm having too much fun with something, my mind kicks in and states that I shouldn't be like this.

In reality, as we all know; it's the other way around.

I fear that no matter what is done in the near future, my health is most certainly fucked, as is any ounce of reasonable mindedness inside my head.

AF.