Since the COVID and the war with Ukraine I drink regularly. I manage it somehow, doing hobbies, work, stuff. I don’t put my anger off on others, even ones who I hate. I keep it inside, and I drink.
But I find out there’s one unnerving thing. I can’t feel that I reek of alcohol. And I turn subconsciously suspective of others if they hear the smell. Nearly combatative at times. Everyone knows that I smell like vodka, I start to see it in their words, gestures. I become paranoid. They all know what I don’t, and I hate them.
And my partner doesn’t help it. They want me to be sober, but they only ask if I’ve bought booze on the end of the day. Either way if I did or didn’t, I feel shame and want to drink myself to not feeling anything anyway. They care about me, but I don’t feel like caring about myself. Why they even got to me, of all people, a fucking piece of shit going mental? I feel sorry for them and that many things that they do, I don’t deserve them at all.
I’m sitting on the attic with a bottle of vodka, there are four spiders I came across and a hidden hole that some bird picked as her nest. I heard the sounds of nervous moving and I wonder if they got her. I can’t access her location, and I wonder if four little spiders can take a bird. The closest date I’d discover her is the next spring. She’d either leave or die there. One of the subjects jumped onto my leg so I shoved it off. I wish this bird best.
I wish myself worst, for I’m useless.
A psychiatrist and therapist are cheaper than all that booze. You literally picked the worst way to try and treat yourself - self medication.
Go see a professional; as a good friend once told me (and actually got me to see one for the first time) - they are trained professionals and have learned things that you have not. Just remember that the first one or two you meet might not be a good fit for you; if you don’t like the one you see, fine another one.