Yesterday was a day in the chronicles of my life.
Today was another.
I did not like today.
I have fallen into my comforting bad habits. Comfort eating.
I have also adopted a worrying new habit.
I have started having a drink after work, sometimes not even getting to the home first but having it on the train home. I do this to take the edge off my day and I have joined the dots to see the connection that alcohol usually makes me feel happier.
Today for the first time in a long time I considered jacking in my years of non smoking and buying a pack. Smoking used to make me feel invincible.
It also gave me bad breath.
And like Toru Watanabe in Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood I hated feeling controlled by something.
The fact is my so called worrying new levels of drinking are laughable. I mean, it’s like one drink a day. But the trouble is when you drink as little as I do anything you do have extra stands out like a sore thumb.
And I had that rule about ‘Not drinking to improve or enhance a mood’.
Today my internet history has seen me search for the best (and worse) jobs for people with social anxiety disorders because I think I have proven to myself I can’t have dream careers like normal people, instead I must go with what can I cope with.
There is a show that I haven’t watched but see advertised on BBC IPlayer called ‘Can’t cope, won’t cope’ and I’m like ‘That’s what I should call my autobiography because ‘The Crying of House 49′ is far too esoteric a reference’
I have tried to search for whether being a mental f***wit means you qualify for disability welfare, because I’m beginning to think it’s not so much as I have difficulty working but that I am completely incapable of it.
But I have always prided myself on my work ethic. I want the full time wage. I want it all.
All my problems are caused by my bastard of a brain. I decided to forgo my usual habit of censoring my swearing just then because I wanted to emphasise my point. I have no real problems. I’m not even stressed by my debt other than the fact that my debt is causing me to stick with jobs I hate or find traumatic because otherwise I will lose everything.
If I could say to myself three years ago, when I was in Peacocks, buying a new outfit because I was going for an unexpected drink after work and didn’t want to wear my uniform, if I could tell myself that my stupid, stupid choices might give me an unlimited wardrobe, but they would dramatically limit all other options such as whether I can move out of the sketchy neighbourhood, whether I can take time off work to look after myself, or whether I could even afford counselling to make myself better, if I could tell myself all that then maybe things would be different now.