Originally Posted by HuskyPup

Have had a rough time, you might say. First, I had pneumonia, so I was laid up in bed for quite a while, on the plus side, I got better, and have managed to stop smoking, it's been about a month. And for about three weeks, no drinking, a big improvement. But then I went out one night, had a few drinks, and a few days later, it was warm and I was feeling nostalgic and there I was, getting drunk at home, watching footage of the poet Anne Sexton, laughing, and then I blacked out. I woke up two days ago to a very bad black eye, almost swollen shut, a sprained finger, skinned knees, scraped elbows and a lot of pain. I must have fell, I don't know. What makes me wonder is why, why, why I do this.

I know there's a lot of things in life I'm not happy about, I'm 42, own no house, no car, am in horrible debt, have bad credit to the point of lawsuits/wage garnishments, live in a rustic warehouse space with no oven or bath-tub, and find it harder and harder to relax. I miss cooking, I even miss baths. I thought at first I might be OK in such a place, but I’m to old…it just happened they didn’t check credit, and I needed a place. I see little hope for the near future in having any time or means to change things and get out of here…I mean, I can’t see how I’m ever gonna fix this credit till 7 years or whatever it is, and that makes me desperately sad. It would be so nice just to have a normal place again, a couch to lie down on, and especially a bath-tub…I can take showers, but there’s only about 5 minutes of hot water, so I often skip them, what’s the point, I don’t sweat much, I’m small, and not hairy.

But I have to stop all this before there's nothing left...I have to find some way to have hope.

I don't know how I ****** up this badly in life, I was always smart and creative and had nearly a 4.0 in highs-school and college but could never seem to find my niche, always worked jobs that were just jobs, now I feel too old to change, and too tired. Sometimes, I think I do these things because I want o die. Normally, I would be to scared, and when sober would certainly never choose to die...yet drunk, I worry, the day will come I jump out the window or something, I mean, I don't even know what I do those times, anything might happen.

Well, I’m sorry for all this, I wish I could say I was better, but this seems like a low point. I just wish I could believe in anything anymore, and have hope. But it just slips away.