Dating a letter of resignation
Sometimes this manifests itself in a good way: Travelling, pouring myself into my work, learning new things, creating music, writing, rock climbing, other novel experiences. I swam back up to the surface and took a deep breath. Let’s talk for a minute about what being an alcoholic is really like. Had I been capable of loving myself, I probably wouldn’t need so many people to love me. The minefield is just the price I pay for living with myself.”I have eaten five meals this week. One of which was a pasta salad that had been sitting out at room temperature for 24 hours, but, I didn’t have the self-discipline to throw it out and eat something else.
I reasoned, with unusual clarity, that at the root of my drinking and my suffering is a pathological desire to not be alone. This checked about 80% of the boxes: My steady stream of “content” I put out on my Facebook feed. My hyper-sensitivity to criticism from friends, peers and lovers. The question I then proposed: why can’t I be alone? But as I reasoned objectively, that wasn’t always the case.
a quite literally unbelievable feat for someone who was born with lungs that function at 53% capacity. It was an illustrious career, which netted me a great deal of satisfaction and joy. I’ve held a lot of jobs during that time — waiter, bartender, writer, musician, branding “guru”, marketing manager, mathematician, weatherman, sports columnist, podcast host — but none of them were my real career. Today, I am firmly, unequivocally retiring from the sport of professional drinking. I did this, I think, because I had spent a good majority of the previous year sober.
Earlier this year, I ran past it on my way to completing the very first marathon I’d ever run … Exactly half my life ago, some 17 years, 5 months and 8 days ago, I started a career which has been well documented — yet hidden in plain sight. Aided by cognac and fernet, I found I could be refreshingly candid with them, even if that meant being unusually dark and nihilist. Everything was going my way: I was in the best shape and health of my life, my career was in the perfect spot, I had some money saved up, I had a ton of good quality relationships with friends and family, and I generally spent most of my day doing things I loved to do — music, writing, running, biking, reading and learning things. This is a story that, while disjointed, and poorly written, is as accurate and raw of an account of where I am today as any of the most articulate theses I’ve written in my many years of writing.
And, when those wells of distraction had run dry, or I couldn’t muster the energy to go out into the world, I began to mindlessly scroll my social media feeds — not even for the sake of connecting with people or commenting, but merely to pass the time. I was becoming sick and sad, cynical and weird, lazy and fearful.
The walls began to close in — and then they collapsed.