I woke up WAY TOO EARLY considering I’m off today, I should try sleep to at least 8:00 a.m. although that really is much later than I usually get up. I really like waking up early but not when I'm still tired. I'm definitely more productive in the mornings... but waking up later in the morning, especially when I'm off work feels so nice, I feel so rested, not on edge like I feel right now.
Last year after I stopped drinking I was up every morning at 5:30 AM watching the “Burns and Allen Show" (an OLD black and white television show of a once famous couple that probably very few people know these days) followed by the "Jack Benny Show" (again another OLD black and white television show) and of course while the TV plays in the background I'm multi-tasking with either my iPad or Computer and a cup of coffee. Since I failed my drinking (or early New Years resolutions) resets in November and then again in December my drinking has actually intensified, I think I’m going for a last hurrah before I absolutely have to quit. I know I did that last year too, as January 1 approached I drank a bit, no, a lot more knowing that I would soon be on my self-imposed "non-religious lent”. Its coming again, only a week away and if I can’t stop this time than I am an utter failure and will have to admit that I am undeniably an alcoholic.
Over the past 6-8 years I have been able to skirt around committing myself to the status of alcoholic because I generally go months without drinking but for some reason things feel different now. I feel like I've stepped over that line. I really like alcohol, I want it. Its soothes me, it helps the monotony of life pass more quickly and less painfully, but then I end up tired, hungover, or regretting some stupid action from the previous night. Part of me is tired of it all, I want to quit drinking but I don’t want to quit, But I’m getting tired of life in general. I mean the tedium and senselessness of this whole existence. Living for what? To die? What is the fucking purpose of this? Why? I hate this life, but I don't want to die, like any animal my instincts say stay alive, no matter what... but I'm gay. I'm not here to ensure the continuance of my species? My existence is a waste.
I see now why procreation is so important to so many because creating that life at least it gives you a feeling or purpose, something to leave to the world after you are gone. I don’t have that, right now my dogs are my purpose (oh and caring for an ailing husband) and I want to make sure they are taken care of before I die. I don’t want to even think about them going to a dog pound. I can’t imagine the confusion they would experience wondering “Where’s my daddy?” or “What did I do wrong for them to put me here?” I just want to see my animals have a happy life and after that I can go. But will I have the balls to go? I don't want to experience death but I want to be gone. I’ve said this before in other posting in my other blog, I’m not suicidal, it's not like I sit around with a noose around my neck or a bottle of pills by my side but I just don’t see or believe there will be any purpose to stay here after my dogs and I'm too old to start over with new dogs, besides my husband has already said "NO" to more animals.
I don’t fear death, I mean what comes after this life because I don’t believe in a god or an afterlife so I don’t believe there is anything to fear once this is over. So I don't run to the churches like so many do, praying for an afterlife in a place of glory while all my friends and family that have made a mistake or two burn for eternity. By the way Mr. or Ms. Christian...how could you worship a god so evil that he would burn anyone for eternity? (Now off my soapbox) What I fear is the anticipation of death, the pain and the process itself. I hope that when my time finally does come it’s quick or I am in some physical state in which I am not aware it’s happening (I’m sure that’s what everyone wants)…. But I’m ready… after my dogs are gone there’s nothing left for me here so I welcome a nice painless, eventless, quiet demise.
My husband is still asleep he went to bed before me last night, waking up but not really conscious just enough to stumble to our bedroom and put on his CPAP (its this breathing apparatus that helps him sleep at night). He had asleep very early sitting on his Archie Bunker chair in the living room. He slept most of the day. It amazes me that a person can sleep so much, he's on par with my dogs and their sleeping habits. I know that his life and the way he is living doesn't require much in terms of awake time but the way he lives now depresses me. He falls asleep all the time now, tired from doing nothing. Not washing, not maintaining the house, not caring for the dogs, nothing. Just sitting here, eating all day while I’m at work and when I get home he says “What are we having for dinner?”, or “An ice cream sounds good right now”, or “Will you give me some cookies?”. I look at him sitting there in his underwear and socks, dirty shirt that hasn’t been changed in a week or two, the same shirt he sleeps in and wonder to myself “What the fuck do you do all day?” and then I remember that he has a bad heart and recall how scared I get when I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack and I can sympathize a bit but I also know he is being lazy and taking advantage and if I complain he will call his sister and tell her how mean I am to him, so I keep quiet. This life sucks. I hate it. We don’t do anything socially anymore mostly because he can’t do anything anymore other than sit in his chair and wait for the Grim Reaper.
We can’t keep going on like this and I'm beginning to feel like I want to be a little more social again, I need to be if I'm ever going to get over this feeling of dreariness, of this humdrum existence, this repetition of day to day nothingness as we wait to depart this earth. I actually said to him this the other day saying "I want us to start going out more and getting to know people, after the New Year let's try to find a group to join or something to do, anything where we can be social with people again". He just did his normal Mrs. Hyacinth Bucket acknowledgement only this time Richard's response "Yes dear" without the "dear" of course. I really am tired of just coming home in the evening only to go right to bed just to get up the next morning to go to work (mix and repeat) and then when the weekends come all I do is sit on the chair next to him coddling to his every need as if he were a 90 year old man. Tomorrow is his birthday he's going to be 62 years and honestly he acts like he's 90. I work with people older than him and that act 20 years younger than him. I’m in my early 50’s and living with him makes me feel 70, he is so old inside and he’s turning me that way too.
My panic attacks are increasing both in frequency and intensity and to repeat myself once again, I thought that since I have gone almost a decade without experiencing these I thought that part of my life was over but they are back and they are horrible. I sit here and in one paragraph I express how much I want to be gone, dead, how finished I am with this existence. The attacks make my life a living paradox because when I panic, during that attack I want to live, all the things that keep my here, my dogs, my weekends camping, getting drunk on the weekends, etc., all the things I enjoy swim through my head and I don't want to die. I want to live because at that moment I'm facing death. If you've never had a panic attack you can't know what it is like and probably will never know what it is like until you actually face death but people like me that have these attacks are literally facing death every day, sometime multiple times a day, just having the attacks and surviving them is enough to say "Please let the next one be the real thing so I can finally be at peace" then you experience your next one and once again you are begging for your life whether its to a God or in my case to the universe in general, I want to live but then I go back to my real life and think I can' keep going on like this. Its has to end, I want it to end. If you are still reading at this point you either sympathize with me as you might have the same experiences or that you are just so confused by what I'm writing you are trying to figure it out, (or maybe sitting on the toilet with your smartphone and for some reason decided to finish reading about this 50 years only panic stricken confused and messed up old man). I'm tired.... I'm tired of it all.