And the bubble has burst

I want to drink today. It's not that I've had a particularly trying day, or anything, but I'm sick of feeling my feelings. I'm sick of having to get in touch with myself and feel what's really going on inside.

I was listening to the Stones on the way home, and they played one of my favorite songs: Paint It Black. "Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts. It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black."

Again, it's a pity party and I'm the host. You just have to sit through it.

I told my therapist today that sometimes I think about hurting myself. Sometimes I think, "what if the razor slipped and I cut myself shaving? Just a little blood." Sometimes I think that there is an old European God living inside me who will only be placated by blood. Or I think that maybe I could just take a lot of my pills. Not enough to really kill me, but enough. Maybe I could just drink and make all this pain disappear.

But I won't. The little pink cloud of happy that you live in in early sobriety has definitely burst. Now, there are little bubbles of feelings that float into my mind and burst, only to reappear. I was telling my therapist that I fear they're all going to turn into one gigantic bubble and it's going to overwhelm me. I'm going to just go crazy. I don't have the option of shutting off my feelings anymore - I have to be present with them.

So again, I'm asking for help. God? I need you right now.

Hey, thanks for sending the dog over to lick my face. Dog love helps.