Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Rising From The Ashes of Loss, My Voyage Through Grief: excerpt # 16

Chapter 5
January 10, 2011
Experiencing deep pain, frustration, resentment and great feelings of loss.
It's 12 noon and I feel a strong urge to get drunk again.  It has been my pattern for the past week now, uselessly messing around on my computer , tying up loose ends all morning and drinking Scotch at midday.  The intoxicating liquid always helps me to escape the dark grips of grief that resurface the very minute I attempt to relax my mind.  No wonder I like it so much!  As hard as I try, I can only manage to stay pain-free for a couple of hours at a time and again and again I need support from 'Glenfiddich' my best friend and favorite single-malt scotch.  But every time the numbing effect of the alcohol dissipates, the painful reality shows up it's ugly head again and I sink once more into darkness.  When that happens, I suffocate and I need air, lots of it.  Every single time it's the same: run out to escape the confines of my prison, ignore every ounce of logic I may have, and, still boozed up significantly, jump into my car and take of for a long ride by the river, my second-best means of escape at this point.
Driving under the influence has always been against my principles and I feel guilty every time I do it, but the pain is so unbearable that I can't help myself.  Day after day it's the same scenario and even the few close calls I have by narrowly escaping police barrages do not deter me from my recklessness.  I am so miserable and out of it at times that I don't even care if I lose my driver's license, or get into an accident and hurt someone.  Grief is a horrible thing; it changes people and it surely has brought up the worst in me at times...
...After painfully witnessing Louise dying of freaking cancer in spite of doing everything that was humanly possible to do to be healthy, I've lost faith in life.  I am pissed off and frustrated at the sight of brutal gangsters and grossly fat and reckless individuals living to be 90 years old decrepit, while caring and and beautiful young souls are savagely taken away from this world.  What's the point of taking care of oneself if it doesn't even make a damn difference?  Hardship will happen regardless of what one does.  Que sera sera as the song says.  Whatever will be will be, and I'll die when I die, I scream mentally.  To hell with the world, I don't give a damn anymore.


Dr. Pierre Milot, Ph.D., Ph.D. (tc)
Therapeutic Counsellor - Author
Online - Phone - One-on-one consultations
Info or free evaluation: 613.703.9237

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