This fucking sickness is back yet again. I spent yesterday and today puking my guts out, and when I ran out of guts, I continued to dry heave. I think it's over. For now. But I'm weak and exhausted.
And I'm reaching my breaking point.
The one and only reason I quit drinking was so I would never feel like this again. So far this year, it's almost all I've felt. If I'm going to feel like fucking garbage anyway, why not drink? Maybe if I did, it would give the doctors reason enough to admit me and at least fucking try to figure out what's wrong with me. When I was a boozer they admitted me constantly and said, hey, quit drinking and you'll never feel like this again. I want to see those same fucking doctors and demand to know why they lied to me. Why they used Occam's Razor too fucking freely. Hey, look at that. He's a drinker. If he stops, he won't feel like this anymore. BULLSHIT.
I've been fucking dancing on that particular razor's edge for more than a decade. What in the fucking fuck?
I'm pissed. I'm demoralized. I can feel myself breaking. I'm almost there. I think one more bad day will tip me over.
I'm so fucking angry that I don't think I can go to sleep after writing this. But I'm going to give it a try. Hopefully tomorrow won't bring a fresh batch of horrors, but knowing my life? Right.
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