My brother is a recovering alcoholic; he regularly attends AA meetings. Tonight, he asked me to join him. We were seeing a movie afterwards, so the logistics would have went much more smoothly if I went with him. The meetings follow a standard format. The beginnins usually cover annoucements, going over AA literature and celebrating people's sobriety. The last, and pretty much the bulk of the meeting, is a time where people share their stories of how alcoholism affected their lives, and why they are here today. Alcoholics Anoymous. I won't go into any specific details of their speeches, or experiences, because the anoymonity, but I will mention the emotion behind the speeches and how, in a way, I felt connected to these people.
Alcholism runs deep in my family, both on my mother's and father's side; it is in my blood to be an alcholic. During my younger years, between 14-17, I was running full tilt towards this life. I was drinking heavily on the weekends, and the alcohol was all I can remember looking forward to. Which, when I reflect on my life today, is strange because I don't believe that I truly look forward to anything tomorrow or in the future now. My brother fell first, and hit hard. He became an alcoholic almost overnight. At least, that is the way it felt. I was pretty much entirely numb during these years. The alcohol for me was an escape, from my dreary life, from my depression, from the problems that I faced at home. My mother was next to follow. She was an alcoholic for quite some time. I just believe we never realy recognized it till my brother became sober and shone attention upon her drinking habit. My brother and mother went away for treatment, not together. My mom was gone for 2 months, I believe? My brother was gone for close to 5. In a way, I used to believe that I was an alcoholic, I just didn't drink. When I did drink during the school year, I felt it just made me more depressed. Hence the belief now that I am not an alcoholic. I'm just severely depressed.
The people spoke about feelings and emotions that I knew so well. The words triggered chain reactions. Its as if I did not even need to think about the words. My brain just knew them and felt them. They seemed all so common to me. I looked around the room and I realized all these people felt like me in some way. Inferior, out of place, wanting to just seem normal and to them alcohol was the key. My brother even expressed the same feelings to me, the very same things that I feel, but, yet, I still feel so alone. I still feel so alienated. They spoke about their suicidial ideation and I wanted to cry because I knew it so well. I know what it is like to wake up everyday and wish you were dead, to wish you were no longer breathing, and to go to sleep the night before wishing you won't wake up. I know it all. I know it so well. I wanted to cry at that point, but refused to do so, like I always do. I'm too proud to cry, or to accept help, to admit that I have a problem that will probably kill me well before my time. This is all I know. This is my life as I live it, depression through and through out. No one will truly understand my feelings, ever. They are far too imperceivable. This idea is probably at the root of my isolation.
I hate my life, but I hate the person I am more than anything. My life is a result of the person I am. The choices I made in the past will produce the person I am today, and tomorrow. I want things to be okay, but I'm scared that I won't even know what it feels like for things to be okay because it has been so long since I have felt hope, happiness or anything that could be said to be a positive emotion. What further compounds this problem is the fact I know I will never ever be happy with anything in my life. The possessions I've wanted, the accomplishments I've achieved mean nothing. They are nothing to relish pride from. They simply mean nothing to me, which makes me question the point of living, waking up to tomorrow, if there is no resultant happiness from any of my actions. Life just drags. It creates this numb sensation that nothing truly matters, because it clearly doesn't. Nothing will ever be okay, because nothing has ever been okay.
I examine my will for life, why I am still here today and I realize it is for only one reason that I have not perished, my parents. I do not live for the possibilties of tomorrow, but to ensure my parents face no pain. They are great people; I love them dearly. They have provided me with great opportunities, many I can not seem to find the desire to appreciate, and they have always been there for me, but I face this alone. They know little of my depression or the want I battle with on a daily basis to end this all. I want to open up. I want to break down. I want to cry. I want to tell them everything, but I can't. I just can't. I've tried so many times, but stall, and stall again. I fail, yet again. The story of my life. I just want this to end. I want it all to stop.