I just figured it out.
I’ve been sober for six days and haven’t smoked pot in nine, yet I’m still climbing the walls of my empty house, lonely and mad and hopeless.
What I’d told myself was that this was withdrawals. I’d love a beer or a joint but I’m broke and all my friends are off doing things that involve money. This isn’t withdrawal, it’s the exact opposite.
I’ve wondered for a long time why I drink and smoke so much. Honestly, the only times I leave the house are when I’m going out to get pissed or stoned. Last night was the first time I’ve enjoyed a live band while sober in what seems like forever. Before then, I’d actually got angry when seeing a band minus the aide of intoxicants, but not now.
This morning, I’ve attempted to play guitar but lost it quickly and thrown the instrument across my room in frustration. I’ve attempted to do weights but become furious when my body gave out on me. I’ve attempted to watch television but I hate everyone who steals space on my screen. I’ve masturbated. Twice. Both times I’ve finished feeling more alone and empty than I was when I began.
The only thing that has managed to calm me down is the music and voice of Elliot Smith. His melancholic tunes echo my mind and for a time keep me sane, because no matter how crazy I’m feeling, I know he’s felt the same way and probably much worse.
But sitting here, listening, my thoughts as to alcohol and pot have become clarified. I’m not an addict. If I was, I’d have been out walking, looking to score. Or I may have broken into a house and stole cash or something. I haven’t felt compelled to do either of those things, yet, still, whenever I’m alone I feel as mad and confused and lonely as I did when I was drunk or stoned or recovering from being that way.
The reason is simple.
I don’t drink and smoke to escape my problems. I do it so that I have something to blame all my problems on. Issues aren’t as serious if they can be put on drugs. It’s not a problem in your head, it’s an effect of the drug.
I just realised that usually when I feel confused or dumb or angry without reason, I instantly blame it on pot and that makes everything okay, because if it’s the drug’s fault, I can stop using at any time and my problems will go away. Disillusions of grandeur.
What the last few days have taught me is that the problems I have are mine. I just use alcohol and pot as an excuse to avoid dealing or coping. It’s a denial I’ve been living with for ages, yet one I just discovered.
Whether this makes a difference to anything, I don’t know. My dad just arrived home with a slab of beers for me and I’m going to be drinking those as fast as I can, but at least this time I’ll know why I’m doing it.
Which awakes the grand thought that if my problems aren’t drug-related, then they’re all in myself. And dealing with them is a shit load harder than stopping drinking and smoking.
Fuck. Maybe if I drink all those beers now, I can forget I ever had this revelation and go back to my blissful denial.