So I'm doing something

How I'm doing

  

                      I've always had a problem with Alcoholism and time management. Recently my memory has been fading more and more, and I can no longer exactly remember what or who I am on a daily basis. I wake up most mornings Not knowing my name, age, or where I am. I blame my deteriorating mental health and possibly My ADHD. I would say my alcoholism but I can't afford to get drunk every night Like I want to and sadly my tolerance is high, so It would take A lot to actually make me drunk. I'm positive I have a sort of autism, and mildly suspicious to the idea of BPD for plenty of my lows and highs.  I'm not saying self diagnosis is reliable, especially mine, but the effects and coincidences are hard to disprove or rule as only coincidences. 

     As for me, in a less personal manor, I'm doing horribly. I live paycheck to paycheck, I can barely afford my own rent, and I can barely afford to eat. Having a stocked fridge and a stomach that is feed, not too much to make me full but enough to make me feel that I've ate, seems to be a luxury.  My romantic life has been turbulent to say the least. I've been in multiple failed relationships so far. All of them I was either Cucked, lead on (once unintentionally for which I am not mad at, and two time intentionally) , or ghosted. I'm now afraid of intimacy and because I can't read social cues, or any cue for that matter, I'm afraid my life is going to be nothing but a downward spiral into me becoming involuntary celibate. I know what mental image that portmanteau "incell"  word can inspire. Rest assured I won't be a "nice guy*." I'll just simply give up and forgive any forgone thought of a stable and happy relationship.  work would become the main focus of my life and It wouldn't bother me. 

  What I stated earlier about my alcoholism shouldn't be treated with any relevancy. Yes, I drink almost every night I can. I drink to forget and to cry softer tears, so that when I wake up, I feel less like a person and more like a shell in the hopes to fill that shell with some sort of afterthought of what a person is supposed to be.  I drink because my thoughts weigh heavily and my shoulders can no longer support my own thoughts. So I fall, still holding the wrongful thinking and depressive imagination, crumbling under that weight, and still think I can carry more because "That's what a man does." When in reality I don't know what a man is. I don't think I'll ever know what being a person means or does. I don't think I'll ever accomplish anything relatively important in my life to even justify my depressive thoughts and nature.  The nature caused by past actions done upon me and ones I've done upon myself. Caused by the people in my upbringing, and their actions outside of my life. Caused by the thoughts of what Life is, was, and what it means. Caused by my unwanted stress and suicidal thoughts. but because I don't wish to cause anyone any pain in anyway, I usually cast my own ideas and self out of any equation, including my own death, and I think suicide to be a cowards way out and nothing more to cause pain to those around you. I'm not strong enough for this life though, but I strive on simply for those around me. I have no life, and I have no Idea of what my life values to other than a few cents and a heavy death certificate for my loved ones.  In no way am I saying I'm a broken, no love, man. Truth be I don't know what I am. Am I Carson, or just the resemblance of him. Or have I finally started to echo the terrible words of the ugly, hideous troll within the back of my head. The one who shouts that I'm not good enough, and never will be. The Ugly troll who continues to bang, scratch, kick, and scrape for any piece of me he hasn't already torn apart and cover with ethanol and alcoholic beverages, only for them to sting and numb the scars for only a mere moment. The troll who always puts me down and figures his own way. 

  I don't know how he ever got into me. Maybe he rode in like some sort of parasite on a bottle or two. No, I remember him to be more familiar than a childhood friend. he was always there I guess. Always within me. A part of me since the formation of consciousness and unbearable weight of being human. He was only amplified when I started thinking of being human and life itself. He was given a speaker when I was shunned for my atheism, and a microphone from my self doubt. And a reason from my esteem, consciousness, and the people around me. I don't believe I'd be here without him however. 

  There's no doubt that my depression has made me a better story maker. And with great influences becoming tombstones all around me, I can no longer have any excuse for why it takes me so long to do anything in my life. I'm a lazy, depressed, and sad man. I wallow within existence unable to share anything that isn't a reference to some foreign or domestic film or story. I'm nothing but a shell, partially filled with a bright ooze, that is just the little bit of me that shines through in my work. 

  A part of me believes I'm holding out for that one person, the other believes it's because I want to be a dad. A better dad than mine. A better person than I am now, but I hold no hope for such thinking. Carson Ledger Is not meant for people. That much has been made clear. Carson Ledger isn't meant for human intimacy or anything of the sort. I know how easy it was to loose myself in my own depressive state, I lost my self within others and for that I feel so ashamed for trying to help others. I cried and shared immense empathy with that one. If I think everything to be clear, does it really make it clear or just give me glasses that can see through the fog partially, enough for me to make a simple outline, but not enough for me to understand or comprehend.  If i were to be a dad, that part says, It would fix me, It would give me purpose and a reason to live. 
           But I know It wouldn't fix it. Alcoholism isn't the easiest thing to fix, especially with a side of depression and a mind that so often wonders about death, dismay, destruction, and how to help others while not helping myself. 
  Truth is I wouldn't allow myself to be selfish enough to take my own life. Even in planning. If I am to go, let my alcohol kill me slowly so that my grave can be a dizzy and forgetful day for me. If I am to get rid of alcohol, let me die by natural causes, so that I can remember I have done nothing spectacular or worthy of note. And my name can be forgotten in the aisles of history. 

            That's my fear isn't it? To be forgotten. I don't want to be famous, I know this. But forgotten. It's such a horrible existence. Words are forever, and I don't think mine would be the exception. However forever is a long time. For-ever. For means it's intended to reach, on its way to belonging. Ever, means eternity in this sense. For is just forever walking towards nothing. Casually going to the end in ever. I mean there has to be an end to this all. Words aren't forever we'd be lost to human dialect or some species a million years from now. How do I Immortalize, when everything ends. It's inevitable, I can't become something when something never existed. 

  I hate my head. So much. From the shape, the look, that slanted eyebrow, the scratch on one side of my face, the  beard I grow and the ears. I hate more what goes on internally.  When I ask for help for what goes on in my head. The simplest answer was to just stop. I can't stop, that's the whole point.  I drown myself with liquor and beer to hopefully keep my mind in one place and stop thinking all the time. I try to occupy myself with nothing but work but I end up thinking the entire time. I try to sleep, but even in dreams am I not safe from it. Even in rest, I'm in a state of unrest. I try and try to stop thinking. but each time I do actually, stop thinking and live in the moment, on those rare occasions, the troll in my head gets louder and louder. And he becomes harder and harder to bare and deal with when he's not covered up by some abstract thought or what my ADHD mind can pick up from around the room and immediately forget and focus on something else. 

  I feel like I'm boring people with this. I don't care right now. 

 Right now, It's my birthday. I'm 20 years old. I haven't done anything with my life that has any significance to it. I live in my own apartment. I live with my childhood friend, who helps on rent and just general living. I'm alone every night, I make excuses to cry about my past 2without doing anything to fix it. I work out, which all the gym bros say helps you, but it doesn't. I'm an Alcoholic writer who uses depression to write a story. I play bass, guitar, baritone, trumpet, and other instruments. 

And I hate my life. 

(*nice guy: Not to be confused with a nice guy (that is, a male that is nice)- When used as a noun instead of an adjective, Nice Guy refers to males who believe basic social expectations are currency for sex.)