Aftermath...And Then Right Back At It

As you can tell from my last post, I was rather out-of-sorts after my Friday-night adventure. I was so depressed on Monday that I felt I would never recover. But of course, as the week progressed, I started to feel better. I know when reading my writing, I come across as a dreary, gloomy bore. Believe it or not (for most of you, I'm guessing "not"), I'm actually a lot of fun to be around. I constantly have to deal with the anxiety and low mood that my cross-wired brain pumps out. But the "real me," the true nature of my personality, is actually quite friendly and upbeat. For example, I joke around with my co-workers all of the time. (Too much, when it comes down to it, for a professional office.) In spite of my problems, when I get close to people, I tend to keep them as friends forever. I'm still in close contact with someone I met in the fourth grade.

So after my brief Mardi Gras, I decided it was time for the asceticism of Lent in the form of the Master Cleanse fast. I was planning to add a devotional to this; that is, attend Mass every day for a week to pray about my life. After all, "as long as the rope is around my neck, I might as well jump off the horse." (Jim Davis, Garfield) My intention wasn't so much to seek forgiveness (given my obsession with divine punishment), but to ask God to give me the strength to become the person I think He wants me to be. Though as things proceeded, it didn't really work out that way anyway.

First of all, even though I began to feel better, I was still drinking every night last week. I was still very low, even to the point of being passively suicidal on a few occassions. I never heard back from the handsome guy I gave a ride to or the guy from the bathhouse. I'm ambivalent about their lack of communication. Yet I suppose it's all for the best. Then on Friday, I went to my dealer's apartment to pay her the remaining money I owed her for the pills. She offered to sell me her last four Vicodins...and I accepted. I told myself that this was a last fling before I buckled down and moved myself forward.

I didn't do anything crazy. In fact, I just stayed at home and worked on my apartment a bit. The problem arose over the next couple of days, as my unnaturally bouyed mood slingshot back into an even lower one. I had intended to start the Lemonade Diet on Sunday but didn't, though I did go to church and confession. So I resolved to start it on Monday along with my daily Mass devotional. While I did manage to start the fast on Monday, I couldn't get my ass out of bed early enough for church, and I finally decided I was asking too much of myself. I'm going to try the whole ten days of this diet (and so far, so good), which means it will spill over into next week. Perhaps I'll try to do the devotional then.