I had done so in 2014. In 2015 I reverted to drinking beer (I almost never drink hard liquor, so at least there's that). Jan 1 of this year I went cold turkey again, and remained so until 3 or 4 weeks ago. It's self-medication pure and simple, a way to make my mind stop ruminating for a few hours. I'd prefer pot but that would be a Great Big Giant Problem.

I'm beyond fed up with the admonitions - sometimes outright lectures, wholly unprompted. (That definitely isn't what you're doing. You live in Happy Funtimes Prison too, and know wherefrom you speak.) Anyway - yes, I know it's a depressant. Yes, I know it merely compounds the problems I already have. YES, I KNOW I SHOULDN'T.

So yeah, cool, I get it. But really, do people think they're bestowing pearls of wisdom that have never occurred to me? Do they think I haven't spent a thousand hours more than they reading, talking, pondering, hoping, to no effect? Do they have any idea what it's like to wrestle with suicidal thoughts every day for years?

Of course not. How could they? It would be like me trying to know what it feels like to suffer from, say, schizophrenia or heroin addiction.

I listen nonetheless. There is always the possibility that someone will mention something I hadn't thought of. And I appreciate that people care enough to help. Everybody wants to help, right? It isn't their fault that their attempts to help aren't helpful. They can't read my mind or know just how long and hard a struggle this is.I know they mean well.

It isn't their fault that it often feels like Monday morning quarterbacking, and that I often clam up in response. It's just that I sometimes simply cannot bear the useless if well-meaning advice. (And of course my clamming up comes across as standoffish. Now I'm distant. Why won't I talk? Everyone knows it's healthy, etc. Yay, more unsolicited unhelpful advice.)