I had a couple of e-mail exchanges with my friend in PA about what I wrote in my first "new low" post. I try not to subject her to my various misanthropic rantings and don't always succeed. This time, focusing on myself rather than the ills of the world, I probably did strike more of an introspective, analytical chord, but this was hardly more encouraging to her given what I was writing.

My friend, who is as brilliant as she is kind, has tried very hard to understand the ups and downs and thoughts of people like us who go through life in an unyielding battle with their own minds, so she doesn't treat what I say about my mindset as pathetic or hapless. And I'm sure she appreciates why I feel these feelings even if she becomes frustrated by my recurrent refusal or inability to perceive any light on the horizon, to advocate for myself. It's unreal that she sees any good in me. I know that's a cliche, but she's a successful attorney for a big corporation and I'm an aimless and irresponsible turd who drank his way out of med school and has done nothing but screw up every few months since that time (about 10 years ago). But the "I'm not good enough," though true, is for another discussion.

Mostly, I am just venting, so forgive me if I repeat myself or unintentionally lapse into hubris.

Given events of recent days, I don't know that I have ever felt quite as despondent and out of control as I do right now. Probably not. It's one thing to be broke, another to know I'd still be broke even if I dumped a couple grand into my bank account. Then there are my medical problems and (believe it or not) social dysfunction and isolation.

But more excoriating is the greater picture -- this latest is just one more turd on the shitheap. I have led such a futile and error-packed existence that even aside from ongoing alcohol issues--which have continued to trip me up in recent weeks--I feel like I'm never going to outrun or manage the consequences. Even in less dire periods, I'm gripped by a mixture of dread and fatigue and resentment, overlaid by the sense--which should be terrifying but isn't--that I'm simply not going to make it, with only the timing and the details of the outcome to be determined. I'm no victim; I've invited the fallout over and over and can scarcely complain about reaping what I sow. I am a master of putting negative momentum to use, and might honestly welcome a significant degree of retrograde amnesia. Preferable to have to start fresh than fixate and then act like an infant because I can't handle the memories, including the missed opportunities as well as the bad things I've done and caused.

As far as discussing this stuff with others who do not qualify for inclusion in this community...I wish I could convey the sheer, I don't know, bafflement about being "this way"; acting like a damned lunatic for so long, and in an increasingly erratic manner. Continuing to lose things, abandoning my already middling goals, just feeling walloped by life. No structure, no discipline, no drive. And a frequent perverse certainty that I could toss myself off a bridge and imagine myself laughing at the clowns who are misguided enough to call this "selfish" when their braying about how the weak should be forced to keep living for the sake of their emotional comfort is the epitome of selfish.

It seems like I would have reached some token level of normalcy or achievement by now, and instead the walls keep closing in; I believe that even if my front-and-center problems were magically solved today, I'd remain devoid of self-respect for a long time. The details of what I put myself through no longer matter--it's the growing certainty that I'll never quit doing it that has me thinking of just checking the hell out of this huge, rock-and-mud spherical hotel.