I’m always questioning who I am and what I want. Conversely, I’m always wondering why other people never seem to question who they are and what they want. Asking who I am and what I want depresses me. I have no idea who I am and what it is that I really want.
During any given day, my head swirls with questions such as:
-Am I a bad person when I purposely ignore a member of the bridge club who smells like piss and rolls his eyes around like he’s having an epileptic fit?
-Do my grandkids find me disgusting when I distract them from their video games while attempting to get them to say ‘hello’?
-Am I going straight to hell when I die because I always pick on my 88 year-old mother? (Just to fill you in about our relationship, I should mention that she’s lived with me for two years because several years ago, she told me she lost the will to live and needed to move in with me in order to be able to go on with her life. I should also mention that she spends ten hours a day watching the Catholic Television Station, EWTN, at full blast volume because she’s so deaf.)
-Am I an uncaring, insensitive husband because I can’t help but get mad at my wife when she insists on going to the 99 cent store every time we go out to eat or to a movie or to visit the kids or to the bank or to Starbucks or to anywhere else that doesn’t actually require some really cheap shit from the 99 cent store in order to enjoy the primary event?
-Am I a horrible human being because I get really pissed off at all the mentally challenged homeless people who scream obscenities at me while taking my daily walk through the park, the wetlands, or along the beach, the spots where they hang out all day long waiting for people to walk by so they can stare at them and yell at them and tell them they’re going to starve to death if they don’t give them any money?
Questioning who I am and what I want makes me feel like I’m doomed by my deficiencies. At the end of the day, I usually find myself craving a couple of beers or several glasses of wine. I never find a need to drink early in the day, but by the end of the day, I’m dying for some alcohol. Alcohol allows me to love myself and everybody else. Alcohol allows me to think that everybody, including myself, is just fine.
Oh shit! Am I an alcoholic?
Who cares! After drinking a couple of beers, I feel amazing.