While I was alone last night, a Thursday, I was tempted to drink an early Devil’s Cup. But it was not yet Friday, so I stopped myself and drank more water. (As I should.)
And then, I heard a whisper within.
“Dewey, you have been holding off on the decision for days.”
I didn’t avoid the whisper, my Inner Dewey. I replied to him.
“I know, I know.”
Continue reading XXXVIII: Making the DecisionI have been feeling shitty for a week already. Thank you, my Dispatch and my journal, for making me remember to count the days. And today, that shitty feeling became worse because of something I did.
I can’t tell the long story, the specifics. All I can say is that I did something that is not really a big deal, but then I looked back at what I did and thought, “I think I fucked up.” I don’t know if (option A) my anxiety is just messing with me or (option B) if I truly fucked up. If I were to pick the lesser evil, I hope for option A.
I haven’t told my family about my current mental predicament. I may have told 2 friends about it. I think I should open up to my family soon – first, my brothers, and then my parents. I think they deserve to know.
Ω
The brain tells to avoid
And the universe reminds
My mind is being toyed
The nth time that I resigned
What if I take action
Because we live only once
Or prep for extraction
So I’ll not look like a dunce
One more heavy deep breath
Should I stay or should I go
Doubt creeping like he’s Death
Final decision is no
The brain tells to avoid
And the universe reminds
Indecision, destroyed
The action I leave behind
Ω
Originally published on March 20, 2019.
Image header: qimono of Pixabay. Edited in Adobe Photoshop 2022.
The Diary of The Deranged Writer 