Black Scabbath

I went to therapy for the first time in six weeks with the intention of breaking up with my therapist because I felt like I was doing better. A friend had referred to therapy as picking a scab the other night and I'm starting to believe that to be true. He was in a band with me off and on for seven or eight years and is in therapy for a similar situation to mine and we joke about how almost everyone who was in the band is in therapy now. If we ever start a new band together it would have to be called "Fourth Session" at this point. I would have to get a tattoo touched up, but then at least it would be consistent. After recent events the tattoo is more like a scar than a badge of honor. Well, it was never a badge of honor, but it was never a scar of shame and regret before.

Anyway, in the session after bleeding my inner self, filled with doubt and concern, all over the rug, it became kind of apparent that I may need more therapy. On the other hand, I was feeling a lot better when I wasn't being forced to talk about it every two weeks. It would seem that I have an old problem that could be serious that I thought I was beating. Yeah, you could chalk it up to the first holiday alone, but alcoholics are brilliant excusists in their own mind. If I don't deal with it now, there are a couple of excuses coming up in the next three months that could prove to be very dangerous to my psyche.

Meanwhile, post-therapy today, my productivity has grinded to a screeching halt and I find myself staring at a screen and nudging a friend over IM all day. It sucks. Then, I tell myself that I will just go home and get some work done, but Marissa's sister is coming back to the O.C. and I told my sister I would go to dinner with her. Apparently, she is concerned about things, too. Today is reminding me of the old days of this blog, but a little bit better. I ate lunch today and I quit Tylenol PM, so I'm still moving in the right direction, I'm just tripping on stuff here and there.

I'll recharge tonight and kick ass tomorrow and then pick up dry cleaning and stay home. That is the key for this weekend. Just stay home and be productive. Maybe visit family, but whatever I do, I do not need to go to the bars and meet people that I will not remember the next day. Here's how it works. Lonely. Go out to a bar and drink. Meet people. Talk to people for a while. Get wasted. Go black. Wake up next day and have numbers in phone without a clue of who they belong to. The driving problem is conquered at least as I don't even bring my car keys with me anymore and instead, have assigned a set of keys for drinking that consist of house key, laundry key and mail key. Seems brilliant some days and sad on other days.