Ode to an Arsehole
An explanation: (not asking forgiveness; hoping this might aid understanding)
You know my, erm, "condition", I think. If not, let's get explicit: I'm an alcoholic.
Seems, as Tolstoy saw, not all alkies are messed up in the same way: some drink constantly and apparently are able to function, even if minimally. That's not me; more the werewolf type here.
It probably sounds silly, but the werewolf, or the Incredible Hulk (as in that 70s TV series), actually provides a remarkably felicitous analogy for a binge drinker like myself. This is how these things go:
Generally several weeks will go by of complete stability; nary a drop consumed. But you can count on these demons to return -- full moon and all that -- they always do. So then we get several days of almost non-stop, daylong alcohol abuse, with only inconveniences such as unpostponeable biological movements (showering can wait), sleeping, and the occasional coffee to interfere with the consummate craftman's dedication to self-destruction. The alcohol brings with it delusions of grandeur, superiority, charm, and wit (which, for reasons that remain opaque to me, no one else can see).
Finally, we trundle to a halt, on the grounds that the body simply cannot take any more. We, I mean me, awake bloody, bruised, sick, dazed, shirtless, exhausted, was gonna say hungry but that takes days to return, full of self-loathing and hatred, shame, disgust, guilt, inferiority, uselessness, embarrassment for the few who still love me (bless you), and a dozen other Freudian wet dreams.
But most of all, far and away, the worst thing among myriad horrors, I come back to reality with feelings of dread, horror, and terror at the possibility that I may have caused pain to a fellow human being, which I almost certainly did. (not violence, please understand. Tried that once in Govan, but they hit back [that's an attempt at a joke, Eclo :) ]. Just a big mouth with inhibitions in a catatonic state somewhere.)
I know I have been rude to certain members here during the most recent attack, in particular Biowizard and Eclogite. I am truly, sincerely, genuinely, terribly sorry. Your judgement of me (= ****) is wholly justifiable; I'd feel the same way too if I wasn't me. If it's any consolation, no one despises the drunk more than he despises himself.
I'd like to say, wish I could say, you hate something that isn't me, and certainly wasn't me once, but probably too late for that. Seems I'm stuck with it.
Erm, anyone wanna swap conditions? Haemorrhoids will be just fine.