Comixxen Blog

artis try

Fail

Today I met with a potential dog walking client. I tripped and hurt my knee and hand on the way there. Then she asked me about my client base, of which I have none. So I stammered and muttered I’d walked a couple friends dogs. She didn’t seem wowed.

I know I’m supposed to think positive if I want to feel good, but how can I think positive when I fail at walking down the sidewalk? I was wearing sneakers.

To cheer myself up I’m making a list of things I’ve managed to do right.

Have been in a relationship for 3 years. We recently moved in together and he’s a wonderful person and we make beautiful music together, when I can manage a window of time without an anxiety conniption.

I have good friends who I’ve been friends with the majority of my life, and I made a couple good friends after I quit drinking, too. I’ve treated them all like shit at various times and especially recently, but somehow they stay by my side. I guess I must treat them well some of the time, or else I am really good at finding amazing loyal people. Maybe both.

I have taught myself to cook, to draw comics, and I am very good at drawing, due to lots and lots and lots of practice, and even a little bit of discipline.

I overcame my addiction to drinking, which seems like a negative to me – I am the sack of error who got addicted in the first place. The least I can do is stop harming myself and everyone around me, so now I’m at neutral instead of a net loss, better than really shitty does not equal good. I know I’m only human but that’s part of my pain. I’m a human. I don’t like many humans, and I don’t like myself. I do the best I can and my best sucks. A for effort, F for performance.

I think that’s it. Everything else is more of a blessing, I just happened to be born white, cis-ish, straight-ish, US citizen, Seattleite, abled, and middle class into a well educated family, so most of my ‘accomplishments’ are actually entitlement at the expense of the rest of the world. I try to be grateful but its lip service. I’ve had over 20 years of therapy and meds and parties and jobs and I’m still a wreck who can barely manage to talk to a nice lady about walking her dog. Bleah. It really sucks, here in my head.

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This entry was posted on February 20, 2014 by in Alcohol Recovery, Anxiety, Discovering Tats, Snark.
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