The Wife thought that today was the anniversary, but I was pretty sure that it was tomorrow ... went back into my journal entries to make sure. That was depressing. Check out this entry from 8 years ago. Not much has changed, has it?
Oddly enough, the only thing that's changed is my emotional response. While I will on occasion get into a "panic attack" or take a swing through a depressive state, emotionally I am more detached from the joblessness/hopelessness this time around. It's there, it's horrible if one takes a close look at it, but so far it's not "inside me".
I guess the decision to STOP WRITING POETRY back then was the right one, although it was hugely traumatic for me, as writing poetry was one of the key elements that defined who this Brendan Tripp guy was, and without it I was, to a very large extent, "not really ME". However, my perceptions of the poetry creating an NLP-like "feedback loop" appears to be quite accurate ... for me to reach down inside and find the "expressive font" for writing my poems involved dipping into some seriously poisoned streams. Putting those feelings into words "crystallized" them, and gave them a solidity, a reality, that they did not have before. These then fed back into my consciousness (by writing them, transcribing them, proofing them, reading and posting them) as the atmosphere of my existence, and with each poem the cycle ran lower down the spiral, deeper into the dark.
Whereas my quitting drinking (as noted in that post on the other end of the link above) was "the most perverse act" that I could imagine at the time (and sufficed as a big "F-you" to the world), not writing was about as close to a suicidal act as I could come without physical harm. It was killing off a very important part of myself, in the hope that the sacrifice would allow the rest to live. I have been more numb and less human due to this, but closer to equanimity.
I just wish that at some point I would be successful at something. I had so hoped that my recently imploded company would succeed despite my being involved, but I seem to be a "Typhoid Mary" for companies ... I have never QUIT a job (or been fired), they have all died with me on deck, casting me adrift again into this limbo.
So, if you're a drinker, how about doing a shot for me tonight? The lush that's still lurking below the 24 years of being a "good boy" would appreciate the gesture.