Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: 

I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

The day has ended, you leave work... and you have 2 options:

1: Go home

2: Go to the bar

But we are living in a "work from home" environment and the bars are closed... Or at least limited in open seats. So... here you are, sitting at home all day, working on your laptop, answering Skype calls and having Zoom meetings for 8 hours - or 5 hours if you lie like some of my coworkers - and now the metaphorical whistle blows and you're done for the day!

Only you're not.

You've got 2 kids who just showed up from school and they're grumpy and angry and don't want to do their homework. You have a friend texting you because they hate their job. Your spouse is just as unhappy with their job as you are, and you can't scream into the void that you 'JUST WANT EVERYTHING TO BACK TO NORMAL!!!!!'

So... you go to the kitchen at 5PM and pour a drink. And another. And another. By 5:30, you've got a nice buzz and the bullshit from work seems less bullshit-ish. Your kids' whining about school seems less obnoxious. You're able to take a moment, relax, and say, "Well, at least I'm alive and I made money today."

THIS... is the new American dream.

And Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, and AOC aren't going to magically make this better. You can't legislate happiness folks. You can't legislate morality either... but that's a whole different blog post.

The American dream is now not losing your fucking mind after 8 hours in the "home office" and then changing venues by "going to the kitchen." Jesus, I feel bad for people doing this in an apartment. I would've burned that shit down by now.

So there it is... In glowing technicolor - the life and times of a guy who doesn't want to scream at his kids or spouse so he uses antidepressants and and alcohol to TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN!

And I know I'm not alone in this. Fuck, if I was - the term "Happy Hour" wouldn't fucking exist. And Happy Hour has been around longer than I have... 

We all just want to get by... but the system is fucking broken. The new American Model is broken even more than the rest. Because we pray at the altar of Capitalism and the money gods need their sacrifices... So work hard, shut up, and ignore your family. Be so down-trodden that by the end of the day you just want to stare at your phone to escape and drink wine or bourbon or beer to just NOT FEEL... 

Then wake up, down 3 50mg tablets of Zoloft and go on about your day... 

The American. Fucking. Dream...

Reviewing Books and Pushy Authors...

Today, I'd like to talk to you fine people about the dreaded book review.

Book reviews can make or break an author. They can showcase the work of someone by telling others how much they liked or disliked a book and for what reasons. But everyone (at least in some writing communities... looking at you, Twitter) seems to think that anything below a 5-Star review is some blight. Some people think a 3-star review will sound the death knell for any aspiring indie-author. And that's just ridiculous.

Writing a shitty book and publishing it is the death knell for indie-authors... Your 1st draft should NOT be your finished product.

One of my all-time favorite books ever written has 248 1-Star reviews, 277 2-Star reviews, and 271 3-Star reviews on Amazon... Shocking, right? This book also has 1,608 5-Star reviews and a movie based on it that has a similar distribution of reviews.

Because of the new "EVERYONE IS PUBLISHING!" world of writing, we all thrive to have that solid 5-Star rating. We ask our family and friends to, discretely, leave reviews that tell the world how great our books and stories are. We build up "Street Teams" or whatever they're called these days... and we try to send legions of rabid fans to Amazon to flood our work with 5-Star ratings to get us all the way to #1 in our given genres... They're all "GO, MY MINIONS! LEAVE ME GREAT REVIEWS!!!" - And, this is just me being honest here, I think that cheapens things a bit. I get it. You're trying to make money. You're trying to be a brand or get a name for yourself. We all are. But, Jesus, do it by writing quality content and letting the readers decide.

If I leave a 4-Star review, I don't hate the book, or the author, nor do I have something against the author as a human being. I will most likely re-read that book and recommend it to other people.

If I leave a 3-Star review, I don't think the author should be upset by it... I still enjoyed the work. Just not as much as some other things I've read.

I, personally, won't leave a 1 or 2 Star review on a book.

Why is this an issue? WHY am I writing about this?  Well, I recently left a 4-Star review for a book. And the author asked me, "Why not 5?" -- and he asked this not in a "I would like to understand and improve my craft" way, but in a "What the fuck, dude?" way. And that rubbed me the wrong way.

I owe you, the author, NO sort of explanation.

I am a consumer and you have released a product to the world. It is up to me to decide where this product sits in my "pantheon of reviewed items." Your book sits on my 4-Star shelf. It was good. I liked it a lot. I will re-read it at some point and I've even recommended it to people ALREADY! - but since you're being a passive aggressive shit about the number of stars in my reviews - I'll probably be recommending it a lot less now.

And this - is how I would breakdown book reviews and the "star rating" system...

1-Star should be used for books that are poorly written with typos and bad grammar. It should NOT be used because "Well, I don't like the F-Word." - THAT is personal taste. Not a review. We've all seen these reviews and these people are trolls. They can get fucked. (I will NOT leave a 1-Star review)

2-Stars should be reserved for books that were okay, but not stellar. Books that won't be re-read in the future. (I will NOT leave a 2-Star review)

3-Stars should be for books you like. And may re-read at some point. Books that you enjoyed reading and were well-written. You should say WHY you liked the book and WHAT you thought could be improved upon in your opinion.

4-Stars should be for books that you would most likely buy in two different formats. Something that you will absolutely read again and recommend to other people. You should go out of your way to explain to people WHY you liked this book so much.

5-Stars should be for the books that evoke emotions within you and make you want to be IN the book. 5-Stars should be "I want this book signed and on my bookshelf forever!" You should do your best to explain to the reader WHY they need this in their life.

So - there you have it. Dr. Bourbon's guide to reviewing books.

Anxiety and the inability of action

Let us, once again, discuss anxiety. The fun, paralysis-inducing anxiety that we often don't see and can't feel until it's too late and we end up fucking ourselves because sometimes a thing seems so fucking big that we don't know how to tackle it... so it grows and grows and we keep ignoring it... then it all comes falling down and tries to drown us in the bullshit.

Because, you know, that's fun!

In this instance - I'm talking about debt, finances, and, most importantly, student loans.

Lady Bourbon and I live comfortably. Not like SUPER comfortably, but we get to go out to eat from time to time, our bills are generally paid on time, and we have some stuff set aside for an emergency. But, like many Americans, we are one serious illness away from probably being homeless. And, for that at least, I blame the American healthcare system and insurance companies. Unless we happen to become millionaires overnight - this will probably never change.

Student loans, on the other hand... fuck me.

Lady Bourbon does not have them. But I do. I have a lot of them. My first couple of years were at a private college with $24,000/year tuition. I had a scholarship - but not for $48,000. Then, I joined the army and did all that shit and was told I'd get "student loan repayment" as part of my incentive. What they did NOT tell me, however, was that said repayment was for "pre-existing loans" and they "had to be from a State College or University."  So that $48,000 tab I ran up... still a thing.

But let us fast forward many years where I've been putting my loans on forbearance  or paying the absolute minimum possible just because I didn't want to fuck with them. Then, I get a nice "payment holiday" for a year and they are forgotten completely.

Then... I get a letter with the words "defaulted" in the title.

And I'm terrified.

I made the calls, I've got the forms, but I just keep putting it off like some magical thing is going to come down, do it for me, and life will go on. I get absolutely frozen with anxiety and fear about this shit. I don't know how to handle it. What if I send this paperwork in and they're all "Sorry, dude. Your new payment plan is $600 a month." - because that would probably fucking kill me.

The bigger problem is that this anxiety also trickles down into other things and in other ways... I focus on stupid shit and things that matter pile up. Did I pay the gas bill last month? I don't know. I haven't seen a disconnect notice. What about cable? Surely I paid the cable bill... right? They all become an "oh, fuck, am I completely screwing everything up?" pile of anxiety. Then that ball rolls and rolls and rolls until one day I declare "Okay, I will fix this shit!" And I start making progress. I double-check the bills. I set up auto-pay on some of them... but what if we have a short month and the auto-pay fucks us? Better not do that... surely you'll remember to pay it... right?

So I've got a notebook and a pen on my desk today. I'm calling Nelnet and Naviant. I've caught up the bills, I've put things in place... and I'm trying to not freak the fuck out about being poor. Or poor-er than we are...

On top of the crippling anxiety that comes with facing your failures in life - comes the "let us just drink at night and forget about our problems in hopes that we can sleep." So I drink more. I eat bad food. I smoke a LOT of cigarettes. Why? Fuck if I know. Something about dopamine and the brain... When I get super anxiety-filled... I just want to eat, smoke, drink, and fuck... Because this causes my brain to excrete some tiny chemical that pushes back at the anxiety and allows me to go one for just a little longer... to just eke-out another day of existence before accepting the shit decisions I've made and having to face the fucking music...

There you go, dear internet... Welcome to a small glimpse into my anxiety nightmare for the time being.

On the bright side - it's all being dealt with at the moment... How well and how long remains to be seen.

Rubbing One Out At The Office

Rubbing One Out At The Office

A @BourbonSex Short Story

He sat as his desk contemplating, not for the first time, just getting up and walking out. This was the kind of office environment that just sucked the very joy from life. And here he was, again, looking at a Monday of pure hell.
          The morning's meetings had all come and gone. Shitty lunch had been eaten. Now he sat, poring over bullshit emails and hating his very existence. Debbie had been in the office not once, not twice, but six fucking times to tell him of her family woes of the weekend. He didn't care. He just wanted to leave. His head ached. He was grumpy. Life sucked - pure and simple.
          As he entered another email address into his address book he sighed. Nothing would make this worthwhile.
          Or so he thought.
          His phone chimed and he looked at it. The notification said, "image." He leaned back and his chair and swiped it open with his thumb. He sat and watched as the screen changed into the smiling face of his wife. There was a pillow tucked behind her head and smirk on her face. Her bare shoulders stood out against the stark, red blankets of their bed and slowly gave way to the gentle, slope of her breasts.
          Another chime and a text message popped up. "Thought you could use some cheering up!"
          Another chime.
          Another image.
          And another.
          And another.
          Soft skin, pink nipples, and a smile. The camera moved lower with each chime until at last it revealed her hips raised and two fingers spreading herself for the camera.
          Another chime - another image.
          Two fingers inserted between her thighs in the foreground of the image, head tossed back in ecstasy in the background.
          He swiped back and forth between the images, feeling the blood rush to his face and beyond. He glanced up to look around and make sure he was alone in the office. He swiped again and watched the progression of images and text slowly revealed the body of the woman he loved in full color. He felt his pants begin to rub against him as he sat. His erection was coming on in full force.
          He got up from his desk, walked to the private restroom down the hall, and locked the door behind him. His pants were barely unbuttoned before he had himself in his hand, stroking back and forth at the picture of her spread wide for the camera.
          He finished in a muted grunt and a spray of semen.
          He stood, panting in the closed men's room. His phone in one hand, his shrinking erection in the other... and a smile on his face.

Change in the House of Bourbon

It's been a minute since I last posted on the ole blog... so let's fucking do this thing.

Things have been a little different in the Bourbon household as of late. Lady Bourbon has taken on new work responsibilities that have drastically changed her schedule and the everyday flow in the house.

Which is fine. We still manage and everything flows...

But my day job revolves around scheduling and planning and while I can roll with things like the best of them - I am not taking to this as well as I'd hoped.

Ever seen the Bob's Burgers episode where his landlord, Mr. Fischoeder, wants to pretend Linda and the kids are HIS wife and kids on Thanksgiving? And it should go well, but Bob is the one stuck in the kitchen still working, getting drunk on Absinthe, and wanting things to be normal... but they just aren't?

Yeah... I'm Bob right now. Only without the Absinthe. And without alcohol... and without carbs... It's a lot of things changing all at the same time. And it's rough, man. Really rough.

While Lady Bourbon now gets to spend her afternoon with the kids, she is gone in the mornings. It's just me and the kids prior to school... and it's not a problem. I love the kids. But I miss the adult interaction before I have to go to work and deal with the morons there. So once I've dropped the kids off, I have nothing to do at home, so I've been coming into work early. 9-hour days with another 90 minutes in the car... then I come home to a late dinner at 7:00 in time to TRY to play with the kids when I'm in a decent enough mood to do so before they go to bed at 8 or 8:30.

She's also working at least one day every weekend now... which means it's just me and the kids again for most of the day...

I love my kids - please don't misunderstand - it's just that out of my entire week, I really only see or interact with my kids and people at work. I hate the people at work and love my kids. But I actually spend WAY more time with the people I hate and not the people I love. And the people I hate are so invasive to my life and mental well-being, they imprint so much anger on me and I am often unhappy when I get home. Debbie is really the least of my problems at work. She's an awful human being, but she's nothing compared to my super racist, homophobic GM, the owner who wants to micromanage everyone, and everyone else there with the mentality of a 12 year old... It's infuriating.

I am left with little or no time to decompress outside of my drive home... I have no alone time that isn't in the car to and from work. And my non-work adult interaction time is limited to a few meager hours at night before Lady Bourbon goes to bed before waking up at 5:30 the next morning for her new shift.

I guess I'm just really bitching and whining more than anything. Remember that post I made about wanting to just spend every day stuck in a loop? Well, I feel like I'm still stuck in that loop... but with less Lady Bourbon in it now and less opportunity for my own free time. And I sometimes feel like I am forgetting how to interact with adults.

So, instead of not having the time to have a social life... I now have less of one because Lady Bourbon is slightly less present in my day to day routine.

And it just sucks. Right now - it sucks to be me. And not in some emo bullshit way... I'm just so goddamn lonely. In a world full of people - I just feel fucking alone.

Dr. Bourbon and The Antivaxx Trail...

Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from B.J. Black

B.J. asks:

Dr. Bourbon Sex... and Coffee:

How should I react when anti-vaxxers ask for advice to keep their kids safe when there is a measles (or other illness that vaccines can prevent) outbreak?

Dear B.J.,

What a good question. Let me tell you - I have no shortage of Anti-Vax people on my Facebook feed, so I've actually had this argument before. And every time it ends with the same thing - me, slamming my head against my desk at the outright stupidity of people who, up until 5 minutes ago, I thought were sane, mildly intelligent people. Okay no... that's not true.

Dr. Bourbon and The Cleaning Lady

Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from the ANONYMOUS "Mommy Issues" via a Twitter DM.

Dear esteemed Dr Bourbon,

I've got mommy issues. I'm pushing 40 and my mother won't let me be a goddamned adult. She goes out of her way to make excuses to come into my house and clean it.
Now, before you go getting all "ooh free cleaning services" know this: my house is clean. It's just not clean ENOUGH. My floors can be mopped, shelves dusted and beds made and she will RE CLEAN over me. I've told her to stop.
My husband has told her to stop. Our small children have told her to stop. But SHE. NEVER. STOPS.

Help a girl out, Dr. B.

love and kisses
"Mommy Issues"

Dear "Mommy Issues,"

The One Upper...

We all know one... Hell, some of you reading this might BE one.

The person who, no matter what you've said or done, has done it better, stronger, harder, faster, with more struggle than you can possibly imagine!!!  And they'll tell you about it.

I work with one of these people... two actually. And to see them interact with one another is a thing of beauty. It's a veritable plethora of passive aggressive one-upsmanship on a scale that would make most people wet themselves. To hear the two of them talk, you'd assume that they have the greatest, most blessed lives ever and simultaneously have dealt with more struggles, woes, and personal demons than you could ever have.

I'd really like to punch them both.

They do not talk with anyone in an effort to talk to learn something about that person - they talk so they can talk about themselves and their lives.

I'm 40 years old. I spent 10 years in the army Infantry. I've done OCR (Obstacle Course Races). I have kids. I've done literally YEARS of damage to my knees and legs. And some days, like today, they feel like I've been jumped by Tonya Harding in my sleep... It literally hurts me to stand today. And sit... And, to top it all off, I've had several fucked up dreams this week from my PTSD...  So, to have my pain and my tired, bags under the eyes, look get blown off with "You should try living in my shoes"... I lost it.

I looked at this person and remained silent. I just nodded while they went on and on about how bad they had it and how they were tired from getting up early for a meeting with the Bank Manager or some equally bullshit thing...

What I WANTED to say was this. "Yes, asshole, I would gladly trade you places. Then, when you wake up at 5am with your knees aching and your mind plagued with the visions of burning children, you might, for one instance in your padded, bullshit life, know what true pain is. Then maybe you'll shut the fuck up instead of running your cock-holster non stop and annoying the ever loving shit out of me and everyone else. Nobody here is on easy street, except maybe you. So, when you're reeling over how bad it is that this year you ONLY got to go on a 3 week Alaskan cruise and Europe twice, you might realize that the rest of us are truly fucked. Maybe, just MAYBE you'd gain some fucking perspective on what a piece of shit you really are."

I fucking hate people who just HAVE to be better than you - or worse. The people who feel compelled to one-up every good or bad thing that's ever happened.

Seriously - get fucked.

Don't be this person. If someone is telling you something - try to avoid responding with any story of your own that has the effect of "your story is cute, but mine is better." We're all guilty of it. Even me - and I hate myself when I do it.... but right now, I am in pain. And the last thing I need is someone who biggest problem in life is their lack of European vacations telling me how bad they've got it.

Mental Health Day...

Yesterday was the 2018 National Mental Health Day... and I took the day off of work for Mental Health Reasons.


Well, that, and to spend time with my wife and kids.

The irony being - calling in fake-sick to work... gave me a fucking panic attack. I suffer from PTSD. Sometimes horribly so. And yesterday, while having a good time out with my wife and kids - I had a little bit of a freak out.

When I do things like call in sick when I'm not, or give my kids off to my parents to go do something for myself, I get horrible guilt. This guilt compounds over time and causes anxiety. The anxiety builds up and then BAM! I get a full blown panic attack all because I wanted to take time for myself. And this is killing me...

So, as my day went on, we were having fun and I went into the local bookstore to look for some good books. This store is about as big as my living room and is floor-to-ceiling books. They have shelves everywhere and it's a narrow, confined space with no circulation, no sound, and it's hot. I... already starting to stress out from being home... started to get really uncomfortable in this place. My ears were ringing, I couldn't catch my breath, I felt like the books were going to collapse on me and kill me... it was a good time.*

When we got home I was drenched in panic-sweat and my heart felt like it was trying to beat out of my chest. So I went upstairs, turned the lights off, and curled up with the cat for 2 hours and tried to calm down. It helped a little, but not much.

Mental Health is no joke. And we all need to take care of ourselves. BUT... how can I do this when taking time to myself actually CAUSES me anxiety??  I can't stand my fucking job and it is, literally, killing me with its stress and bullshit.

What I'd like to do is sit back, smoke a shitload of weed, and try to relax... but I can't. I'm desperately trying to find a job closer to home and they all still test. I'd LIKE to find some sort of medication that helps, but the last one they put me of turned me into a fucking paranoid monster.  Seriously - that shit was awful. My wife and I both agreed it was better for me to be the way I am than the paranoid, weirdo that the pills caused... I would wake up in the middle of the night, wide awake, worried about the most ridiculous shit. I was suspicious of everyone and everything - including my wife which was a big red flag... I've been off of that shit for a few months now and things are MUCH better.

It sucks.

It all fucking sucks. 

I drink more now than I ever have in my life... which is saying something when you look at my
twenties. But it's sometimes the only way I can shut my brain off long enough to get some sleep. Then the problem arises that drinking causes dehydration and dehydration causes high blood pressure and high blood pressure helps to cause the anxiety. It's a vicious fucking circle of bullshit. But drinking seems to be the one and only option to my since our country has a hard-on for calling mental illness a weakness and shunning people... and then we destroy our healthcare in the name of political theater...

Then - to make it better - I try to explain to my boss that "sometimes I just need a minute to process some shit. I'll be fine, just let me calm down." And she - being one of those people who has done everything you've done, only better, and has advice about fucking EVERYTHING tries to belittle my PTSD with "Well, when my dad died I had some PTSD, but coming to work really helped get me back on track."

REALLY?

FUCKING REALLY???

You're DAD was sick for six years and his death was not sudden. While I, in no way, doubt that it was traumatic... It's not the same thing to be in your fifties and losing a parent as it is to have been in my twenties and watching people fucking burn to death in Iraq. Sorry. It's not a contest... but if it was, FUCK YOU.


AH - damnit. Now I'm all pissed off and forgot where I was going with this...

Take care of yourself, people. I mean - really TRY and take care of yourself. Take time for YOU. Take time for your loved ones... and Don't let all of the bullshit in the world weigh you down and pull you under.


*It was not, in fact, a good time at all...

Holy shit, just shut up already...

If there is one thing I hate - it's people who just keep talking and talking when the conversation is clearly over, or worse yet, never even started. Seriously. SHUT THE FUCK UP in the morning.

I have two co-workers in particular who believe that "Good morning" is the gateway drug to "Please tell me about whatever inane shit you did last night or your sump-pump that's been broken for six months... I literally do not care.

At all.

Mornings are for coffee and contemplation as the saying goes and your blathering on about whatever reality show you watched last night is causing a buildup of some SERIOUS rage in my system.

Even on good mornings - like this one - where I've had coffee, taken the kids to school, and returned home to spend some quality time sans pants with my wife, I just don't have the patience or mental fortitude to deal with people until 11:00am at the earliest.

So, I sit here, gritting my teeth and typing on my keyboard HOPING you will get the hint that I am, in fact, not paying the slightest bit of attention to you - but NOOOOooooo. You just keep running that hole in your face.

I'm amazed there isn't more workplace violence in the world. I guess that speaks volumes about humankind's ability to endure the trials and tribulations of society - more or less.

So - there is my rant for now. Day started out awesome and now, it's 10:00 and all I want to do is scream at people for harshing my calm.