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...

The duality of being me...

It's been a while since I've written anything longer than a Tweet. It's been a while since I've opened up my brain and let the words pour out...

I feel like doing it today.

Something about this time of year, almost every year, really fucks with my brain. Like, in a big way. I will bounce wildly from perfectly happy to uncontrollably fucked up. And it sucks. It's also when I'm at my... uh... most Bourbonness? I should explain that.

I am very much two distinct people residing within the same body.

I am me... and I am Bourbon.

The normal, everyday me is reserved, cautious, anxiety-filled, and seemingly normal person. I try to watch what I say around others, I keep my thoughts to myself, I interact with people at work whom I despise because it's easier than finding a new job... shit like that. I am guarded on what I say... I try to calculate the best thing to say on tweets, facebook posts, etc... I'm very unassuming.

This is the face I wear in public...

But I am also Bourbon.

This may seem silly to you all, but hang on and I'll try to explain...

One night I was talking to Lady Bourbon and I mentioned a post on Twitter and she replied with, "You or Bourbon?" - and that hit me. Because Bourbon IS me. I am Bourbon. But I tend to only let Bourbon out of the bottle here on my blog or Twitter where I am unknown. So I can see why she said this thing.

The Bourbon-Me generally doesn't give a fuck. I'll say what I want. I'll write smut. I'll talk about all the things I'm not "allowed" to talk about in polite society. I take sexy photos of Lady Bourbon and we have kinky good times in the bedroom... and the living room... occasionally the kitchen... maybe a bathroom at some point... most assuredly the playroom. But I digress... The point is - I wish I could be Bourbon full time. I wish I could not give a fuck. I wish I had the confidence and "no fucks given" attitude that I have here, in the safety of internet anonymity.


But life doesn't work that way.


I have a job. I have a family. I have an obnoxious mother-in-law. I have PTA bullshit... or will have I guess when the kids are a little older. And I can't relearn 40+ years of learned behavior. I mean, I guess I COULD, but am terrified of doing it. I'm terrified of just "letting go" and "being me" out of fear of losing my job or my kids (all worst-case scenario shit - which is my anxiety dual-wield specialty).

I'm so trained in this way that I don't really talk about my anxiety, PTSD, etc on my "normal" accounts all that much. I have no problem sharing on Bourbon because, well, nobody's going to call me out at work for it or other strange shit.

Lady Bourbon and hentai.

I try to talk about Lady Bourbon about this - but she's a fucking rockstar and I don't think she can comprehend this at some levels. She is who she is and that's fucking it. I, on the other hand, was the youngest of 14 in my family (including cousins) and I was always present for the jackassery, but not allowed to participate in it... stuff like swearing, sex-jokes, etc. So I internalized it all. I still do at times. Not her, though, she blazed her own trail and still does. She says what she wants to say and does what she wants to do. I envy her for that. I tend to be overly cautious and second-guess myself all the time. Bourbon does not. Bourbon says "Hey, fuckers, this is me!" - but only because none of you know who I am.

There are two very real, very distinct personalities in me and I want to somehow merge the best of both... but I don't think that's possible. But around this time of year... the Bourbon side seems to come out a little more. I get more sexually aware. I start craving things that aren't the norm. I start having vivid sex dreams and I want Lady Bourbon to do some really sexy things to me/for me... It'll last for a month or two, then slack off... then build back up... then slack off and then it goes away for a while - You'll note that I've not written smut since fucking MARCH... Maybe it's the Winter me? Who the fuck knows. Sometimes it makes me feel like Elsa from Frozen... Trying to wear gloves and conceal that shit, yo...

The point is - I am me... but sometimes I feel MORE like me. And I wish I knew of a good way to mesh the two and become someone else...

So this has been my rambling, what-the-fuck moment for today.





Happy Thursday, fuckers!

Smile for anime butt!

Dr. Bourbon and the League of ANNOYING-ASS PEOPLE!

Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from Twitter user, @HeartOfAutumn

She asks:

Dear Doctor Bourbon,

How do you deal with annoying people? Which, to be honest is a vast majority...

The Anxiety of Sleep

Sometimes dreams are awesome. Lady Bourbon is a hyper-vivid dreamer with all sorts of cool shit in her dreams... like Voltron. My dreams are not so cool.

It's been a long time since I've had "fun" dreams. My dreams over the last 10 years or so have all been, more or less, real life while I'm sleeping. Which, as you can imagine, sucks balls. And not in the fun "yeah baby, I like the way you do that" way. More of the "I accidentally fell on the vacuum hose and my balls are being sucked into oblivion and I think I'd rather be dead" kind of way.

Last night's dream though... Holy shit. That was a doozy.

I had a dream in which I was driving my car to the hospital. I called them on the phone to let them know I was coming and that I was having a stroke. In the mirror I could see my face slacken and go lifeless and I lost control of the car as I pulled into the hospital lot. Then I dreamed in 3rd person POV for a while and then back to being me as they tried to fix me. This involved them sticking some sort of needle-like probe into my ear and having fluid run through my brain and out the other ear.

It hurt.

Date Night... or "How I stopped worrying and learned to love pre-dinner sex"

That's right... I'm 40. I feel old. My body aches and makes noises on its own... I'm not 90... and I'm sure 90 year olds have and love sex too. This isn't a knock on age. I'm not an ageist. I have friends who are aged.

Wait, what?

Right...

I LOVE 2 things... Sex and food. Well, technically I love a lot of things... but I REALLY love sex and food. Not sex WITH food. But eating and getting my fuck on. The problem is - I'm not 20 anymore. Hell, I'm not even 30 anymore. I'm borderline old and not getting any younger. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to eat - both food and Lady Bourbon... But...

There's always a but. And that "but" is that sex is awesome... food is awesome... but sometimes too much food BEFORE sex is NOT awesome.

Let me just lay it out for you.

Anxiety - A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

We're back with another amazing guest author post... 

Today's Guest post doesn't need an introduction... I've done that already here.

ANXIETY

A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, no, it wasn't. It was beautiful, sunny, and unseasonably warm for October. It was only dark and stormy inside my head, but the whole world might as well have been covered in in darkness as far as I was concerned at the moment.

So, I'm standing there, in my kitchen, trying to find the will to walk out my door and go to the sarlaac pit I call work. I was staring out the window at the garage. I was alone. The kids were at school and Bourbon was at work. I thought, maaaaaaaybe I could just... quit.


Not my job... My life.


No more work. No more overbearing mom. No more fear that every tiny thing I do is being judged and picked apart. No more feeling like a failure. That sounded pretty damn nice. Then, my mind wandered... as my mind is wont to do. I thought about ways to achieve this state of restful bliss.

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,"

'Twas The Night Before XXXmas - A Poem

'Twas The Night Before XXXmas

A @BourbonSex Original Poem

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our house,

I was horny as fuck and she wasn't wearing her blouse;

The stocking were hiked up her thighs with care,

I wanted to grab them and bury my face there;

Our children were nestled all snug in their bed;

While I sweet talked mommy into giving me head;

So she's in her panties, and I in my shirt,

And she started to lick, she started to flirt;

When out in the hall our son made a thundering boom,

I need to deal with the kid before we can resume;

Away to the kitchen I ran pretty quick,

Using a towel to hide my blood-engorged dick;

The polish on the grain of the newly-mopped floor,

Gave little traction as I passed through the door;

When what did I find as I slid through the dark,

But the goddamn table and I let scream with a bark!

With a pained little grimace to prevent all my raving,

I knew I had to hurry to get the tail I was craving;

Faster than The Flash - I went to my task,

Getting more than just the juice for which he had asked;

Now, cookies! Now chips! Now water and juice!

On snack time! On bed time! My towel's coming loose!

To the top of the stairs! To the foot of his bed!

Now go to sleep! Go to sleep! So I can get head!

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

I read him a book, until he closed his big eyes;

So back to the bedroom, for it's time to screw!

With a throbbing erection, and a vibrator too!

And then, in terror, I heard at the door

The yawning and whining of the other one... she's four;

As I drew up my towel and was turning around,

Through the now open door she came with a bound;

She was dressed in pink from her head to her toes,

This shit is killing me. You tiny, cute little foes!

A blanket and toys she'd flung on her back,

I flashed a scared look at momma who was covering her rack;

Her eyelids were heavy - this child of mine,

I escorted her to her room, hopefully she'll sleep this time;

Her hair was a mess, going this way and that,

And after a short story, she was asleep just like that;

The blood in my body had eased up its flow,

But when I came back to momma, she was ready to go;

Her legs were spread eagle, her toy buzzed on her clit,

She stared at me intensely and beckoned me to it;

She was giddy and horny, a right jolly old beauty,

I dropped my towel to the floor and prepared to do my duty;

A wink of my eye and a drop of my head,

I licked and tickled her from the side of the bed;

I spoke not a word, but went straight for her thighs,

And filled all her holes with my tongue and heard sighs;

And running my finger around her pink clit,

I worked and and wiggled and made a jolly mess of it;

She sprang to her knees, and me gave a grunt,

She threw me on the bed and stuck my cock in her cunt;

But I heard her exclaim as she climaxed with me

"Happy Christmas to all, and oh fuck, yes, right there...RIGHT THERE!!!! YES!!!!"

Merry XXXmas.

Sexy Chocolate Cake Recipe - A Guest Post by D. Faust

Today's Guest post is from my twitter friend, D. Faust (@TheSmutGeek). It is a recipe for a sinfully chocolaty cake... and I CANNOT WAIT TO TRY IT!!!

D. Faust is an erotic romance story teller, adult toy and book reviewer, sex blogger, and freelance kink writer. You can find more of her work at www.SmutGeek.com or on Twitter @TheSmutGeek 

Sexy Chocolate Cake Recipe
A Guest Post by D. Faust

I broke the kiss and leaned in to put my lips to my husband’s ear. “We’d better get going.”

Mr. Faust sighed and released his hold on my hips with evident misgivings about ending our impromptu make-out session. “What did you need from the store again?”

I could tell from the tone he was already worrying about trudging through some super store for groceries, an activity he dreaded in general but especially close to the holiday season. Rolling my eyes I went to go get my shoes on. “I just need to hit World Market and grab a beer.”

“A beer?” Mr. Faust asked, running his hand over my ass and outlining my panty lines through my skirt.

“Sticky Toffee Pudding Ale,” I explained with a smirk. Mr. Faust smiled a little as the realization hit him. He knows I only buy that particular beer for one reason.

My Very Sexy Chocolate Cake

I love chocolate and I’m a fan of a moist cake. As a hobby baker, I desired to master my skills in both of these areas. I’m still working on that mastery but I do believe I’ve developed quite the arsenal of recipes over the years and my favorite is this cake recipe.

It began as Guinness chocolate cupcakes I made for a former Mistress. Since then I learned more about cake and tried other beers in boozy baking.

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy - A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Renee Uitto has been a writer since college. She wrote for both of her college newspapers. She received a B.A. in Journalism.


Currently, she is writing essays about matters that affect her life. She is also publishing articles for two newsletters, Stepping Stones and Let’s Talk from the agency Oakland Community Health Network in Troy, Michigan. She also belongs to several committees at OCHN that pertain to such issues as guardianship, self-determination, state and federal issues that pertain to persons with developmental disabilities and persons with mental illness.


Renee lives in Troy, Michigan and enjoys reading, shopping, and music.
You Can follow her on Twitter here: @ReneeUitto

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy

A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Hello, my name is Renee Uitto and I have cerebral palsy. That might be a lame introduction, but I like to introduce myself that way so people won’t be surprised. I think of myself as any other 47-year-old woman. I have my own apartment, even though I have caregivers with me most of the day to help me with my personal care and things around the house. Sometimes it is hard to find good caregivers. Some people want to do things their way, and not bother to ask me what I want, which pisses me off. I have a voice. I have my own opinions about stuff. One caregiver left me in bed until two in the afternoon. A lot of people were very pissed off. This young girl who took care of me didn’t realize that I had my own opinion and made my own choices. I felt like she made choices for me, and I am glad she is gone now.

Confessions of a Mistress - A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

Today's Guest Author is my first anonymous post. Cailey (a 28 year old living out west) contacted me via DM on Twitter and asked if she could write an anonymous post - Cailey is a pen name - and I said "We take all kinds here!" So... here we are with Cailey's tale of becoming a mistress and her life thereafter in an open, long distance relationship. She and her partner are living 1,000 miles apart, roughly, working to keep their relationship going.

I don't know Cailey - but I thank her for sharing her story here and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Confessions of a Mistress

A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

About two years ago, I met my current beau on a casual basis that, in the course of a few months, turned into a beautiful, romantic relationship.

And then I found out he was married...

And only a little while later, I found out he had a child. But by the time all this pieced together, we were in love with each other, and trying to undo that proved difficult. Not only because we were compatible and enjoyed each other’s company beyond simple flesh, though of course we enjoy that too, but because the relationship he was in with his then wife, was already unhappy.

Here’s the full story: 

I did not meet my man in a steamy bar at twilight, wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress or however they do it in the romance dramas. We met on Tumblr, both searching for literary roleplay partners with matching desires. When I say roleplay, I do not mean sexual roleplay. I mean something more akin to Dungeons & Dragons for even more introverted nerds. Our first interactions were strictly platonic, even as we got to know each other better. We decided on an original story topic, we sent each other replies, and we would talk over chatting apps. 

Hunting and Life in Rural America - A Guest Post by "Just Ben"

My Guest Author Today is "Just Ben" (@TheDarkRabbit)

Self-described as a combat veteran, father of 2, and husband to A.J. Bass.

I met "Just Ben" on Twitter when I won a giveaway for his wife's book. He and I share a lot of common interests and he offered to write a post about hunting when he saw that I'd recently gone myself. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into his life.

Hunting: Life in Rural America
A Guest Post by "Just Ben"

I'm fairly certain that hunting is looked at in vastly different ways by the rural communities vs urban communities. Out here in rural Nowhere - it's a way of life.

In the urban community it's probably seen as an unnecessary thing by many, possibly barbaric by some, and just not an option for most. But I am not talking about trophy hunting or going on safari (fuck you Eric Trump!). I'm talking about walking out into the woods before the sun comes up and freezing my ass off for several hours in the hopes I will come home late that day with a large deer that will fill my family's freezer for months to come.

People here hunt, and for good reason. If the deer in our area were left to their own devices - they would breed themselves to death. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. They'll strip an entire area of its food (for the deer) in a season or two if their numbers get too big. Then they'll start getting hungry and move into the towns and roads and become a hazard. The hunting community keeps these numbers in a manageable level. And the people here are passionate about it.

Christmas... and Sex.

Christmas used to be - and SHOULD be - like having sex for the first time.

It should be anticipated. Hoped for. Dreamed of. It should smack you in the face with its abruptness like that moment when your hand first goes up your date's shirt... Virginal breasts exposed to you for the first time... It should be that level of excitement. Tingles running up and down your body. You should get mild shivers of cold as the adrenaline pumps through your veins and fills your cock with holiday cheer.

Living With BPD and PTSD - a Guest Post by Ana Hannah

My Guest Author Today is Ana Hannah (@merge_9) self-described as "Your friendly online drunk." Currently living in England.

You can follow her on Twitter: @Merge_9
Her stories are available on Amazon and on Wattpad

I met her via Twitter randomly and has become one of my favorite online friends. We have a great deal in common and I am so glad to have her writing this post today.

Living With Borderline Personality Disorder and PTSD 
A Guest Post by Ana Hannah

On bad days, like today, I struggle thinking of words to put down. I struggle to see the light. Or the purpose. In anything. Unfortunately, these bad days far outnumber the good ones. I have borderline personality disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder.

Now, boiled down to basics, I tolerate my PTSD far better than my BPD. At least with PTSD you know what’s in store – nightmares, anxiety, panic attacks, triggers. Sure, some of those triggers bleed over into other areas of life. For example, I am not able to go outside. On the rare occasions that I do, I feel like there is a target on my back. This is due to a variety of reasons – I have been sexually assaulted as a child, and as an adult. I have lived through a war and in the wake of the terrorist attacks, I’ve grown to expect danger at every corner. I don’t go out without having several fool-proof scenarios in my head on what I would do if I encountered a hostage situation or if I’m affected by an attack.