Self-Medication; What’s the Point of it all?

I’m getting bored
Being part of mankind
There’s not a lot to do no more
This race is a waste of time

I think I’m Going to Kill Myself, by B. Taupin

1972 Dick James Music Ltd.

I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself these days.  I’m experiencing uncertainty in several areas of my life, plus discord with one person who means a whole lot to me.  It’s eating me up inside.  (Even though I’m right and I’m not going to capitulate.)

But then again, no matter how good I feel, I still ask myself the same question– why am I here?  I don’t really like being alive.  What’s the point, really?  It’s pretty much the same thing day after day.

When people say “it’s better than the alternative” I say– “how do you know?”  If heaven is supposed to be a paradise, why aren’t more people anxious to get there?  I read the obituaries every day thinking, why can’t it be me?

I just don’t get how some people are always so happy to be alive.  Billy is that way.  Because of my depression, I never feel that way.

I believe that if I dropped off the face of the earth, no one would skip a beat.  Oh sure, some people will mourn–for about an hour–and then they will go on with their lives.

Hell, Billy will have women lined up outside the house if they’ve read some of my blog posts about him.  He’s a saint– and a lot of fun.  He won’t stay on the market long.

In whose life have I made a difference?  Besides my kids, of course.  But even then, I’ve been a flawed Mom.  I’m not fishing for compliments here; I really mean this.

What have I ever done to make the world a better place?  Nothing.

Someone please explain this to me.


I came home from a bad day at work

I like my clients
But the boss is a jerk
A guy cut me off at the Gaskins light
I’d flip him the bird but I didn’t want a fight

That’s what I like
It’s a temporary vacation
But I sleep through the night

The dogs got out and the bank just called
My house won’t sell ’cause the market is stalled
My job’s uncertain; the company’s for sale
I need a martini before I can tackle the mail
The doctor said don’t do that girl
It’s Russian roulette
Yeah, but I’ll give it a whirl
Self-medication helps me forget

It can come from a bottle, an herb or a pill
As long as it gives me a thrill
And takes me out of my head
Lets me float around instead
So what if I end up brain dead?


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