I woke up with injuries. I wasn’t myself last night. Or maybe I was myself, I don’t know which self is me. My girlfriend “accused” me of drinking too much and called me an alcoholic and that upset me. I felt attacked, but only because it’s true. I don’t care anymore, it’s like I’ve spun too far out of control for myself to deal with. I’ve been doing things that are risky and uncharacteristic of me. It would normally shock me and put my actions into perspective if I woke up with injuries and had no memory of doing it or why. But I don’t care, it’s not shocking to me this morning. It doesn’t surprise me. I would say it’s a cry for help but it’s not, I have help. I should be on my way to work but I’m not, clearly. I’m sitting in bed with my laptop thinking of all these things I should be doing. I need to feed the dogs and the cats and the fish and I should eat something and I should shower and take my medicine and I should be on the highway half way to work now.  But I’m sitting in bed and I don’t want to move, I don’t care about anything, I don’t know how I’m going to get from here to work and have the energy to get through work. Something so small seems out of the realm of possibility right now.