Dear Everybody at My Way Out,
Firstly, I'd like to congratulate all of you for your successes and also to empathise with your failures. I understand. You are not alone.
I need your support. Like all of you, I need to be told that everything is going to be ok. I would like to tell my story and if you have the time, and if you would be so kind, please reply. I'm not asking for pity, I would just like to know that there are people out there who understand, people who have been through the same, people who have come out better off. If you reply, thank you. Here we go:
I'm 26. I recieved a degree in construction when I was 21. I left university and entered the highest paying job of all my fellow graduates. I was successful for a year. I saved fourty thousand dollars. Then I started drinking heavily. As I continued drinking I grew to realise that I knew everything and that I was the single most important person in the world. I was different. I began feeling superior to everyone and everything. Before drinking I was sweet, kind and shy. As a drinker I was cynical and hilarious. I began to think I was special. I thought I was a misunderstood artist. I quit my job and flew to Australia (I am from New Zealand). I started working in a bar. I drank every night. I slept around. My family didn't understand. They were concerned and I blew them off, I knew everything, they would never understand. I believed more and more that I was an amazing artist. I convinced myself that I needed nobody, that I needed nothing. Money, friendship, security, careers, these were the things for pathetic, weak, normal people. I was Van Gogh, I was Henry Miller, I was different, only I understood.
This continued for four years. In between I flew between countries. I flew to Chile and lived in the desert. I flew to Canada and worked as a barman. I accepted the bad jobs because I knew I was special, I knew spending my money meant I was an amazing artist.
I eventually flew back to New Zealand, broke. I stayed with my parents. They went away for a month. I tried to stop drinking. Reality hit. I realised I wasn't an artist, I wasn't a poet, I wasn't anything. I was a drunk who had burnt every bridge. I had forgotten my university education, I had no references for jobs, my friends and aquantinces were lawyers, editors, doctors. My life was over. I took a razor and opened my veins.
A day later I was in the pyschiatric ward. My parents and sisters were there. Everybody was crying. I left and began my detox. As you all know all to well, the next 6 weeks were difficult.
It is now 9 weeks later. I am healthy. I eat well and don't drink. I am lucky. My family loves me. I am better off and more fortunate than many people in the world. I plan to do a Bachelor of Alcohol and Addiction studies to become a counsellor. Every morning I wake up terrified. I am embarrased and inconsolable about the life I have ruined. I force myself out of bed and begin the day. I try to follow the day plan I wrote the night before.
I am alive and I am healthy. I still have some close friends. I have a future. A different future, but a future none the less. Walking down the street is difficult. I fear walking into old acquantinces, old school or uni friends, old girlfriends. "What are you up to?" "Nothing much, I'm just recovering from a four year binge and a failed suicide attempt." I am that guy, I am the fuck up, I am the one that didn't understand life. I feel like a joke, a fool. I'm sorry for complaining. I did this to myself, I accept that.
A new life begins. Maybe I will find my future wife in counselling. Maybe I will be a better person. Maybe I will be able to help others. Maybe I will still be able to build an income so me and my future family can live comfortably. Each day begins with regret, but as I accomplish little tasks, like going out to buy a tshirt, I feel better. Maybe life will be better. Does each life have a plan? Will I eventually be happy? Will I one day not feel like a failure? I sit here thinking as my little sister's friends graduate from medical school. Each life is different, you should not compare yourself to others, we all have pain and experience regrets that no one else knows about. Will it get better?
Thank you for reading this. I wish you all happy, fulfilling and successful lives.
Firstly, I'd like to congratulate all of you for your successes and also to empathise with your failures. I understand. You are not alone.
I need your support. Like all of you, I need to be told that everything is going to be ok. I would like to tell my story and if you have the time, and if you would be so kind, please reply. I'm not asking for pity, I would just like to know that there are people out there who understand, people who have been through the same, people who have come out better off. If you reply, thank you. Here we go:
I'm 26. I recieved a degree in construction when I was 21. I left university and entered the highest paying job of all my fellow graduates. I was successful for a year. I saved fourty thousand dollars. Then I started drinking heavily. As I continued drinking I grew to realise that I knew everything and that I was the single most important person in the world. I was different. I began feeling superior to everyone and everything. Before drinking I was sweet, kind and shy. As a drinker I was cynical and hilarious. I began to think I was special. I thought I was a misunderstood artist. I quit my job and flew to Australia (I am from New Zealand). I started working in a bar. I drank every night. I slept around. My family didn't understand. They were concerned and I blew them off, I knew everything, they would never understand. I believed more and more that I was an amazing artist. I convinced myself that I needed nobody, that I needed nothing. Money, friendship, security, careers, these were the things for pathetic, weak, normal people. I was Van Gogh, I was Henry Miller, I was different, only I understood.
This continued for four years. In between I flew between countries. I flew to Chile and lived in the desert. I flew to Canada and worked as a barman. I accepted the bad jobs because I knew I was special, I knew spending my money meant I was an amazing artist.
I eventually flew back to New Zealand, broke. I stayed with my parents. They went away for a month. I tried to stop drinking. Reality hit. I realised I wasn't an artist, I wasn't a poet, I wasn't anything. I was a drunk who had burnt every bridge. I had forgotten my university education, I had no references for jobs, my friends and aquantinces were lawyers, editors, doctors. My life was over. I took a razor and opened my veins.
A day later I was in the pyschiatric ward. My parents and sisters were there. Everybody was crying. I left and began my detox. As you all know all to well, the next 6 weeks were difficult.
It is now 9 weeks later. I am healthy. I eat well and don't drink. I am lucky. My family loves me. I am better off and more fortunate than many people in the world. I plan to do a Bachelor of Alcohol and Addiction studies to become a counsellor. Every morning I wake up terrified. I am embarrased and inconsolable about the life I have ruined. I force myself out of bed and begin the day. I try to follow the day plan I wrote the night before.
I am alive and I am healthy. I still have some close friends. I have a future. A different future, but a future none the less. Walking down the street is difficult. I fear walking into old acquantinces, old school or uni friends, old girlfriends. "What are you up to?" "Nothing much, I'm just recovering from a four year binge and a failed suicide attempt." I am that guy, I am the fuck up, I am the one that didn't understand life. I feel like a joke, a fool. I'm sorry for complaining. I did this to myself, I accept that.
A new life begins. Maybe I will find my future wife in counselling. Maybe I will be a better person. Maybe I will be able to help others. Maybe I will still be able to build an income so me and my future family can live comfortably. Each day begins with regret, but as I accomplish little tasks, like going out to buy a tshirt, I feel better. Maybe life will be better. Does each life have a plan? Will I eventually be happy? Will I one day not feel like a failure? I sit here thinking as my little sister's friends graduate from medical school. Each life is different, you should not compare yourself to others, we all have pain and experience regrets that no one else knows about. Will it get better?
Thank you for reading this. I wish you all happy, fulfilling and successful lives.
?We are one another's angels? 
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