I threw a childish tantrum yesterday while no one else was home.  It turned out that my two tall glasses of tequila were enough to kill an almost full bottle.  Filled with anger, resentment and self-hatred, I lashed out at things around me.  I managed to break my keyboard and rip the cord to my mouse in two.  I punched the wall next to the computer.  The wall retaliated by dropping a clock on me.  Drunk and angry, I flung the clock across the room like a frisbee, and it shattered against the far wall.  As I stormed off to bed I threw a punch at one of my barrister-style book cases.  My fist shattered the glass pane door, and the shards sliced up my hand in multiple locations.  Then I stumbled into the bedroom, fell hard against the door while shutting it, and collapsed onto the bed where I howled at the world and ripped apart my shirt like some inbred half-wit pissed at his own impotence in the face of the travesty of his life.  My glasses were hurting my head (I am a very big man, and my head is slightly larger than would be proportionate), so I crumpled them into a ball and flung them across the bedroom.  I ignored the lacerations (they didn’t hurt) and went to sleep, bleeding all over the place.

I woke up about an hour later, stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up violently in the general direction of the toilet.  This continued until I was empty, and for a few minutes after.  I rinsed my mouth out in the sink, and managed to get blood flung all over the bathroom, too.  Then I collapsed back in bed.

Some time later (I am almost completely blind without my glasses, and I have no idea what the actual times were at this point) I again got up and went to the bathroom to dry heave for some time.  When I got that under control I went back to bed.

Still later I heard the phone ring, which I ignored.  Then I heard my cell phone go off in the den.  I ignored that, too.  I drifted back to sleep.

The next thing I know, there are people in my house.  My daughter has gotten home from school, seen the broken glass and completely freaked out.  She seems to have gotten the impression from television that girls are supposed to panic, so she does.  At about the same time my friends Clint and Jim arrived.  Clint looked in the bedroom, saw all the blood, and immediately forbade my daughter from coming in.  She called my wife, Jim started cleaning up broken glass, and Clint checked to see if I was okay.  I wasn’t.  I still aren’t.  However, I was not then,  nor am I now, in danger of dropping dead.  He gave me a stern talking to, then talked to my wife on the phone for a bit.  Once she got home with our son, Clint and Jim took the kids to the park while my wife and I had an incredibly painful, and long overdue, discussion.

I was right in my guess about Russell.  The marriage is beyond salvation, especially so after my shit fit.  I am going to stick around until she finishes her degree.  That will give her help with schooling, and provide time for her to start adjusting her work schedule so that my presence is not a constant requirement.  After that will be a divorce.  I will probably live with my parents for a while.

I am not happy about it.  I am still in love with her.  There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it without getting myself locked up as a danger to myself or others.  I think she underestimated just how much self-loathing I possess.  I hope I am not beyond help, but all I really want to do is curl up in a ball and fade away.

She did her best to fix my glasses.  The look as ridiculous as I feel, but they work.  She cleaned up most of my mess.  She helped bandage my hand after I took a much needed shower. 

I needed to get out of the house for a while, and Jim needed a ride home (Clint has his own melodrama to deal with, and had to go),  so he and I went to a Chinese buffet.  While there I had to make a dash for the bathroom and throw up half of a bottle of water.  Once I got some food in me I could keep things down.  We met up with another friend, Brian, and the three of us eventually ended up at Jim’s house playing a board game called Zombies at Jim’s house with Mike and his surprisingly tall girlfriend, Courtlin (I think that’s her name).  The evening was a pleasant distraction.

I’m not okay, but I’m a lot better than I was 24 hours ago.