Day 30. A Month Of Pain.

Oh, boy. 30 days in. If I had been trying to stay sober, I would be getting a chip. Instead I get to think about how depressed I still am. There is no achievement, no medal, no badge of honour. I just get to carry on being a miserable fuck.

There is a certain calm in knowing exactly the way things stand and I have done a somewhat decent job of admitting there is a problem and being open about my feelings. Except that tonight I am going to have to act the hell out of pretending that I am happy and riding high. First, I get to host a show and then I am supposed to improvise in one. To say that feelings of anxiousness, misery and fears of inadequacy are rather overwhelming at the moment would be an understatement of the century. The good thing is that I get to warm up and get in the mood by hosting an earlier show and also because this is theatre. I do not have to be funny but I do have to do a good job of building the story. I suppose it is the same in life.

Let us hope that I do not fuck up either.


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