They say that when you have an ongoing, self-inflicted problem, you have to hit bottom and realise your life has become unmanageable before you’re triggered to change your behaviour. And you have to hit that bottom hard.
Other people pointing out how badly you’re messing up simply won’t do it. The ‘ah-ha’ moment when you see your dysfunction with sudden clarity must come to you from you, so as to penetrate even the most willful denial.
You might hit your bottom in a nightclub toilet, licking the last remnants of cocaine off the toilet cistern just in case you missed a bit. Or in a gutter outside a casino after gambling away your family’s savings. You might wake up in a stranger’s bed, in prison, in the back of a police car or in a pool of your own vomit. You might wake up in a pool of your own vomit in a stranger’s bed in prison. The ways in which you can hit bottom are infinite.
My bottom occurred one sunny Monday morning in the passport office. I was due to leave for Africa with 11 members of my extended family in 72 hours to celebrate my mother’s 70th birthday and my youngest son’s passport had expired.
Mood: freaking the fuck out.
“Do you have a special consideration?” asks the bored middle aged woman behind the counter. She seems to sigh her words rather than speaking them. She does not appear to be loving her life and on that we are aligned. Sadly, we’re aligned on nothing else, especially my degree of need.
Top Comments
Um.
I had to get a flight during peak tourist season to go to my father's funeral. If I had been in the line behind you, I would have applauded the client service rep. Because your disorganisation does not outrank another person's emergency or tragedy.
Get yourself sorted. Find an app, hire a secretary, I don't care what. You are an adult. Dealing with stuff is what you do as an adult. I can promise you the people in the line behind you did not find you funny or charming or in any way sympathetic. They wanted you to stop trying to push your middle class privilege at the CSR so they could get their paperwork sorted. Because they wanted to be at home and cry in private.
Shit, do I need to take a birth certificate to the airport when I go overseas with my bub? Must check now!