The other day, something extremely minor happened at work, but it sent me into this unbelievable spiral. I left my office, claiming to “run errands,” but really I just got in my car and started driving north. My home and office are extremely close to each other, but I ended up driving away aimlessly for nearly three hours, knowing it would take another three hours to drive back.

I stopped at a liquor store and bought a cheap bottle of vodka. After I got home, my wife wanted to go to the gym and asked if I would watch the kids. I kissed her and said, “have fun.” I set my kids in front of the TV and intentionally got drunk. While my wife was still out, I went in the bathroom with a lighter and a knife and gave myself a burn on my forearm. While typing this, I have a half-dollar size blister. Couldn’t tell you why I did it. I haven’t experimented with self-harm or anything like that before and can’t help but feel embarrassed for acting so dramatically. Then I went down to our basement with a baseball bat and started breaking things. No one ever goes down there.

Wife came home. I admitted, yes, I’m drunk. She was surprised, but not TOO concerned. I don’t drink often, but I’m not usually the acting-out type. Oh, that burn? I was cooking for the kids and some grease popped up, and yada yada. I lied. She’s a sensitive woman who %100 depends on me to be reasonable and confident. I know telling her that I went on a 12 hour self destruction rampage wouldn’t do her any good. I continued to drink after she got back. She didn’t seem too freaked out.

We had s**. She climaxed first, and I just lost interest in trying. So I faked it.

I haven’t slept in the past few days since. I pretend to work and take care of business, but I’ve just been finding isolated places to do nothing. I feel paralyzed. All of this started with someone making a mean, but good humored joke about a work project I’d worked really hard on. The funny thing is, I was never that proud of it to begin with. When you spend months putting something together, you hope there’s some kind of payoff for all the work, or at least some sense of relief that it’s behind you. I felt none of that. In retrospect, I knew I wouldn’t well beforehand.

But I can’t stop thinking that maybe I’ve been on the cusp of this for a long time. That I’ve been wanting to rage and scream and cry and hurt. Like I WANT to be injured or damaged or something. I’m more and more convinced that this side of me has always been there. I can’t stop thinking about the burn. I get some weird pathetic satisfaction that people see the damage it left–they see the bandage–but they don’t know that they’re really seeing my misery. They’re seeing how deeply unhappy I can be, when I’m not allowed to outright tell them. It’s almost the same reason I’m using this ridiculous anonymous confession site. I just need someone to know I’m not okay.

Because no one would ever guess. No one would ever have any f****** clue how unstable and scared of myself I really am. Or how s***** and tired I feel all the time. Or that I’m constantly afraid and disappointed after nearly every human interaction. Except my wife. She is the star of my show. She is absolutely my favorite person on this whole earth. I’m just afraid she’s going to realize how helpless I am.

And I can’t stop thinking that next time she goes to the gym, I can leave a smaller mark if I use a hot wire instead of a big flat knife.