I liked drinking because I thought it was conducive to me becoming a great writer. Not because great writers have been known to be drunks, though most of them are (as well as manic depressive), but because it took down walls and opened up a flood of some of the most amazing things I have ever written. The same can be said for Benedryl, but that doesn't sound as exotic and gritty.
When I first moved down to Chico a couple years ago, the guy I was seeing and I had hit a rough patch. Soon I felt it was in my best interest to leave, so I did...and though I had hoped for more of a fight on his end, it did not happen that way and in the end it just proved that he didn't like me as much as I thought he did...and that is what hurt the most: not being wanted.
It also didn't help that I was unemployed, adding fuel to the inadequacy fire. Because I didn't have a job and because he lived literally down the block from me, it was inevitable that I was not going to be able to handle the break up well. With no distractions and a broken heart, I found myself drinking more than usual. And because my mind raced because I had no money to do anything other than sit home and because I lost all my "friends" in the break up, I was left alone with nothing more than a bottle of Jameson and a couple of 1000 piece puzzles. So that is what I did. I drank whiskey and put together puzzles.
Soon I started taking sleeping pills with my whiskey to stave off the thoughts that so hauntingly cluttered my mind. The combination of the pills and Jameson was both peaceful and mind numbing. It was to the point that I was so absolutely distraught with feelings of inadequacy and failure that I could do nothing but cry myself to sleep otherwise. I had a Masters I couldn't use, a debt over my head and a rent I couldn't pay. To ignore all of that I slept through my days and partied at night...anything to ease the hurt.
I don't like emotions. I don't know what to do with emotions when I actually get them. I'm used to being cold and callus. I slept through the day my mom died and went to work the next day. Usually breakups get me for about a week and then I move on. I am a girl, so emotions are inevitable, but in the end, I am as cold-hearted as any man.
But the breakup I had that summer has lingered...for a couple years.
It finally came to head that we would stay friends. He comes over and holds me and we just sleep in the comfort of having someone there. The connection we have, both sexually and emotionally is beyond anything I can explain...and maybe that is why it hurt so much to break up. I finally had to put an end to our hook-ups because it wasn't healthy for me, or us, despite how amazing it was.
I had to move on.
And maybe in the end the drinking wasn't so much my addiction as much as it has been him. Him and the beast that we created together. Us. An "us" that neither of us can seem to quit, no matter how many times we say we have to. No matter how many times we try and walk away, someone always brings "us" back with a text. I never loved a man in my life like I had loved him. Ever. I was never so selfless and willing to drop the rest of my world to be with him.
I have moved on from that, to some degree. He was my ultimate drug. He was my beast. And maybe he still is. True love never really dies, it just sits dormant in the back of your mind, remembering what you once had and what you may never get again. And because of that, no one else gets in...and even if they do, the hurt from before was so bad, it's not worth letting go of.
Recently I was willing to let go and try again, but the person I chose was exactly like me in every way. Scared shitless. The difference is I was willing and ready to do it, despite what it might do. I was willing to fall again just to feel what it felt like to be held in strong arms. To be small and safe in the arms of a man who adored me like I felt so deserved of. I was willing to let myself fall...just to see where it went because I believed in it, and I wanted to remember how amazing it felt to be loved again. And in the end, I got hurt once more. And I learned. I learned that my beast still haunts me. I will always expect to be adored, like I once was...like I am someone's everything. And until I see that look in someone's eye, that undeniable look of love, I will never be content and I will leave...
I wish in the matters of breakups it was all completely logical: You don't like me + I can see you will not give me what I feel I deserve = we don't sleep together anymore and you don't get me. But sadly, the feelings of rejection overshadow the logic and it all becomes an emotional confusing mess. Which brings me back to: I don't like emotions.
But this time, I face them head on...no whiskey, no pills...just me. And no one understands how hard that is. I can't go out on Saturday and drink and dance the night away. Not that I would anyway because La Salles fucking blows now and everyone takes themselves too seriously. WHY?! It's Chico for God's sake...it's LAME! I mean, the place is beautiful but the people for the most part SUCK! They all do the same thing every night...gets belligerently trashed at The Banhee or Crush then go to La Salles or The Beach and get kicked out. The music SUCKS and frankly, it does nothing for me on either an intellectual level or even on an entertaining one.
It's like a constant re-run of a shittier version of Jersey shore...a really non-entertaining one. And no one is there to have fun...all anyone does is oggle chicks for a quick hook up then move on to the next. Where is the class? Where is the sophistication? Where is the fun?
Yeah, so I dress up like an asshole sometimes in a small costume and hang with my friends. How different is that from a short skirt that leaves only 3 inches of fabric from showing off your coochie? At least my efforts are to not take myself too seriously and have a good time. I think this town could use that. It used to be that way, but something happened. Something left. I think it was Matt Armstrong. That guy leaving left a hole in the heart of Chico.
But I digress. I guess my point is, I came home to find myself and in doing so, I found a clarity unlike anything I ever could have imagined. I wish everyone, every single person would just for one month stop drinking. Just stop and see what happens. Go out and socialize without it. Meet new people without the predisposition of wanting sex, but rather to just interact wholly with other human beings.
Or am I living in the wrong world for that?
I recall when living in L.A. I could go to lunch or have a drink with a man and not assume he is trying to get into my pants. I have been close with men as friends before and nothing came of it but some of the most amazingly deep conversations. My best friend Mike is practically married with 3 kids and he and I connect on the most amazing of intellectual levels...and nothing more. People lack that in this society. Honor is not up held and women do not hold on to what should be considered sacred and only valued by a man who fought hard enough to get her. Now the girls are so sad and desperate they just give it pathetically and willingly in hopes to get men. All anyone is getting are STDs.
Go Chico.
So anyway, I guess, despite my rant, I have come to see what it is I want in life and what it is I expect of anyone in it. I am passionate, beautiful, strong and smart...with a little wit to boot. I know who I am and I know it is worth holding my new found ground. I am taking flight and though I am not sure where I am going, I don't care that I don't know, so long as I make the journey worth it by enriching my life with new wonders and sights and let go of the things that hold me back and make me feel less than who I really am.
I think this Phoenix has risen...
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