I always knew I’d be an alcoholic. It was a bit of a delayed vice due to the insufferable tendency some bald bitch had of playing God.
He unintentionally taught me a lot, including the fact that being fertile isn’t a solid qualification for being a parent.
I drank in bits through the years before moving to Canada, but started really experimenting in British Columbia.
I figured it would be wild to drink in public without knowing your limits. That’s why I bought cherry flavoured vodka and random bottles of wine. I ruined everything cherry scented or flavoured for myself for good, in a single night at home, and got alcohol poisoning. It wasn’t a night that I wanted to have at that point, but I was already having it and couldn’t do more than wait it out a little bit.
It took an unnecessary amount of effort to walk to the bathroom to pee. I involuntarily pulled my pants up in the most flamboyant way you can imagine, washed my hands and sat on the living room floor hoping it would end soon. It didn’t but I appreciated being sober the next day, despite the anxiety induced nausea over how much I drank and the fact that I didn’t go to the hospital.
There was also a Christmas party at work where everyone was drinking and smoking weed. I blacked out and blurted nonsense at an ex. I had unresolved feelings over how he handled things and didn’t express that eloquently. He still helped me into my roommate’s car at the end of that awkward night, though.
For unrelated purposes, I moved to Ontario. I broke my ankle at a restaurant/bar in Burlington and a year later, ended up sucking another ex’s best friend off out of spite. I was so drunk and into it in the moment that I treated it like it was destiny. He also thought it was love because it was the best head of his life. It wasn’t love, it was Moscato. He was also entirely sober. I thought when he offered to take me home, he meant mine. The $50 Uber the next morning definitely said otherwise, though. The fact that he handed me his house phone to call for an Uber while my phone was charging truthfully didn’t help with the shame.
There have also been numerous incidents where I ended up waking up with random portraits of Jesus in my bedroom with absolutely no context on mornings after getting blackout drunk. It’s better than waking up with an unwanted stranger in your bed, though!
It’s hard to find the appeal in going out to drink now, and maybe that’s because Hamilton is a bit of a shit show and someone will almost always come uninvited and start doing coke. Maybe it’s also because it’s not hard for a walking tragedy like myself to get stressed. It’s much easier and safer to go hard at home. My roommates don’t have random portraits of Jesus lying around, so drinking at home is a good way to break a bad pattern!
It’s awkward calling everyone to get to the bottom of where those portraits came from. They’re already mad at me for a drunk stunt I pulled and it would most likely take 5-7 business days to redeem myself, if I even care enough to.
It’s been hard to give any fucks since an old teacher said her students could fight to the death outside her classroom and she wouldn’t interfere because she’s not one to get in the way of natural selection.