Friday, February 27, 2009

And this day another feeling creeps up my back. That feeling of isolation, shyness, and slight fake-superiority. I don’t drink so I don’t go to that type of function. I’m really tired of saying that being around drinking doesn’t bother me just to appease the drinkers. Oh, she’s normal, she’s fine. She can be around it, I can feel fine drinking in her presence. You know what? I don’t feel fine around it. I feel weird. I am an alcoholic. I feel creeped out and embarrassed for you because someone in this room is probably one, too. Give me a few minutes, I can sniff you out. It’s the same instinct I used when I did drink. I would sniff you out because I could drink in your company with abandon. A partner in crime, in binging. It’s so depressing on all ends, I just don’t go. This is a defense mechanism that I learned from my Dad. I’m sure he went through the same feelings I do. I’m sure I could go to a meeting and talk about it. I’m talking about it here. I’m not in danger of drinking if I do attend a party, or a function, when there is alcohol: I just feel really icky and embarrassed for myself and for you. If you take away the drinking you’re probably a lot more boring than you thought you were. That’s ok. Your definition of it is skewed. You’ll feel boring for a while, and other people who are under the influence will find you boring. They will. They’ll be nervous around you. Or they’ll be like me, around other alcoholics who were recovering when I was still drinking, and gush about how I totally needed to get sober that I was totally an alcoholic. This is boring to everyone involved.
Once you don’t drink for a few years (sometimes longer, sometimes shorter) you’ll notice you aren’t boring. There’s no such thing as boring. If boring is the lack of danger of wrapping your car around a pole on the drive home than I’m so boring everyone around me to tears.
I just don’t go.
I don’t strive to be that popular girl anymore. I never was her, anyway, I could never drink myself to being that girl, even though I tried. It’s tiring.
I won’t say that being around drinking doesn't bother me. I’ll tell the truth. The truth is wonderful and while it does hurt, it only hurts like a bee sting (to a non-allergic person)…it stings, it deepens and intensifies. Then it becomes sore. And then it’s gone. It leaves a tiny pinprick, but you’re also left with the knowledge of honey.

**they haven't come to visit today, the girls and boy. Maybe they're napping. If there's one thing I've learned, don't force them to come out, they'll be out. Patience...**

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