Let me just say something: stop reading this blog. Seriously, over time, I guarantee you'll be let down. It's boring! I'm boring! Have you noticed my horrific inability to write? My word selection consists of, what, 50 words? It's embarrassing is what it is. Actually, let's take this a step further -- stop acknowledging my existence altogether. I think this would be beneficial for you and me. Seriously, I'm giving you your out, no hard feelings friends, the door's open, I totally understand.
I'd also understand if you thought that my sobriety was a mistake. I didn't drink that much. I didn't use that many drugs. I only went to rehab because I was too stupid or weak willed to pull myself together on my own. Because I'm an overpriveleged white kid better labelled a "fuck up" than an "addict". You don't have to be proud of me, think I'm brave or clap me on the back with other congratulatory sentiments. It's perfectly acceptable if you think it was an overly dramatic action and that I brought it all on myself and that I took things too far. It makes sense to me if you're underwhelmed with my startling new ability to just not use a bunch of things.
Please, it's your perogative to think I'm a dork, dink, loser, self indulgent cry baby. You're well within your rights to think I'm less fun to be around and less interesting to talk to.
I'm in this program of honesty, and I'm not wholly sure what the truth is. All I get is a parade of well-wishers, enthusiastic hugs and "serious eyes" telling me I'm doing the right thing. Really? Being out at a few bars with friends lately has challenged this.
I've never really been aware of peer pressure, but if I consider past situations, I certainly did use simply to fit in to a social situation. I've used to try and normalize relationships, to prove that I could hang with the crowd and to let conversations and situations go their wild ways. It wasn't so much a peer pressure thing as it was an inability to say no and still be where I wanted to be with who I wanted to be there with.
I've also always been somewhat self conscious in social groupings. I'm constantly aware of how other people may be perceiving me, of what I'm contributing or not contributing, of people who are more interesting, attractive or secure than me. I'm aware of how young I look, how stupid my facial hair appears, a lack of interesting things I'm doing, that I'm not a very good guitar player, that I like to talk about inane things at great length, that it won't take too long for people to realise that I'm ultimately a bore.
Covered with drugs and alcohol, I stop worrying about these things for the most part. I get loud, brash and embrace my irreverant and scattered conversational style. That is, until some slick, good-looking guy, just enough the same as me and different than me to really unsettle, swoops in and starts talking to a gal I like and my insides turn to jelly.
I'm a fear-based person. In therapy and conselling, I've been told it's fear based on shame. I've learned to be ashamed of who I am, which makes me guilty for who I am. In order to cover this shame and guilt, I've developed an outward persona that's equal parts swagger, sarcasm and i-don't-even-give-a-fuck. The fear is that you'll see through it, you'll see the real me and you'll be bored.
People I know seem to really have fun when they're partying. When they're letting inhibitions slide away with drinking and drugs, when boisterous social behaviour is embraced and flaunted, when late nights get later and the unexpected gives way to the unplanned. The calm become crass, the delicate, debaucherous; the adventures are to be pieced together later with dubious amusement and mistakes are chuckled at with head-shaking shame, blamed upon people, places and things that allowed us to do things we might otherwise not have. We need these nights (and days and nights) to help escape the mundanity and oppressive boredom of day-to-day living, to ignore our shames and fears. At least, this is how I used and I assume others can relate.
I don't get this release anymore. Even being out with old friends becomes uncomfortable as they start on their third drinks and I'm sipping at my second Coca-Cola. Conversation starts to whirl, people listen less, thoughts and ideas are meant to be started, not finished. I'm jealous when I hear ridiculous stories of over indulgence and I know that in time I'll be left behind, that on nights of bonding, letting loose, fun and absurdity, I will have no place.
I'll become the guy you have a coffee with on the following day, maybe because you feel obligated. You'll apologize when you bring up some wasted action from the night before, feel awkward even when I assure you it's fine. Maybe you'll still like me, think I'm brave, respect what I'm doing... but you'll be glad it's me and not you. You'll be glad you can still vomit the night away on Friday and eat a greasy hangover brunch on Saturday.
I'm just letting you know it's okay. It's okay to realise how boring I am, how you want to hang out with me less. "Whatever," you say. "It's not a big deal. Who cares if you don't drink or drug anymore? It's pretty repetitive anyway, same embarrassing shit."
Right, except you do it. You look forward to doing it again and again, it's the great release. You feel comfortable with the people who use like you do and you use to excess regardless of how shitty you felt the last time you did. It's what you look forward to almost above all else, that night where you get to lose yourself for a little while and anything can happen.
I'm going to go read a book.
So-boring.
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