I've been having a difficult time writing lately. Not because I'm super-mad-cap busy at the moment (ok, well, maybe), or even tired, shockingly: it's difficult in an Arizona summertime to get motivated to do much, but today I feel....awake. Clear. It could be because I slept and napped for a total of 13 hours yesterday (not many fireworks for my 4th), alas, when in Rome. It's because I've been struggling myself lately, even more so that usual, with feeling like, well, myself. (Besides, what is that really? Bah, I'll talk about that laters...) And then I had a shiny, tiny epiphany- the thing that no one ever "wants" to talk about is the very subject that I felt like writing about, being honest about, laying bare for all to see, and exposing myself intimately to the world, publicly... about. It's raw, people... you may read a side of me you've never ....read? Deal with it.
Can you HONESTLY say you have the balls to do the same?
When I tell people I am shy or suffer from social anxiety, the usual response is, "You? No way! You're so FUNNNNNNY..." I am funny. I take it to the next level. I'm snarky without being bitter, and sarcastic just enough to have an edge. That's a show. I mean, it IS a large part of who I am- I don't believe there is much in life one CAN'T laugh at- but it's a show. A shield. Armor. And this is why.
We're all shattered in our own ways. Broken, damaged, cynical, war-torn addicts. Of love, mostly, but addiction shows its face in many forms. Begins with love, ends with a night and a bottle. I refer to the ghosts of my past and present. I realized recently that part of the reason it has taken me such a long time to deal with my issues and get over the past is because I've been HIDING from it. Not dealing with it. And it just so happens my weapon of choice is alcohol.
I've been suffering from depression and anxiety issues for as long as I can remember. My first therapy session was at age 9, due to the fact that my parents were attempting the world record for "Worst Divorce Ever: Let's See how Much Immaturity and Pettiness We Can Drag into FUCKING Up Our Children as MUCH as Possible" category. (Which they won, BTW) I had therapists throughout the years, but didn't start taking antidepressants until about 3 or 4 years ago. Thank sweet fictional baby Jesus for that, because I think Prozac in the 90's spelled DEATH. So, depressed, anxious, socially awkward Ariane is thrust into the world of university freshman...and holy shit, I snapped.
I drank. I drank in my dorm room, I drank at frat parties, I drank with the boys, I drank with the girls. I danced on tables. I waded through the university fountain wearing nothing but a bikini top and tiny shorts- in the middle of the night. I drank to feel good, to be relaxed and open and social. Anxieties eased. I was fun. I was FUNNY. Boisterous, loud, up for anything. I drank (and mostly kept up) with the boys. I drank with my then-boyfriend and his wealthy, alcoholic parents, and the wine was aplenty. What I didn't know at the time was that I was fostering future behavior that left me unable to get over past grievances, betrayals, and heartbreaks because I was too busy numbing myself out on the one legal drug that has fucked up some relationships, friendships, and potentially parts of my earlier career. I drank as a social buffer, a little liquid ease to become brave enough to go dance with that guy, talk to that group, and have moments of MEANING AND FRIENDSHIP AND GLORIOUS-NESS...only, the groups began shrinking as I got older. These moments of meaning became fuzzy, half-empty memories of which made no impact on a hazy hungover morning. And the nights themselves were no longer as fun as they once were. Arguments and tears and anger between friends and lovers was a normality. And it's a path that WILL kill you- emotionally, socially, mentally, if not completely physically- because it almost did, to me.
(Author's, erm, blogger's note: I'm not judging or preaching to anyone. I'm not saying NO ONE DO THIS or THESE ARE THE RULES. I'm sharing my own insight and experience on something that I still struggle with, because of the title of this blog isn't Rulesbitch or Sarcasticbitch or even Funnybitch...even though I totes am. It's INSPIRATIONAL. And if you take something away from it, even if just a better understanding of one person's story, it's still better than watching Gigli.)
Am I an alcoholic? Honest answer: I'm not sure. I've attended several meetings. I've heard stories that far out shadow any situation I was presented with- houses lost, spouses divorced, jail time, DUI's. And sure, I have addictive tendencies (see: fangirling, OCD, food, sex, and wine) that I will almost always need to keep in check. But the fact that I am now well aware they exist has brought me clarity and comfort, as well as some inner peace while the mad world keeps on turning. And for that, seeing myself, really SEEING who I am and what I have the potential to become, be it good or bad, is entirely up to me.
Up to all of us, really.
