I remember an attempt to quit drinking after I woke up at my ex-boyfriend’s apartment, covered in bruises after a massive black-out episode. I was in his bed, naked and alone. The contents of my purse were covered in urine.
I swore I wasn’t drinking ever again. To all 6 million of my closest friends.
Until I went to an engagement party that Saturday and suddenly became very bored and terribly sad. It was like a wave washing over me, as I downed diet coke after diet coke and ate and ate and ate and ate. I wandered over to the bar for yet another watered down diet coke and looked around. I was alone.
I asked the bartender for another diet coke, but this time I asked for a little bit of Bacardi. He winked at me. I slurped it down and went back to my table. Not even 5 minutes later I got up again. Back to the bar. It was crowded, but I snuck back by the bartender and asked for a vodka and sprite.
I immediately felt better. My best friend came over and stood next to me. He sniffed my drink. He was already drunk and eyeing me suspiciously. “You’re drinking!” he exclaimed. I tried to defend myself. “No I’m not!”
I was lying now, too? Wow. Now I really had fallen from grace. But I couldn’t stop. I was still so bored and sad, and this was the only way to cure the mediocrity of my life while also numbing the sadness.
I started dancing.