something spiritual

I’m trying to say something about belonging. About what drinking did for me. About feeling tapped in to human experience. About not feeling alone.

It’s about a buzz. About things making me laugh. About not caring.

I want to talk about putting Santigold on my headphones and walking down the street listening to “Creator” and drinking Miller Lite from a can, my favorite beer for a while because I could drink a lot of it and because saying “tall boy” was funny. I remember walking through the grittier streets of the city, on the way to someone’s house who I had yet to meet. I remember feeling genuinely happy, feeling like a genius, making connections between all the street signs and my memories and barking dogs. I felt like everything was connected. It was something spiritual. I don’t remember it all clearly.

I remember trying to recreate the scene, months later, after I had said I was an alcoholic, after I had tried to stop so many times, after I had convinced myself once more that drinking would be something like a good idea, something spiritual. It didn’t work. I got off the bus and went to a liquor store and bought vanilla vodka to put in Cherry Coke, the effort already doomed as I had been looking for vanilla rum, which they no longer made, and Wild Cherry Pepsi, like I used to drink when I was 19, like my first drink, like the drink I always asked for for my birthday, because it made me nostalgic. I walked up the hill to my house and it felt wrong, felt blank.

I want to talk about drinking three beers at home and taking two more with me for the 10 minute walk to the restaurant where I was meeting my friends, where I’d buy the next round. I’d get dressed up. I’d put music on. There would be the promise of the night. I would feel tapped in, connected to all things. A healthy buzz. A smile. I would be attractive and confident. I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t censor myself. It would never end.

Really, those things never happened, except right then, in my head, when I dreamed them up. Or they happened, but only sometimes. Or they happened less and less.  Really, usually, I was just mixing a drink in my living room. I was just blacking out. Really, eventually, pretty consistently, it wasn’t that great.

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1 Response to something spiritual

  1. Wow. I know what it’s like to experience those fading feelings of self confidence and connection under an inebriated state. For me pot was that drug, I’d smoke and go around doing my daily errands feeling like I was finally free weed was giving me the strength and confidence I have always been yearning for. While not recognizing the dependency that was forming for me. I would think It was my secret, that no one would be able to tell that I was high. This is painful to admit because who knows how I was being perceived by everyone else around me, I don’t really want to even think about it, but I’m grateful for your posts. Thanks for showing me that I’m not the only one that looked for peace and validation in something that cannot ultimately bring that. It’s a painful lesson but one that is essential to learn, that that sense of connection and peace is within us and not brought on by any chemical alteration in our bodies.

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