I’m not going to lie, as a writer I’ve done a lot of stupid, insane, and nearly ruinous things for the sake of the story. I like experiencing shit to write about it. I’ll try most things once.
I’ve had a weird back-and-forth relationship with alcohol. Had my first drink when I was a little kid, but I wasn’t getting wasted or anything.
Although there was that one bad time with coconut rum… Still can’t drink that shit.
My parents allowed me to have a sip, a swig, even a shot of various rums and whiskeys at family events and holidays. Come on, it’s the South, and we were country folk. In my community, that was a normal deal.
In college, my entire first year I avoided alcohol and partying with a passion. I was such a good little girl, just the perfect little student.
Mind you, I genuinely thought I was going to flunk out of school. I dropped out of high school. I literally just gave up on my last semester and said “fuck it” to all my courses except composition. And I was already so behind in half of my studies because I half-assed school in general or just skillfully cheated my way through most of my tests.
So yeah, perfectly good reason why I thought I would fail college.
Nope, turns out, not only did I pass my first year, I passed with straight A’s, Honor Roll, and made it on the Dean’s list.
You can hate me, but yes, academia is a fucking cake walk for me.
By sophomore year, I decided that for the first time in my life I wanted to get hardcore wasted.
I consciously, clearly made that decision. I sought out a party with a GA and intentionally got myself as crazy shit-faced as possible, just so I could have that experience.
I was up til 6 AM with a morning class that day. Needless to say, I stumbled in still drunk, but showered, hair done, in heels, with perfect makeup, and reeking of maple crown royal like a Waffle House whore.
Which I am, but I digress.
I went to a few parties after that, but never got crazy drunk or made it a habit. It was just for fun.
By junior year, I decided to deem it the party year. I wanted to do nothing but party-hardy, but not for the right reasons.
I was severely depressed. Except for the psychology half, I hated my degree (the Child Care half was fucking boring and stupidly easy). My relationship was fucked. My family had fallen apart, what little of it I had left. My sophomore year before had been intense and exhausting. I held down three jobs, full time school, ended up homeless for a short period, and constantly tried to keep my mom off the streets because my biological father had kicked us out and taken the only home I ever had away from me.
And my horse died.
I knew and loved Garth since I was born.
He fucking died.
And I still know it was my fault. I’ll never be convinced otherwise.
I loved my home. It was all I knew.
All this shit in one year. Fuck me.
Sorry for getting super sad there. Shit.
Anyfuck, because of all that, I decided why not commit to a slow suicide by heavy drinking and drugs?
I nearly failed that semester simply because I just didn’t do any of my work.
By the last month, I sobered the fuck up. Mostly because I had a really horrible pill/alcohol mixing situation that made me realize I don’t want to do that shit anymore.
It was terrifying. Like, I was in my own little world of Outlast or some shit.
Remember kids, excessive amounts of painkillers and hard liquor will make you see Jesus.
Quickly followed by a myriad of nightmares.
I kept myself perfectly sober for the rest of my junior year. I went to parties still, but never drank.
By senior year I was OK with drinking again, but I didn’t do it all the time and rarely got wasted.
I continued to struggle with serious depression throughout, which is why I avoided drinking as much as possible. The alcohol just made everything so much worse.
Well duh, it’s a depressant.
Then, my “friends” convinced me that drinking at all was where all my problems came from. So I tried being sober.
Then I realized I had shitty friends that heavily contributed to my depression for years.
I discovered that I was actually pretty happy, and getting more into my life every day, but they kept pulling me back down.
So I snapped, chased those fuckers out of my life, got out of my shitty relationship, and made a life for myself. It’s all my own.
And then, I took up drinking again.
I’ve never been happier.
Alcoholism: everyone should try it, but do it because you’re happy and in a good place.
Drinking itself is not the problem for me. Drinking to cope, drinking while depressed, or drinking to die is where the stupid shit happens.
Drinking for fun though, fucking go for it.
If you’re in your twenties, in college, a writer, an artist, or a musician, then drink or your doing your livelihood a disgrace.
That being said, alcohol should enhance your good time, not create it. If you depend on alcohol to make you happy, you’re doing it wrong. You should already be happy. Then drink.
Or at least, that’s how I see it.
So this particular 22 year old college writer/artist is going to happily sip away at whatever beer or whiskey is available, and everyone else can join me or go fuck themselves.