Couldn't write for weeks, and this is what I explode with? <:/

You know, sometimes, I feel like I know who I am because of who I’ve been and what I’ve been left with. When I think this way, I feel secure and aware.

I was a party-girl, really. I enjoyed going to parties, mingling, making new friends, being loud with my old ones. I would drink, if someone offered (and of course, someone always offered). And if I did drink (which, I wouldn’t go to a party unless I knew I was guaranteed something to do), I would drink as much as I could, as fast as I could. If I was going for it, I was going for it for real. I drink to get drunk. Let me be the first to tell you, I am a very, very fun drunk. I’m not obnoxious, I’m not hateful, I’m not rude—I’m actually quite funny, goofy, carefree and the life of the party. I also enjoy drugs, which I got into heavier at some point. If there were drugs around, I’d be around—if there were people doing drugs, they would find me and offer, and I think we’ve been through this: I don’t turn down offers. I’d sniff something if someone I was good friends with did it first without knowing that’s what I was waiting for. I’d take pills in the same situation. I’d do shrooms. I’d probably do just about anything other than heroine and meth. I was intelligent and responsible enough to not do drugs and drink alcohol at the same time, thankfully, but man. Parties were where it was at for me. For the majority of the time I’ve been being who I am.

Things have changed. I can say, truthfully, that things have changed more than once. And I’m not really sure which way is best, I feel like I know, but I really feel like I should’ve forced myself to hold out longer before accepting the truth.

Sure, yeah, I’ve stopped drinking and gone into my drug phase. Yeah, I’ve gotten busted for drugs and went back to drinking. Yeah yeah, I’ve been conflicted when given the option of doing both at the same time, and made decisions according to the actual position it would be putting me in. And, I’ve stopped doing everything for some amount of time. I went to parties again, for some reason, and drank again. I stopped.

I got alcohol poisoning, and fell on a porch. Went from standing up straight as could be, and was completely conscious and aware when my entire body collapsed under me, and I landed heavily on a wooden porch, on my side, throwing up all over my arm, into my hand, waiting those very long, long seconds until someone would come to pick me up from the ground. Yeah, I drank. I partied. That’s who I was. That’s what I was good at.

I stopped drinking again. I started doing drugs again. I did drugs a lot with my “best friends.” One would have parties every single weekend, and drugs galore (and alcohol, too, of course, but I’d deny, as previously explained) were brought to be served as a buffet to me, and boy was I hungry for it. I went through a best friend, the love of a lifetime, through the mess of a lifetime, and somewhere at the end, I quit. I couldn’t do something that hurt me, that led someone else—let alone two someone else’s—hurt me.

I drank at an old friend’s birthday party, side-by-side with two great friends. I had a blast. I sword-fought with Rockband drumsticks. I threw up. I was plastered. People took care of me. The birthday boy took care of me. I did drugs again. I didn’t really stop this time, I just faded in and out. I had some good times; I had some steady, scheduled good times, too. I’ve gone from friends to friends, and now I’m here, I suppose.

I don’t want to drink anymore. I’ll have a cash-bar at my wedding, but I won’t be utilizing it. I won’t be drinking on my twenty-first, simply because I don’t want to. I don’t like the taste of alcohol; I don’t like the thickness in my throat. Of course I like the drowsy, weird feeling that you get when you’re about to lose control of your vision and your speech. Of course I like the way I let my tongue be released, and let it say what it wants, and not feeling about giving it its own time. But it isn’t enough for me to put myself in such a state that I’m unable to fully protect myself. It’s not enough for me to put my body through hell a few hours after and even for days afterwards. I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent person, and I know when to stop being a fool despite the fun factor.

The point is: I don’t know if I like who I am very much without my ability to go to a party and actually enjoy it. My friends know my past, they know who I was, who I’ve become to be. They know that they can tell me stories of all kinds, because I can understand, I can relate, I can listen without feeling as if I have the ability to judge. My family knows my past, my struggles, a lot of my situations. From my grandparents to my little brother, they all know where I’ve been, and they know that I change from day to day, hour to hour, and that everything that has ever been, has the opportunity to take its place with me once again at any given time. They all know—you all know—that I’m a loose cannon, a rollercoaster ride. I am probably the only one who forgets that from time to time.

I have God in my heart now, more than what I have had. I am closer to Him than I have been. I don’t give Him up when I smoke pot, when I do my drugs. I don’t forget about Him, and I make it a point to try very hard to think about how wonderful He’s made everything for me when I am wasted, because I know that that’s why we aren’t supposed to be un-sober.

I just… have the issue to where I don’t go to “parties” anymore because I don’t feel comfortable there. I don’t feel like it’s cool, in any sense of the word, and I don’t understand why people destroy themselves and refer to it as having been a “good time.” I don’t like that some people try to complicate things sometimes and blame it on being drunk, how some people try to place their actions and words off of something that someone else said in their drunken-state, even if that isn’t even close to how that should’ve and could’ve been taken. I don’t like it when some people try to pressure others into doing things, whether it’s drinking some more, drinking at all, smoking, taking any drugs, making-out, telling them things that isn’t any of their business, kissing/making-out/having sex, all of it, any of it. I don’t like it, and I don’t like being at a party and being sober, and noticing all of those things happening.

I don’t like going to a party and blending in with the wall. I feel invisible half the time as it is, why should I have to endure a party-like atmosphere and feel nonexistent there? And have to deal with seeing all of these things, and seeing people treat their bodies like shit while they willingly punish themselves and call it a “good time”? I don’t want to do it. I don’t like to do it.
And it makes me feel sad, and confused, and lost, as does a lot of things at this point in my life. I feel sad knowing that I can’t allow myself to be set free sometimes, even being totally aware that it’s taking a substance to give me that. I feel sad not being able to keep up with living my legacy. I feel confused because I don’t know how to say no to going to a party, when that’s what I’m known for, what I’m expected to be doing. I feel confused because that’s who I was, who got me to who I am now. But, I’m confused and lost because I can’t even push myself into that spot right now. I can’t even force myself in, with the hopes of it turning out like it always did. It’s like trying to squeeze myself between the wall and my refrigerator—there’s no having it. What do I do if I don’t do what I’ve always done? Where do I go if I don’t go where I’m allowed, expected, anticipated, and welcomed fully?

Why can’t I allow myself to have a good time? Because I feel so connected? Because I feel like there are more important things to be focused on during those blurry times? Because I have too much going on to just fuck it all off? Because I know that He loves me more than you guys do… Because I know that one day, it’s not going to be hard to just BE… Because I know that I’m more than just a piece in a party. Because I deserve more than what drugs and alcohol can give me, more than what anyone can give me. More than what anyone is trying to give me. More than what I’m being offered, more than what I’m saying yes to, more than what I’m refusing? I can’t be perfect. I can’t stay on top of it. I can’t be who He made me to be, who I’m supposed to be. I can’t do what I feel like I should be doing, because then I lose me, and even though I’m supposed to be okay with that, I can’t let go of me.

Everything I worked through, all the things I’ve gone through, everything I’ve learned, all that I am and ever was? I can’t give it up yet. I can’t surrender everything that I’m familiar with to end up in a position to where there isn’t a single person that I can turn to, and know that they’re in the boat with me, someone to truly relate to, someone to look up to, I can’t be any more alone that what I am already. And if I give up me, I give up a very good friend. If I give up everything forever, I give up a lot of good friends. If I give up everything else, I’m where I am now, and that’s led me to this.

I’ll know what to do some day. I’ll be even more relieved then, than I was on Tuesday, when God gave me this life to start over. More relieved than when I did everything I could do, then gave every problem, every worry, every stress, every situation to Him, and just let it all go, a week ago. More relieved than I was when I got saved for the first, true time, when I breathed in for the first time, to receive real air with real lungs. When I heard His name and smiled every time, because I knew that He was with me, and because He loved me and I wasn’t ignorant about it, and because He looks out for me more than I can even look out for myself. I’ll know what to do some day. And then I won’t feel like a failure anymore. And I won’t feel out of place, sad, confused, or lost. I won’t feel betrayed. I won’t feel so alone. And that’s how I feel right now, and that’s how you leave me to feel.