I find peace in chaos, I find comfort in crowds. Although that is only after I've consumed copious amounts of what everyone calls "liquid courage".
Maybe courage is the wrong word, because it never gives me the kind of confidence I would need to heal, or scream, or cry. Even in a drunken stupor, I still hold enough fear of the world, to just stay quiet. I find solace with a drink in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. With every sip, I find my buried personality and set her free. My mouth is no longer muzzled by my own worried mind, my legs are no longer bound by a ball and chain. I no longer worry about the space I take up, but relish in it. With every puff of smoke, I find myself thanking god for my legs that dance me around, and my hands that are no longer handcuffed to my own pockets. The alcohol induces a care-free, fearless state of mind, it shows me who I could've been. It describes to me through action, all the ways I have been hurt and what those experiences took away from me. I am reminded that the world will not end if I speak, or move. I am shown that reaching out to ask for affection, will not always get you crucified. I am guided towards people instead of running from them. All of the things that are normal to most, only come to me when I am intoxicated. The intoxication makes my small body feel like the biggest in the room, like I deserve a crown just for standing there, and being in the presence of the crowd. It makes me forget my weight, and the color of my hair, and the calories I counted that day. A mixed drink, makes everything sound better, and feel lighter. Like the music, I no longer enjoy sober, it sounds like a symphony after a few whiskey and cokes.
I wish those thoughts and feelings made a home inside of me, but they never do. The symphony ends and my head starts to spin the second I stop moving. The ball and chain reappears and my hands are re-cuffed to my pockets. I'm no longer fearless, but terrified, and embarrassed. As the nausea sets in, so does the memory of every word I spoke, and every step I took. I think back to the way it felt to be so physically close to someone I barely brush against sober. I regret being so loud, and letting my legs find a place in anyone else's space. I start to premeditate my apologies and make a mental note of all the people I should avoid for a while. And later, when I realize just how sick I feel, my body will empty the contents of my stomach, reminding me I'm weak.
Weak enough to fall in love with the feeling, and too weak to let it stay. Too weak to be a whole person on my own, too weak to introduce myself to a stranger, too weak to ask to be loved without being drunk. Too weak to not pick up a can and pop the tab just because I don't want to feel. Weakness and fear are my two most prevalent emotions lately. I'm quiet, and secretly screaming on the inside, trying to make everyone around me happier. Because it's easier to force a smile when everyone else is wearing one too. Because my pain does not get to burden everyone else the way it does me. Because if I'm suffering like this, and I know how awful it feels, I'll go to any lengths to make sure no one else feels it. Because I don't want to waste a second of your time trying to answer when you ask if I'm okay. Because the world see's me as sunshine, and that is a light that never goes out. Because if everyone expects me to be the sun, I am not allowed to be the moon.
I think maybe the reason I find my peace and comfort there, is because that is where I used to find it when I was young. I was mixing drinks and grabbing beers and touching men before I could legally drive. I cleaned up the parties, and poured the gatorade the next day, I mopped the sticky floor, and trashed the solo cups. I was only loved when drinks were consumed and I dressed too old for my age. I danced with the older, drunk men, and put them to bed before their mind could carry them to my bedroom. I lived in fear of being loved too much or not at all. When someone said dance, or come give me a hug, it sent a chill down my spine. For two reasons. One being that I loved the attention I never got anywhere else, and two being that I knew this wasn't the kind of attention I really craved and that hug always lasted too long and their hands always drifted too low. Believe me, I know it's screwed up and I should've known back then that it wasn't okay. But I spent a lot of time being invisible, so I took what I could get, and went outside where the party was when my mother asked me to. We didn't spend much time together, but when she drank, she got really friendly, and almost seemed proud of her little girl, who acted way too old and hung out with the grown ups.
I loved being loved by her, and her friends. It was the only time I felt like I was noticed, and had a voice that people cared to hear. But being so much older, I know it wasn't okay, and I should've been in bed instead of putting on shows for them in a garage much past midnight. I shouldn't have mastered shotgunning, and drinking games, before I learned how to drive. I shouldn't have been allowed to walk around and talk to them in a t-shirt and panties at twelve years old. Maybe back then I was too innocent and naive to understand the staring and the hugs that lasted too long but I get it now.
I think that's the sad part, I seek it out now. I don't do it intentionally, it's just that I shift back into that state of mind any time I step back into that setting. She taught me to grab everyone's attention, to be the sweetest, biggest personality in the room, and make sure everyone loves me. Even if that means wearing the smallest shirt, or the shortest skirt, or the highest heels. Even if it means touching, and caressing, and dancing like my soul is on fire. I am all of her worst traits in a younger form, trying my damndest to be the opposite. But two drops of alcohol, and she takes over my body, to everyone else, any semblance of my own personality or confidence, and I am reminded that I am her child, in looks, and spirit, and behavior. No matter how far I run from her, she will find me, even in my own mind.
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