No. I know what you're thinking. I don't write whilst drunk. [Interesting idea however.]
We'll get to the writing part later. What I'd really like to share, is my latest revelation: Drinking. It's not good for you. Big discovery, right?
I think I hit my drinking peak on Saturday night.
You're probably thinking that I'm some kind of tiny crazy 5"2 alcoholic. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Since I was young, I'd probably have a drinking session once a month or so. Lately, it's been more like once or twice a week. Did someone say alcohol? Big night? Deafening music so that I don't have to think? I'm there. But unfortunately my tiny little liver is not liking it one bit.
Hey, it helps at the time. I went to a pub for a birthday party last weekend sober, and it was the worst night of my life, standing around in a crowd with losers hanging all over me, people screaming into my ear, and boozy dickheads spilling their beer on my orange suede heels. People weren't as funny anymore; life wasn't so easy. I needed my happy drug, and badly.
And there is evidence to suggest that moderately "getting loose" every now and then is good for your body when you're in times of stress.
But after this weekend, I've decided to ease up. I'm feeling like shit.
Does drinking cause depression? Or is that just the brain-fry effect that happens after a big night? I am in a world of pain and am wondering if my life choices are worth it right now.
I guess what has really hit home is how severe my self-esteem problems are. I'm incredible at masking myself in front of others, but really, I am in a constant state of anxiety about whether I'm doing the right or wrong things, or whether people like me or not. And alcohol just isn't really helping me feel better about myself.
Where the hell did this come from? Which arsehole from my past screwed me up like this? Of course, I know the answer to that question, and it's from a long long time ago. It's up to me to resolve these issues that are churning inside of me, and figure out that I'm worth more.
On my bucketlist, number 29 states: "Stop caring what other people think of me". But do you think that's happened yet? No. I'd like to have a real sense of bravado here by saying I don't care, but of course I do. I analyse everything that people say to me, or how people act around me. I only feel good about myself when people say that they like me, or say that I'm pretty. But when I'm feeling more alone, and I don't have those props around me, I just want to curl up in a ball and cry. When I'm like this, I don't think I'm likeable. And I've never believed that I'm pretty.
And so here I am, sinking into Day Two of Hangover, and I feel depressed. Because alcohol exacerbates shitty feelings once the party's over.
It's so hard to feel good when you feel displaced no matter where you go or who you turn to. Nothing in my life feels right at the moment. I miss things, I feel awful about my choices; I'm losing myself in trying to gain my identity again. Where am I heading?
But there's one thing I can trust that will make me feel good again. My writing.
We'll get to the writing part later. What I'd really like to share, is my latest revelation: Drinking. It's not good for you. Big discovery, right?
You're probably thinking that I'm some kind of tiny crazy 5"2 alcoholic. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Since I was young, I'd probably have a drinking session once a month or so. Lately, it's been more like once or twice a week. Did someone say alcohol? Big night? Deafening music so that I don't have to think? I'm there. But unfortunately my tiny little liver is not liking it one bit.
Hey, it helps at the time. I went to a pub for a birthday party last weekend sober, and it was the worst night of my life, standing around in a crowd with losers hanging all over me, people screaming into my ear, and boozy dickheads spilling their beer on my orange suede heels. People weren't as funny anymore; life wasn't so easy. I needed my happy drug, and badly.
And there is evidence to suggest that moderately "getting loose" every now and then is good for your body when you're in times of stress.
But after this weekend, I've decided to ease up. I'm feeling like shit.
Does drinking cause depression? Or is that just the brain-fry effect that happens after a big night? I am in a world of pain and am wondering if my life choices are worth it right now.
I guess what has really hit home is how severe my self-esteem problems are. I'm incredible at masking myself in front of others, but really, I am in a constant state of anxiety about whether I'm doing the right or wrong things, or whether people like me or not. And alcohol just isn't really helping me feel better about myself.
Where the hell did this come from? Which arsehole from my past screwed me up like this? Of course, I know the answer to that question, and it's from a long long time ago. It's up to me to resolve these issues that are churning inside of me, and figure out that I'm worth more.
On my bucketlist, number 29 states: "Stop caring what other people think of me". But do you think that's happened yet? No. I'd like to have a real sense of bravado here by saying I don't care, but of course I do. I analyse everything that people say to me, or how people act around me. I only feel good about myself when people say that they like me, or say that I'm pretty. But when I'm feeling more alone, and I don't have those props around me, I just want to curl up in a ball and cry. When I'm like this, I don't think I'm likeable. And I've never believed that I'm pretty.
And so here I am, sinking into Day Two of Hangover, and I feel depressed. Because alcohol exacerbates shitty feelings once the party's over.
It's so hard to feel good when you feel displaced no matter where you go or who you turn to. Nothing in my life feels right at the moment. I miss things, I feel awful about my choices; I'm losing myself in trying to gain my identity again. Where am I heading?
But there's one thing I can trust that will make me feel good again. My writing.
I always feel a little lost and less accomplished when I haven't been writing. Sometimes I feel as though the only thing I can truly depend on is my mind. My creativity.
You'd think that a time like this would be inspiration for me to write something ingenious. Like, my best potential could come out of a situation like this. But I'm still waiting to feel whole again, to feel comfortable. Actually, to be more accurate, I'm still waiting to get a really good night's sleep. I think I need ten hours straight, for three days straight, before I'll feel amazing again.
I'll know when my true ability returns again. When I get the big one. The idea for a novel. I want to document something grand, something poetic and real and publishable; I want to be worthy of something more. That feeling, of desire and exhilaration, is the real purpose to me. It's like a drug, euphoric, when I get a wave of words crashing over me.
So maybe that's what I need to do. Start writing. Start using my experiences, my fucked-up-ness, to create something of some kind of value to my life.
So maybe that's what I need to do. Start writing. Start using my experiences, my fucked-up-ness, to create something of some kind of value to my life.
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