AN ALCOHOLIC IN LOVE

It seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Just trying to rummage through this thing called life. Everybody has their challenges and happiness.’ right? The strangest part of this, is that I am nearing fifty years old. Regardless of the fact that my brain still thinks that I am just kicking in the parties of thirty, and my body is constantly trying to remind me, “keep going bloak, keep trying to act young, keep trying to believe that you can drink the same amount and still believe that you are charming”, but life will remind you in the morning that you are not as cool as you think that you are.

It’s Christmas time, the eve of Christmas eve… 2022. I just put my phone down, after having an obligatory, though loving correspondence of texts with my girlfriend, she had reminded me, in the sweetest way that I am sure that she meant, that I drink too much. I would love to tell you that she is wrong and full of shit for not noticing the behaviors that she “doesn’t see” where my brain very elegantly and trustingly lets me know that I’m not an alcoholic. I mean… for real… I spend most nights too broke to afford alcohol, but it totally amazes me that she is always able to show up, call or text when I just so-happen-to-be drinking. In retrospect, perhaps she is right. If I were to be honest with myself or you… I have a short glass of vodka mixed with tea and half a glass of beer as a chaser, as we speak. I think that it seems just fine and appropriate for me. My home is clean, my fridge and freezer are full, and I even let myself put up a few Christmas decorations this year. How can I be an inappropriate drinker? How can I be an alcoholic? My bills are paid and I take pretty good care of myself and my modest home. Why should I feel guilty about having a few adult cocktails, right? I mean… I am an adult and unlike traditional alcoholics, my place is clean, well-organized, and so is myself for that matter.

In any case, here I am; watching a silly rom-com, “The Holiday” With Cameron Diaz, Jack Black, Kate Winslet, and Jude Law. drinking alcohol, and feeling just fine; (Yes, I am obviously a pussy) Though, I’m really not fine, am I? As much as I appreciate my new girlfriend trying to challenge my private behaviors that she has no right to question after only a few months of diving into the idea of being a couple… I find myself sitting at my laptop telling you this story. I mean, she isn’t even divorced yet, and here I am… feeling guilty. I am pretty good and pretty honest about being passive about it, and… if she pushes me too much, I will remind her that the door will close without a thought. I have the audacity to remind her, “I am okay being alone, so check yourself before you try to do that ‘girl-thing’. You know, that thing where women feel like that can start training a man to their will. Not me, Princess, I am not the guy, I am not that hard-up, and I am not the one that you can try to practice your witchery on.

It’s kind of funny, I just went and poured a double, just to be condescending, vindictive, and spiteful at the thought. I’m actually believing that I did something strong and confident by doing so, even though, I am alone and she has no idea that I did it. So ridiculous. In any case, that is my way of feeling like an individual. Feeling like I live my own life and have my own strength and sense of self. Fuck her, right…? I will drink all I want and if you feel like you deserve a “say so” then, you should be here earning it… Right? At least that is what I try to tell myself, and as I write this silly blog or diary about it, it will still give me the false sense of security that I am a modern man that doesn’t need a woman to make me feel whole.

That being said, why do I feel so terrible? Why do I feel so alone in my thoughts and my lie… My lie to myself that I love being alone? That lie that reminding me that, “Being okay by myself is a true testament to individuality, strength, and security in myself?” Part of me, well, a lot of me, will admit… She is a wonderful woman. Red flags like a mother fucker, but she hides them well. She has attributes that makes me think about her often. I do have the sense-of-mind to know and remember that I am a terrible judge of character and I know or at least suspect, that at the end of the day she will be another thought in the files of my brain to use as an example of what to watch out for, but, for real… She is very sweet, very sexy, and she does, in fact, make me feel good about myself. I’m sure it’s a trap. The perpetual lesson that I never learn… that women are incredible manipulators. Never-the-less, it makes me feel good. It’s why, I imagine, that I am so naïve. Shit happens, but even “I” need to feel special once in a while, and, she is good at it. SO regardless of what I believe, I still love that she shows up and smiles just right, kisses just right, and fucks me just right. She has a way of making me want to defy her, but totally need her at the same time. Fucking women, right…?

I want to be honest and give her everything about me. I feel like, she has earned some honesty, right? Remains to be seen, but I actually do give her some honesty. I am not a dumb ass anymore. I have the audacity to tell a woman to fuck right the hell off, but I don’t want to tell her that. I really do care about her. I am a fuck-tard, or am I? I grow consistently tired of trying to allow myself to open up, only to ultimately be disappointed. Since, I really am a bit sensitive, I will still allow it to be “my fault” when she finally comes to her senses. I mean, women have a different type of logic then men, and I am not purposely trying to hurt her or make her feel bad, but, if she wants to try to pull me into her clutches and try to “train me” … I will tell her to take a hike in the most sensitive way that I can.

I just went and poured another drink. You know, because I am an alcoholic. I am sure of it, because she has me wondering if she is right or wrong. If I didn’t have a drinking problem, then I wouldn't even offer the thought or credence, right? See, she is a sorceress! Making me think about her, making me think about myself. Why the fuck would anybody put that kind of thought or effort into it? I am not worth all of that, and I certainty won’t let a woman pull me into thoughts like that. I mean, what the fuck? That is presumptuous as fuck!

I guess, at the end of the day, I have to realize… That my actual fear is… fear itself. I am afraid of her. I look at her red-flags as ammunition. When it all falls apart, I can use my unfounded thoughts about her against her. You know… “See, I knew you were just a succubus, so I am okay… it’s YOU that has the problem!” It sounds way easier than believing that I am not doing all that “I” can to show here that I am worth her time.

I like her a lot. I may even love her, but I am certainly afraid of her. At the end of the day, being afraid of someone is a great way to feel alive. I hope that things turn out well, because… If things don’t work out, I will feel like a naïve pussy for letting the world know how weak I am, how naïve I am, and how gullible I am. Bitch, you better be as awesome… As awesome as I think that you are. I love you.