Polaroid snapshots

So, why is alcohol an upper until it becomes a downer? There are the obvious reasons; the hangover, the cry-fest, the drama and the trauma that could and would be otherwise avoided if it wasn't for the fermented cocktails and beverages...and I'm sure so many other reasons. However, for me, it's all about a fateful Saturday night a little over a week ago. Did anything tragic or traumatic happen in the world, that depends on how you look at it.

A little background:

I had spent most of August sitting by my pool by day and drinking with my guy friends at night. Insomnia was still a beast I could not conquer, so there was little to no sleep happening as well. Basically everyday that was the story. There was a nine day in-a-row streak of drinking every night. Not a big deal until you factor in what was going on with me psychologically and emotionally. Mix it altogether and it was a potent cocktail that did not need to be shaken or stirred.

What was the cocktail?
Equal parts:
* I never cried over the stress, disappointment, and frustration that was Brazil.
* I did not want to return to Small State U city, because I hate it here and I do not feel like I fit in with any of the other students.
* I want to smack most of the other students just about everyday because I cannot identify with them. I blame it on age. There's, not mine.
* My best gal and I were on the outs. Also known as the only person I felt close to here in City I Hate and Program I Stress Over.
* I had shared my feeling with her a few times over the summer in terms of me worrying that we were drifting apart and I didn't feel she took it seriously. Why was this a big deal? Because just about every time I have ever had the courage to tell someone how I feel about something, in terms of relationships whether they are lovers or friends I am almost always ignored and what I worried and tried to prevent from happening through conversation, then comes to fruition.
*Being the gal to go out and drink with, but not feeling important enough to do anything beyond getting drunk with.
* Still being bombarded on a daily basis with memories I had tried to forget, had forgotten, and epiphanies that I was thankful for, but could not handle on my own.
*Feeling lonely and out of place for the first time in my life.
* Fucktard telling me the things he did. (Short recap: sexy, but need to lose weight, my life goal is pointless. Beautiful, but... Sticking his tongue down my throat and a hand in my crotch...both not welcomed or appreciated..and on and on
* Oh, and more days of no sleep than with sleep.
* Self-doubt a constant plague in terms of grad school.
..and on and on. (Truly depressing.)

In August I discovered I have self-destructive tendencies. No, duh, right? Sure, but I was ready to throw it all out and throw it all away and fuck the consequences. I was ready to sleep with my married guy-friend, end my friendship with my best gal, drink my way into oblivion and smoke as much pot as I did when I was 21 (Or what is all of Mexico.) because, fuck everyone, I need no one. (Another thing I am famous for.) The self-determination, or stupidity, that I need no one in this world but me and only me. Fuck-ya-all. (This is said to myself, not out loud or to anyone at all, just all said in my head in a very self-determined sort of way.) (Cause, that makes it seem less crazy and much more healthy.)

My best gal and I patched things up one night outside a bar. I was very thankful and it was a turning point.

A turning point into a very deep depression and sadness.

Here's the cocktail of reasons:
* My best gal, after only dating one other person in her life (which happened last year at the age of 24) met someone over the summer and she is ridiculously happy, and I am happy for her. But. I am also sad. Really, 25, dated two people, and you're done? What-the-fuck-ever.
* Epiphanies, epiphanies, epiphanies.
* Memories, memories, memories.
* Stories, times, relationships, ugliness that no one...no one...should have to endure all came rushing back to me.

Imagine your life coming back to you. Things from your past that you thought were over, done, dealt with. Memories that had been shoved and stored away are slowing, one-by-one being pulled out of their shoebox and shown back to you in a Polaroid snapshot. That's what this summer has been for me. Random flashes of my forgotten past.

Memories in the form of:
Verbal and emotional abuse from my father. (Things said, things done, fights, words, yelling, screaming.)
Verbal, emotional, and physical abuse from my first boyfriend at 16 and a guy who was supposed to be my best friend at the same age. (One day I remembered that the "friend" had tried to suffocate me. I was lying down and out of nowhere he just put his hand over my mouth and nose. The reason? To see how I would react.) (So, so many mind games they played. So, so much betrayal.)
More friends than I can count or remember who left, betrayed, lied, cheated, and simply did not care about me, how I felt, what I said, or friendships I was trying to save.
Being raped at 17 and 23.
The consequences and ramifications of both rapes that followed and still do.
So many throw-away relationships and I was the one being thrown away and letting myself be thrown away, because I didn't care. I was just out to have fun. So, who cared.
(It's depressing just to type out and read back to myself.)

Which led to the feeling of: For the first time in my life wanting love from a man. Not sex, or a fling, or a distraction, but really wanting to be wanted, loved, from someone, not just anyone.

....Sadness swept over me.
Depression kept me in bed.

Which all lead to:
A little over a week ago, after spending all day in bed, I went out with friends to celebrate one of their birthdays. I did not want to go, but knew it was the right thing to do.
I drank, and I drank, and I drank. Not cocktails, but shots.
I. Did. Not. Care.
And worse, I was not getting drunk, I was only getting more sad. All kept neatly tucked inside. Laughing and having a fabulous time buying drinks for the birthday boy and being sociable with everyone, but inside wanting to go home and be alone.
At one point I went outside where some of the group was sitting and I tried to talk to them, tried to interject, I felt completely invalid.
Back inside the bar.
Fucktard who put me down a week before, asked me what was wrong as I was being distant from him. In a very calm and direct manner I told him what was wrong, how he talked to me, how I was not going to put up with it and I had put up with it enough in my life and I was not going to do it anymore. I had been through enough. I was mad at him, but more so, I was mad at myself. At this point I was not going to be his friend anymore. This conversation happened as I was about to leave with my best gal. (Her driving)

Which lead to: (are you still with me?)
In the car, with best gal driving, I lost it. Tears, emotions, feelings, words it all came pouring out. I thought it just had to do with that night, but I am pretty sure that random Saturday was nothing more than an outlet for the past 34 years. Thirty-four years of crap. Thirty-four years of crap, put-up-with-ness, letting things slide, not wanting to deal with them at the time and so now they are all coming back to me. The past and the present all colliding into my future and it's a mess. Not to mention ridiculously inconvenient timing. Really? Grad school? Not the best time to try and deal with shit, ya know?

So, after thinking about it, I've decided I need to seek counseling and therapy and really deal with my past. Not sugar-coat it and say I want to talk about it, but then never bring it up. No, it's time. I'm tired. I'm tired of the same self-destructive tendencies and the only person who is left in the end is me. I'm done. I'm tired of my past dictating my future. It's time to deal and then move on. I know I've said this before, and I am better at breaking bad habits and such, but I need to really dig down into the ugliness and delve into the deep end of the emotional fucked-up pool. I'm done. It's time for love, no more distractions.