Now, you get to see proof of my claim of days that start bad then end good thing.
This is also one of my rants under the influence.
I grew up in a home where no one really drank noticeably. My dad usually had a beer with a meal, but stopped doing that once I was an adolescent because it gave him migraines. My mom never really drank when I was young and my stepmom can barely tolerate the taste of any alcohol. I can’t say I really minded. If anything, it’s given me a wonderful world to explore.
My dad gave my sister and I that freedom to explore. He made it very clear when we were growing up, that doing things we shouldn’t do could get us in trouble. If we got in trouble, we had to be able to get ourselves out of trouble. We had to take full responsibility for our actions. Our friends never really drank or did drugs. We were the weird kids in a small, private, Catholic high school. We were the honor roll kids. We were the music nerds that participated in all the arts. We were smart and knew how to take care of ourselves. That was only partially true.
But we came from parents that bonded over a joint. A mother who enjoyed her beer especially while watching baseball. A father whose every home improvement project was fueled by weed.
We didn’t do things in high school because we had been told at a young age that doing those things is bad when you’re young. I think that we knew we weren’t smart enough to do it and not get caught and the consequences of getting caught were more hassle than just not doing it. We didn’t know how to go about procuring such things that were so illegal for our age or in general nor did we care to know. We had our friends, our books, our movies, our music, and other things to rely on for entertainment. Nothing really needed to be added to the mix to enhance things.
When we came to college, we were new to these experiences. I personally had a wonderful experience with drinking and smoking. I had people I trusted to be around when I was under the influence. Friends I trusted. I knew that people would take care of me if need be. I also (usually) knew my limits enough to not over-do it too much. Although, there definitely were occasions that I did over-do it. But I always had people I trusted that took care of me. I was never pressured into it. I was welcomed to it when I was ready. It was a social thing – something I so desperately needed in my new environment. I was always offered things, but never felt degraded for declining. People in my life were genuine and didn’t care enough about your “faults”. You were their friend and as such you were respected.
I joined a society in doing such. I did not offer that same gift to you. I think it would have been beneficial.
I believe that everyone should experience the sensation of being intoxicated and/or high at some point in their lives unless it breaks a serious moral code for them. I mostly believe this because I think we should try to experience all life has to offer us naturally. Alcohol may not be all that natural, but I believe the bud is a beautiful thing of nature. Some of my best memories with the people I love involved occasions when we drank together while playing games. I was often most kind to myself in these moments. I could see how my green eyes really were beautiful. I could see how my smile lightened my whole face. I learned to accept my body little by little. I wasn’t tortured by my usual consciousness. I simply saw me for me and that me is beautiful. But in my foolish and clouded judgment, I judged you for not feeling the same. I pressured you into something you were not ready to do. I realize that now, reflecting on our relationship.
I honestly had no idea how incredibly low your emotional IQ and how dumb I was until we broke up.
The cowardice of the break-up like waiting until it was 7:00 in the morning and I was completely ready to leave. Giving half-assed excuses of not wanting to work on something that was completely fixable. His poor communication skills. Looking back, a lot of the things feel like things I dealt with in boys in high school. And how he would become completely aggressively defensive when I would mention something that had been bothering me. I had been consistently told that he would never be able to communicate to the level I could. People blame him for that. I’m not sure. I think it’s more of a personal/partially cultural thing. We see that as prideful and immature.
I don’t know what I honestly think. I’m angry and I’m sad and I don’t care because I am actually happy. I’m happy that I have the life I have here and that I know I am moving on.
I’m excited for what’s coming. There’s only something better waiting for me to come.