u s e y o u r h a n d s

I went to an AA meeting once. I called myself Elizabeth and sat in a room on the side of a church in summer dusk. And I listened to people who had lost jobs, kids, cars. I went to scare myself into quitting my two bottles of wine a day, and mentioned as much to one of the women leading the meeting. She looked at me straight, her eyes utterly devoid of bullshit, and said, “Isn’t just being here scary enough?” It was, actually. Somewhere, that purple chip I got that night rattles around to remind me of that scared shitless feeling.

I drank way, way too much. But I ate way too much. And before that, I took any prescription drug I could get my hands on. And while I knew full well each time I swallowed a pill or ordered another drink that what I was doing was destructive, immature, and too simple, I continued to do it anyway.

Because I fucking loved it.

I reflect on the moment that the second glass of wine relaxes you. And, lately, due to medication and frequent absention, that happens mid-way through glass one. And I loved the feeling when all the xanax or vicodin or valium kicked in and made the world just slow and fuzzy enough to deal with it all. Like astigmatatic eyes without glasses.

I did it because I didn’t know any other way to deal with emotion. It’s what I saw and swore I’d never do. But I did. And now I don’t. It’s that easy. I fell apart once and can’t fool myself into doing it again. But I really miss these easy outs.

In other news, I am wearing a thick rubber band with Ecstasy printed on one side and Purity on the other. On the other wrist, I have a fuzzy cuff thing courtesy of Suz.