…till Daddy pours the whiskey down the drain.

Ever since I was little, I’ve had a mean streak.  Not to be confused with my “sadistic tendencies”.  They’re completely different.

It’s mostly vindictive.  I don’t like hurting people emotionally.  Especially people I care about.  So, when my mean streak rears her ugly head, there’s usually a cause.

But sometimes… 

Sometimes, I just get tired of being so damn nice when the rest of the world (not everyone, obviously) is so damn mean.  And careless.  And arrogant.  And full of entitlement syndrome.  And uses everyone around them to get what they want, while denying the people they’re standing on the things they want.  And…

And other times, I just drink too much.

I have been known to occasionally be a very mean drunk.

Though I joke about it, I don’t know that I’d honestly call myself an alcoholic.  Sometimes I drink a lot.  Sometimes I don’t drink at all.  It just really depends on our wallet, our stomachs (neither of us has a gall bladder), our moods, our other plans, what’s available, whether or not we want to leave the house just to make a booze run… Though that last is much easier what with the liquor store next door, and the convenience store that might as well be a beverage center across the street.

I’m not really convinced alcoholism or addiction are “diseases” so much as “willful disorders”.

I mean, there’s not a person alive who doesn’t know, by the time we’re old enough to have a friend or relative place one or the other in our hands, that it’s bad for us, it’s addictive, and if we’re not careful, it may ruin our lives.  Those things, at least, are true about alcohol, and some drugs, even if all of the scare tactics the government uses are not.

The fact of the matter is, all drinkers/users choose to use their “drug of choice” the first time.  We all choose to use it the second time.  We all choose to tempt fate and continue using it when the opportunity arises.

It doesn’t matter which way you slice it.  When it comes to the point where our perception is disastrously skewed, and we’re in that place where choosing not to use is next to impossible because of the affect it has on our mental and physical states, we, without a doubt, put ourselves there by choice.  Maybe we thought we could control it.  Maybe we were sure we’d catch the dragon, not get eaten by it.  Regardless of how we got there, we made the decision.

I disagree with the disease theory for two reasons:

It shirks personal responsibility. What better way to pass the buck, and save the “victim’s” feelings, than to paint alcoholism and addiction as this big, bad-ass motherfucker carrying an oozy and a machete, while we’re standing there naked.  And the only way to stop this motherfucker? You guessed it.  Your higher power.  Though you get more cool points if you use theirs.

I wish all you had to do was pray to cure AIDS.  And cancer.  And all the other incurable diseases out there.

I knew, way back when, when I was fast approaching the line between controlling the dragon, and being eaten by it.  Maybe not everyone does.  But I did.  And I chose to leap over it.

It suggests that once you’re addicted to something, you’ll never be able to use that something again without reverting to your addiction. My father, being a sailor, and a cowboy (of the big, hulkin‘ Texan, Southern Baptist, spits nails and eats you for breakfast type, not the assless leather chaps type), was an alcoholic.  I don’t remember when he stopped drinking, or if he ever stopped altogether.  What I do know is that the amount he drank decreased so much that even I –a completely oblivious child, with little to no interest in what her family was doing– noticed he didn’t drink like he used to.

He has the occasional beer, now.  Just one.  And usually just one night out of however many nights we’re visiting with him.  And obviously, I know he’s not to the end of his life yet.  But he’s got it in his head that not drinking so much is what’s good for him.  And he’s one stubborn bastard.  So I can be pretty sure that he’ll stick to his “once in a blue moon” usage.

All that to say I don’t need or crave alcohol anymore than the next stressed out Joe who drinks occasionally.  I don’t throw a fit if we can’t afford it.  I don’t spend my last $20 on a case of Corona, or a bottle of Cuervo, even though there’s no food in the house.

Most of the time, I know where my limit is, and when I pass it by accident, it usually is very much an accident.  I’m really good at mixing drinks in a way that makes it next to impossible to taste the alcohol, but still strong enough that only a couple will knock you on your ass if you drink them too fast.  And I’m always thirsty.  I keep a bottle of water on my table at all times when I don’t allow myself to get busy before I grab it.

M says there’s this line, and it’s not always easy to see.  I go from all lovey-dovey, trying to make out with Him, and get Him to fuck me, to hurtful bitch, and sometimes it’s just a matter of one sip.

I should probably stop drinking liquor through a straw. O.o  And maybe have a bottle of water between each drink, so I’m not so thirsty.

And the other night, I was super mean.

It’s been a good long time since He’s had to hit me to get my attention.  And He hates doing it.  Even more when something happens, like I see it coming, and try to move out of the way, and He catches my temple instead of my cheek, and somehow manages to jam my jaw, even though no part of His body connected with my jaw.

All over a spilled drink.  Because I’m fucking psycho when I cross that line.

M said He never used to think there was such a thing.  He said He’d heard stories, but that He’d never known anyone before who seemed to just have a switch when they drank.

I still don’t really remember everything that happened.  I don’t remember most of what either of us said.  Mostly, I remember actions.

I vaguely registered Him pouring the whiskey down the drain when He told me I was finished drinking.  But I think I thought He was hiding it, not pouring it out.  He’s not much for wasting things.  Especially things as expensive as alcohol.  I suppose that’s one of the perks of buying the cheapest bottle they sell.  And being pushed to the point that it really doesn’t matter to you that you spent money you probably shouldn’t have on it.

Though, by rights, we managed to handle the family emergency, and have a good amount of money left over because of all the toys we sold.  And we still have money left.

I’m already trying to reason and negotiate the terms of my alcohol ban.  I don’t want to drink, right now.  Maybe not ever again.  I just don’t want to not be allowed to, either.  Though if it’s the lesser of two evils, I’ll definitely take it.