You Look Great (When I'm Fucked Up)

My mouth tastes like alcohol. When my lips are wet, I feel the sweetness of the drinks unnamed, but then I breathe in and breathe out and my tongue, my teeth become dry and my breath is sour.

I close my eyes and go back. I go back to the moment when I decided to get drunk. I see myself drinking without caring and it feels good, but it is not enough. I need more. But we stop and go away, change places.

When I drink, people are beautiful. I'm attracted to people I was never attracted before. I don't care if they're boys or girls, if they're too old or too young. I just want to kiss someone.

I'm flirty. I never hit on anybody, because that's not me. I flirt and I tease and I'm a tease, because how can I not be a tease when I'm not sure of what I want?

My head is light, but the alcohol is vanishing. I need more. "You have to pay to enter the bar." I will pay if it's not too much, I will pay if whatever I pay, I drink.

Two shots. I asked for the strongest, but they don't taste that strong. So I flirt and the bartender complies. "I'll give you four, if you buy two." And the guys buy me the drinks and I drink another two shots in a row.

It takes a little while for the effect to fall upon me. I share the flavoured Marocco tobacco with the boys, but it's banana and I'm not fond of banana and the taste is too subtle... I don't care. I like the smoke. I like its warmth inside my mouth. I like the way it flows around my head, the way it goes up, the way it leaves my lips and my nose. I love the way it dances around me, the way it seduces me.

I close my eyes and all I see is the glasses in front of me. The glasses full of alcohol that is now strong, but that doesn't taste good anymore. I have a vague notion of the atmosphere, of the voices, of the colours surrounding me, but I don't care. The liquid is greenish, yet transparent. It's beautiful. It should taste good. Shouldn't it?

I like the guy next to me. You look great when I'm fucked up. I like his weight on my leg. I like his hoarse voice. I like his head and the way he smiles. But though drunk, I'm over-conscious and I hate the thought of intimacy in front of others. What intimacy? It wouldn't be intimate. I'd only like a kiss. A peck, really. It's a shame I'm not really into him or I'd give it a try.

And it strikes me then. Why it is that some people just go around fucking everyone else. The glamour of that life seems obvious. I suddenly realise how easy it would be to live like that. I somehow wish I was made that way. I pause. And then I believe I could be like that, if I wanted to. But now is not the time to start living that way.

It grows too hot where I'm seated and I need to leave. People are warm and I need the cold. I stand up and go to the bathroom. I pee. Fortunately or unfortunately, I'm ever the conscious drunk. I never forget. I never let go of the sober me. I know everything. I sit down on the floor and then lie down and then sit again.

For a moment there, I understand why people become addicted. Why there are people getting drunk every week, every day. Why there are people getting high. It's all too easy. The mind focuses on the good things and the responsabilities are forgotten. The body half-controlled feels funny.

A girl comes in and asks if everything's alright with me. She's blonde, I don't really see her well, I don't know if she's pretty. But I love her anyway. If someone asked me what my favourite gesture is, I'd say kindness to strangers. I tell her I'm ok, that I just need to feel the cold and she smiles and goes away.

I get up and wash my face, my mouth. How can a liquid make you feel so dry? How can something so sweet suck up all the sugar in your body?

I go back to my place, between the boys. But it's still too hot and I don't feel good. The bathroom is safer. The bathroom floor is perfect. I love the cold under my bare arms. And I suddenly remember why I don't like alcohol, why I hadn't drink for so long. Alcohol is heavy and inconstant. You drink too little, it's meaningless, you drink too much, it becomes painful.

It's not painful, yet. It's just no fun anymore. And I grow weary of the people around me and I find them pathetic. Most of them. I still like the boys, the ones I never cared about. But it makes no sense to me that all that these people have in common is the place where they work. And it disgusts me.

We leave. I have lost my card, I should pay a fee for that. But the bartender is feeling guilty and says my shots are on the house. The night is ending and I haven't spent a cent. I secretly smile. He's an idiot. He shouldn't feel guilty over other people's irresponsabilities. Had I been sober, I'd have gone back and give him the money. I pay my dues.

I need water. Not to drink, but to wet my mouth. There's this guy. He's older, but he's nice. And he's being kinder than I ever recall him being. He goes back inside the bar, brings me a bottle of water. I wonder if he paid for that. I rinse my teeth. If I drink the water, my stomach won't like it.

Time to go. I hate the idea of being inside a car now. She drives and drives and I think I fall asleep, but then I wake up and need to leave the car. I leave, I feel the fresh air and my mouth is dry again. So dry. I need water and I'm ready again.

Another endless ride in the car and I need to stop another time, sadly only two minutes before I get home. I need water, I need fresh air. I throw up, but I don't care. "Her hair, her forehead!" I don't need to be taken care of. I'm ok. For the first time in my drinking experience, I'm lonely. Is this what independence feels like? You can feel like shit and don't need anyone? It's funny how they probably think they're taking care of me, yet oddly I'm doing everything by myself. I know what to do and when to do it. But I needed the ride home.

Ironically, I don't know why, I say I'm not ready to be alone. Guess it's the habit. I prevent someone from going home over that. Stupid. Because I only lie on my kitchen floor, then throw up in the sink, clean everything up and go to bed. And he never has to do anything except my shift, the next morning.

The worst part about drinking is the shame and the guilt. I don't feel ashamed nor guilty. I didn't do anything wrong and I don't care what people will think of me. I'm tired of judgments. I'm tired of self-righteousness. I'm tired.

I know where I stand now. And I'm even more deeply aware of why I couldn't stand to live beyond my thirties. I need to feel something, anything. And the time is running out.

All I ever did in the past five years has brought me this far. All I ever wanted was to be able to do everything on my own. Now I don't need people because I have to. Now I need people because it's better with them.

With great power, comes great responsability. With freedom, comes loneliness.

Nothing good is ever simple.

MJNuts