It happens every night. Every. God. Damn. Night. It happens.
Dammit.
Four cans and an extra, just for luck.
Five glasses and the rest of the bottle when you’re feeling fancy.
I hate it and I accept it, but there is just too much that needs to be said. It is all too tiring to just grin and bear it.
But now is the time where I at least try to stop it.
I finally feel confident enough to set down some rules and boundaries.
So here goes.
The whole process starts innocently enough. By this point, you’ve had your fill and all of the drinks really start to settle in.
Your movements get looser, less restrained as each minute passes. Your eyes get a lot droopier. Then, all of a sudden, you start to feel good. I mean, really good.
All that drink fulfills its purpose and you are just straight chilling on Cloud Nine.
It becomes the best hour of your day. That is why you do it every day.
But then you start to get weird.
You notice that everyone around you is trying their hardest to avoid your path. They are not exactly as welcoming or open as they were earlier before the first drink.
You attempt to rationalize the situation but, considering your previous activity, you are unable to actually think straight. The line of reasoning becomes weak and blurry.
Irritability sets in, and you quickly search for an outlet.
You start to think everything has a problem and you are the only one who can fix it, either through force or through a couple of strong words.
‘I face problems head-on in more lucid states of consciousness so obviously the upfront approach will still work,’ you probably think to yourself.
You loudly explain your issues to your companions. How they should smile some more or get into a better mood.
‘Maybe they just need more of what I had,’ you think. So, you get some more drinks and push us into drinking as much as you. The problem, you’ve finally realized, is that everyone needs to get just like you. Cheerful and numb.
But the thing is, we do not want to get like you most of the time.
You don’t like the answer to that, so you just push harder and harder.
You get too close. Way too close.
To the point where it gets uncomfortable, but any protest against you is just an excuse to get in even closer, even tighter.
You take it to the point where it is just suffocating.
Then you yell. You always yell, whether it is for something happy or something sad. You try to yell us into accepting your offerings, but it never works the way you want it.
Getting like you is honestly just too much trouble. But you still yell.
No matter what happened, you are always going to yell.
It is honestly way too much.
Then you go to sleep. Nor further drama. No theatrics. You just crash into the deepest sleep a man can have.
In the morning, you awake right on time, all detoxed, mentally balanced and ready to face the day. I still do not know how you do that.
You act like the night before never happened. You look at us as if we are the weird ones for bringing up what you did and why it made us feel bad. Our bad feelings are on us to deal with, not you. That’s your reasoning for every night before.
You go to work. The day goes along. You come back home, bring us a smile and good cheer.
Then the same cycle repeats as the night comes. As soon as the sun sets, as soon as the moon rises over the horizon, you crack open that first can and let the revelry begin again.
You feel just as good, and we feel just as terrible.
Out of some strange fascination, I started collecting the aluminum tabs you tear off the can and throw on the floor. I have about three glass jars filled with them at this point. Like having piggy banks, where each tab represents another night with an unbearable you.
I know you are never going to stop. I have accepted that.
So please. Just please. Understand.
I would really like for you to at least try to stop. Even you trying to do it less would be enough.
Show me you can at least try to be better.
No one here has a bad attitude.
You are just drunk.
You are an alcoholic.
I hope you don’t think that is something to celebrate.
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