I learned a couple of new, yet suspected, traits about myself this weekend.

After months of (almost always) blissfulness with my boyfriend,

of him doing absolutely everything he could for me,

of him never saying no, of him putting me

in the absolute center of his

world-- I betrayed 

him.

I think.

I haven't seen my friends in weeks, I've been so busy with school and work and homelife, that I haven't wanted to go out. I've kept in touch over text, but vaguely. I am happy with my writing and my boyfriend and my coworkers and my dog. I realized while I was in New York, that besides the champagne at my cousin's wedding, I hadn't drank in three weeks. Up until yesterday, I hadn't been drunk for almost five weeks. That is by far the longest I have ever gone without getting drunk since before my fifteenth birthday. I love alcohol. And I hate alcohol. I've had this vicious, toxic relationship with alcohol for so many years it has become the norm for me. It's ruined so much for me. I've made so many mistakes, burned so many bridges. I've had probably between 15-20 jobs in my life, I can't use any of them (except for my current one) for a recommendation. And 99.9% of the reasons are alcohol related. I received a DUI when I was 17. It was the day after I had received an MIC. And seven more of those before I turned 18. I still don't have my license, because when I had an interlock I failed it too often.  June 2008: As of recently, I had begun to earn back my father's trust. I had a smart boyfriend who was a good influence, I had worked as a hostess at hooters for almost a year, I had started going to the gym, and limited my partying to only on the weekends (every weekend...) I remember that my boyfriend at the time, Matt, once said "you're the perfect girlfriend Mon-Thurs, it's just when the weekends come you change." He was right. I remember the first time I cheated on him, I was at his next door neighbor's house, Claire, and I was with this asshole that I've known since I was a kid, Brent. I vaguely remember it happening, but before intercourse happened my conscious caught up with me, and I pushed him away. I felt so guilty. He was just next door, loving me for all I was. I was blacked out, and I never even told him the truth. He suspected it for years, and we would grow close again in college, frequently the library together. He even took care of me when I was sick, and provided me with junk food and killer weed and movies we both loved. He knew not to lay a hand on me when I slept by his side that night. He wanted to though, he never got over me. I was the bitch who used up and threw away innocent Matt McQueary. I was the one who made him by a new car, embarrassed by his Saturn, before I would date him. I got drunk and met Mitch, a tattooed party-er and told him how Matt was so mean to me and bought me diet pills. I had asked him to buy the diet pills for my birthday present. He had teased my about my weight, but it was harmless, he was infatuated with me. I met Mitch and we drank every night and I blacked out every night and my dad had no idea. hI received my MIC the night my dad was leaving for a trip. It was the first time he had ever trusted me when the house, and the car, while he was away. It was the first time he didn't lock the extra bolts, placed there to keep me from sneaking out at night. He told me, that night I received my MIC, "Lauren, don't fuck this up. I'm giving you a chance."  And then I bought lingerie and drove to Mitch's with a girl who is now a pornstar, and we got fabulously drunk just like every other night. And then the cops came. I freaked out, I went to my car. I sat there for a while, nervous and drunk and chainsmoking. And then I decided to get a fucking ice cream from jack in the box and drove without my lights and got pulled over immediately and refused to blow so then they took blood and I pretended I was phobic of needles and I cried and cried. My BAC was 1.64, double the legal limit. I wasn't my first time in jail. My dad was called and turned around while on his way to California and I never drove that car again.

All of the incompletes I've received in school, all of the ruined friendships, ruined relationships, lost jobs, my $1000 warrant because of an MIC two years ago, the lost shoes and clothes, my virginity, my dignity, my very little money, I can't imagine how many brain cells...

Gone all because of alcohol.

And then I was going to talk about my second newly learned trait: my preoccupation with death. But then I realized, that it too is a result of alcohol. Nothing seems more lovely than death after a night of drinking and hurting people you love, your stomach heavy with guilt and your eyes heavy with tears. Death seems blissful. And it's this attitude toward death, this attitude I've had for years, that I am simply not afraid of death, that has been reinforcing my habits with alcohol. I'll sit on a plane, and imagine it burning up in flames, and I'll think--"I'm not scared. How easy death seems-- all of my problems will go away." And then  I'll order a bloody-mary and chug. 

My grandma and papa were alcoholics, and so were three of five of my mother's siblings. One is dead from it--literally drank himself to death, his body was found days after he actually died, I remember the phone call-- my mother and I were at Micheal's and all the sudden she stopped and left the cart and walked to the car and she cried. The other is nearly dead from it --60+ and never lived on his own, missing a foot with skin cancer and over 10 DUIs-- my cousins and I would blow in his interlock for him as children, hehas lived in my papa's trailer for 25+ years, and the other drinks every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, the days he isn't working at the local shop. He'll buy his beer and sit in his double wide and listen to The Beatles and Elton John and talk about how Elton's the only faggot he'll ever love and he grab my face and tell me I look like my mother and that I'm so beautiful and I'll feel uncomfortable. 

It my genes. Just like this wonderful illness that my mother's crazy southern family gave me, I am bipolar comorbid with alcoholism. It's all because of alcohol. I can't call it self medicating anymore because I am medicated. I hate it and don't want it and I'm going to do everything I can to get rid of it. The worst part is-- I can't even remember what I actually did. I have one glimpse retained in my memory, looking at Lacey's face. I don't remember anything else and we fought about it, about alcohol, and he never even doubted me. He trusted me. He was only mad about the alcohol, about me not sleeping at home. And it keeps replaying in my mind over and over again and it's not telling me anything and it's driving me crazy. But I can't tell him my suspicions, he'll never forgive me. I guess I will I never know and he will never know and I hope that ignorance is somehow bliss.

And I'm going to stop fucking drinking.