Matt, your issues on the drugs are very black and white.
not everyone who drinks and does drugs is bad or lazy, not even close. those who are bad and lazy, probably WOULD be anyway; the drinking just ACCENTUATES it. you're mad at people for not being the way you want them to be, but you would rather blame the alcohol, thinking that without the alcohol in their systems you could actually CHANGE them to who you want them to be!
Examples of alcohol/drugs affecting people differntly:
My son of a bitch ex: 26 as of today, no job no hope no life drinks all day sometimes does drugs and sometimes takes the wrong combinations of drugs and blacks out and wrecks his car and slits his wrists.
He would probalby be a pathetic waste of shit anyway. The alcohol just ACCENTUATES that. Man. What a poor fucking bastard.
Me: Taking Xanax illegally to deal with son of a bitch ex. 3.5 cumulative college GPA, a nice number of friends, all around bad ass mother-fucker of a personality.
See how alcohol and drugs affect two entirely different people differently
ok really, though. i crushed on this pothead once. and i thought maybe if he saw the world through MY eyes he would become something I liked. because i couldn;t have him be a pothead and like me at the same time. maybe i liked him, anyway. but i was too ashamed to have him around as a pothead.
he didn't change, though. he is just a pothead, albeit someone i once had strong feelings for.
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did your parents have very strong standards on whom you should hang out with and date? because my family seems to be of the persuasion that one doesn't go to college to be anything but a doctor or a lawyer. now, i could be judging too harshly but growing up it seemed anytime i had a slight interest in something (like sewing a skirt), i was told by everyone that i would make a massive career out of it (be the next Donna Karan). once while walking down seventh avenue, in NYC, my dad and i passed the Fashion Information Kiosk. I was at my DP worst at this time and about to start school 1500 miles away from home. things were falling apart, and as we passed that kiosk my asshole dad said "in five years i want that to be the 'melissa information kiosk'".
I hope he dies soon.
just for even thinking that way.
well, in my one very DP'd semester at FIT, I did not become a famous fashion designer. I did, in fact, accomplish some other achievements:
1) land myself in the ER of Saint Vincent's hosptial,
2) give a lot of time and money to a particular cult church thinking they had a cure for me, being turned away for certian treatments in order to buy more classes
3) compulsively shopped and spent hundreds of dollars of my dad's money
4) took the highest single dose of adderall I ever had, just to try to feel normal (60 mg, which is very high for me since i can feel the effects of 5 mg now)
5) get people to buy me alcohol b/c i was underage
6) take all my roomates ativan, and hallucinate off of Sonata sleeping pills that didn't do their job effectively enough
and last but not least, my proudest accomplishment:
7) went out onto the streets of New York, in the middle of the night, looking for someone, anyone to fuck. I found a sleazy looking guy who showed pictures of his "male modeling" portfolio to me, made comments about the acne on my face, and then helped me take my slutty outfit off at the seediest hotel on 27th street (one near my school), and fuck me. There was porn in the background and he was asking me "do you like my cock?" in his egyptian accent. he vaguely resembled denzel washington in the mouth. I ran out of the hotel mid-act, crying, wishing i had not done that, and he was standing at the doorway saying "you dont' know what you're missing out on!"
oh yeah and i gained 25 pounds of unwanted fat.
Shit. Somewhere in that busy busy New York experience of mine I FORGOT TO BECOME DONNA FUCKING KARAN! OH SHIT!
guess we can't be what our parents want us to be, huh.
...but also during this stay in new york I still hated the 18 year olds in the dorms who would get too drunk, I thought i was better than that, those people were idiots and the one friend i made was an idiot because she liked the band Garbage.
I was able to hate people based on standards set by my parents and some 'friends', yet when i didn't meet perfection i ended up fucking a stranger in a seedy hotel, where he could have easily raped and killed me.
That was three and a half years ago.
I still have not gotten myself tested for AIDS, as I spent most of the years running away from this memory whilst developing a strange intense fetish for middle eastern guys and ONLY middle eastern guys (he was from egypt, i had not previously had a thing for middle eastern guys) and their controversial treatment of women only turned me on more.
I hated myself for not reaching perfection.
I hated the European girl in my class who was skinny and perfect. I began to hate europeans. because all my anorexia attempts had finally backfired and i could not control my eating, something that embarassed the hell out of me. i could not stop fucking eating.
i hated the europeans, and hated myself more. but i still loved aggressive egyptian guys. because they gave me the respect i gave myself.
i felt flawed compared to the other members of the "cult" i tried joining because they had found out on their little lie detector that i tried once to commit suicide, and therefore i had to take more programs in order to get on the detox thing.
i met a guy at a club called Webster Hall. he was from Long Island. he reminded me of a nice guy friend in dallas. he was normal enough, the kind of kid that dresses up a little for some weekend clubbing. probably very decent to talk to. all night i wanted to talk to him. i finally did, and we exchanged numbers.
he called (or did i call him?)
and i hated him, because he was too intimidated by me. He liked the band tool which i thought was lame and mainstream at the time. he couldnt' keep up with my harsh attitude, and when he stuttered a word or warped a belief ever so slightly for me, i drove it into his chest.
what a loser.
i came back to tulsa and dated a man whom i could not be as harsh as and I loved him for it. I got off on when he strangled me during sex.
I liked it a lot. and him a lot.
i just didn't like to see him get mad.
after the break up, it was hard to even think about the sex. i remember he had the coldest look in his eyes, like he was some robot or Nazi or something.
I thought I wanted that harshness?
I thought i wanted that hotel room?
I thought I wanted to be better than the alcoholics?
I thought I wanted to be a fashion designer?
Why, would i get on my highest of highs; before the DP I was a model of Ayn Rand's works, achieving perfection at every turn. Never made less than an A at the Art Institute. I chased down a professor of color theory because when we had to paint our color wheel we would get counted off slightly if there were visible brush strokes. I could not get my paint to go on perfectly even without brush strokes. I had to find this man (he was hot, too!) to make sure i wouldnt' get less than an A.
he said it really didn't matter, after reaching him in a panic on my day off from classes.
I kept my body in beyond perfect shape. if I ate a few calories more than expected, I would go to a club and attempt to dance it off (while being mean to any guy that approached me)
or i would walk five miles instead of hanging out with friends at school. once on one of my five/six mile walks, i passed by the school and saw my classmates. i made sure to stay in the dark b/c otherwise they would see me and invite me to hang out. and then i wouldn't get my exercise.
everyone i met back then was stupid. they drank too much (i envied their drinking though, because many of htem were skinny and could drink beer. i was convinced i was too fat for beer. that's partially why i hated alcohol. it got in the way of me getting thin-- and it got in the way of me being in control of my emotions)
i couldn't stand the idea of people having fun. being blissfully ignorant. because i was busy torturing myself every day to be perfect, i might as well have ripped my skin off and poked at my twitching muscles, it would have been nicer than the thoughts i had of myself.
once i saw a girl playing sand volleyball. and a guy came up and was teasing with her. i decided it was because her calves were smaller than mine, that she was getting this attention.
Nevermind the fact that i had starved myself to the piont of being able to see all my ribs, vertabrae, for my collarbone to rise enough over my chest to be its own entity, and for the flesh under my chin to be thin as paper. her calves were smaller than mine.
be perfect. screw up. be horribly imperfect. be as beautiful as dorian grey but be unaware, like he was, of the places he and i visited at night, away from our palaces of perfection...and down to the lowest spots of humanity where whilst our physical beauty may (or may not!) have remained intact we did the most horrible sexual, chemical, and betrayal acts we possibly could and then woke up the next day in our room pretending as if it had never happened. (unfortunately i gained weight where as dorian grey kept his looks. I think it was because i didn't have a portrait done like he did. damnit, i will have to remember that next time i split myself so.)
I fucked a stranger in a new york hotel, while he asked me how i liked his cock and if i wanted to watch "dirty movie" (not A dirty movie, just dirty movie) and boy did it feel good and scary at the same time. And mere months before I was so clean and pure that i would not touch sugar and I would not make a grade below an A and i was the darling of the teachers at my previous school in dallas.
when i was 20, fresh back in tulsa from new york, I did ecstacy every weekend, sometimes multiple pills, and took cocaine and combined it with whatever i could find...we snorted it off the glass tabletops of my boyfriend's dad's office, the office of an upstanding christian citizen and here were were scratching up his nice table with cocaine marks.
after running him through a mill of drugs and keeping his mind away from school and such, i dumped him for manic, manipulative boyfriend "S" whom disliked it when I looked him into the eyes during sex because he said it made it seem as if i was looking up to him as a savior or a father figure, a man whom everytime i would do something he disliked, said "you know, my ex used to do that", and who told me that i would look really hot if i toned up.
(oh well he's 35 with no college education and has been unemployed for three years. he would look SO MUCH HOTTER with a fucking job.)
extremes.
pure as a monk or doing every drug as much as possible, sipping vodka from a water bottle straight and taking 12 xanax and smoking pot and a year later doing as much ecstacy as i could put into my system, enough to start hallucinating from it.
but i hated those damn college kids who had a few beers and got rowdy!
how dare those irresponsible fucks get drunk! They have great, Randian things to achieve! We're all supposed to be John fucking Galt, that is what I thought! If i'm so busy achieving perfection, how could they have a few beers and be ina stupid sorority?
and then, when failure after failure mounted and i just didn't have it in me to do the work or starve myself anymore, i wondered how the system and my dad could have let me down like this, how could i have had the iq over 200 (according to my dad, yet i only made a 31 on the ACT which is incredibly grand but not proportional to the highest IQ possible) and not be in harvard and why be anywhere else because it's obviously a waste of time and oh if i had NOT fucked up i would be the next donna karan.
but god damnit, why are those college kids drinking.
Or working 9-5 and happily hanging out with friends.
while im making straight A's...or doing drugs...or fucking strangers whom might be carrying diseases (and forever fantasizing about them, and rape, later)...or attempting suicide by taking 50+ sedative pills...or making the president's list four quarters in a row for my 4.0...or making it into the best fashion school based off a portfolio i pulled together in three weeks while working an 18 hour class-load, sometimes putting in 12 hour days at the school just to work on one outfit.
and the whole time i mocked those stupid college kids who made mediocre grades, lived that "illusion" of a life, happy with being "stupid", happy with drinking...
because I could not be what my dad and Ayn Rand and dishonest ex boyfriends and my dead grandfather wanted me to be.
I hated those other kids for being able to party and have fun while i was having to please these people. i was never good enough and they got to relax. it sure wasn't fair.
so i decided they were wrong.
after all, i had gone too far in life to be wrong, right?
