Me.

For a long time I've wondered if I'd be alone.
For a long time I thought I would be. It was always a fear I had. The first time I got sick from drinking I was at home with my parents. I learned my habits from my father. I drank hard like him. Scotch shots and beer chasers. And I could mix, if I had to, and not be sick. I never drank anything fruity. Never liked white alcohol. (Vodka, gin etc etc) I enjoyed my Johnny Walker Black. and my Coors light. That one evening I got home from work. It was a Saturday. Out on the balcony, just having a few. And it turned into a game. Everytime he drank, I drank. I could keep up too.
I enjoyed that small fact. I could drink and keep up 'with the boys'.
We were snacking on something called 'salt prunes' ..something from Trinidad. It's of course, a prune that was covered in a red dyed salt. An acquired taste. But we loved it.
So that in the mix with beer and scotch. I learned that I didn't need to eat while I drank or I'd be full. I'd end up being sick. So I never ate while I drank.

And before I knew what happened, I remember being dragged through the living room, my voice in my head, the blue carpet they had over the expanse of their apartment and the white walls all I could recall as I hit the water. "No one loves me...no one loves me.."...over and over again.
It's all I kept saying as my parents were fighting to save their 22 year old. Cold, naked. I threw up every where. Red stains all over from where we were to where we ended up.
They had to re-carpet the entire apartment after that.
That's when it became evident to me, to my mom, I had problems. Issues with me. My depression became more apparent as well. And I talked. I talked to her when I felt myself slipping.
When I felt like hope was all gone and I just didn't want to go on another day. I reached out. And she helped me by listening and assuring me things will get better.
Years went by...I'd met Chris. Lost Chris, though he wasn't mine to lose.
Met Mike...we went our separate ways after almost 2 years.
And Chris found me again.

Months after I came to find out my cousin had attempted to commit suicide. And suddenly I was thrusted into the limelight of talking to her. But...what could I say? I understand?
No. I couldn't.
And I wept, and confessed to him for the first time that I, too have tried, and failed..and I too, get depressed to that point. And he swore that he'd never let it happen. I'd never be that sad or lonely again.
Our time together were short intervals and rather repetitive. Friday nights we got together with friends and went club or bar hopping. Got completely shit faced. Went back to his parent's house, drank more. Sometimes we'd, in all our intoxicated-ness, would look up songs on youtube and just reminisce, play 'Who sings that' or I would coax him into playing his guitar to a few old alternative songs I knew he could play or would have loved to hear him learn.
I adored the fact he could have learned on his own.
I love music. I just can't play it. I can't read or write it.

As the years went by, I found my tolerence for alcohol fall dramatically, and it saddened me.
I had to find my limit, seek control. And beg myself to heed. There were nights out I'd just not remember. Things I'd done that I wish I hadn't because thinking about it now just makes me hate myself.
Nothing like, sex with random strangers or drugs and the like. Nothing along those lines.
Just, falling over at a Halloween party and revealing a lil too much from the back. Or kissed a girl to make a lesbian jealous. Really stupid things, you know.
And of course there was my one complete wig in November of 2010 that almost lost me everything. Including myself.
I changed for alot of people and Chris expressed that it was a shortcoming I had to bypass. Stop giving in to people so much. Learn to say no. If only he'd heed his own words.

I've worked for 14 of my 16 years in the US. Had 2 jobs in total. Own my own car (which my parents drive), lived on my own since I was 22. Had my first child before marriage at 27. I'm almost 30 now. I've wanted more for myself. But I forgot who I was for so many years that now, before wanting, I need to find me, to find out want 'me' wants.