When I was maybe 6 or 7, I ate an entire bottle of Flintstones vitamins because they tasted like candy (and I was a candy queen), and got very sick. A few years later, I ate an entire container of Tums because they tasted like candy, and got very sick.
The moral of that story? I operate in extremes, and I am a slow learner.
When I fall in love, I fall extra hard and extra fast, drowning myself in my boyfriend for as long as it takes for me to suddenly tire of him. Has this worked in the past? No. Have I continued to do it? Yes.
When I eat, I eat super healthy, 90% of the time, until I give myself a cheat day/meal. During which, I don’t just have just a couple slices of pizza and an ice cream cone, but instead dive head-first into a bathtub full of chocolate sauce, dump a box of Capt’n Crunch on my head, and consume a small child.
Working out? I am obsessive about going 6 times a week. Do I need to? Probably not. Is it an incessant scratch on my possessed psyche if I don’t make that 6th session? Yes. And if I know I’m going to have a hard time making it 5 or 6 times, Ill often abandon the entire week… because that makes so much sense (not).
Going to buy a dress? Leave with seven. Sit down to write a blog? Write three. Look of the day? Full make-up and completely overdressed or gym clothes, top-knot and not a stitch of make up.
But the worst extreme of all? Drinking.
This is actually kind of a touchy subject for me! I am “ashamed” of very little in my life, accepting of the choices I’ve made thus far, as they have led me to this point. But drinking is another story.
As it does with many people, drinking flips my personality upside down. The trouble is, I never know which side it’s going to land on. It could be fun, silly crazy Morgan who is just an inflated version of my normal self. It could also be an extra magnified version, a little too loud, a little too obnoxious, man-handling the spotlight until it shines solely on me. Sometimes I go mute, sometimes I dance on tables, sometimes I spend the night locked into an intense conversation with someone I will only know in that fleeting moment. I can be mean and nasty, my judgement can become beyond questionable and I often make choices that result in my waking up in the morning physically sick to my stomach.
But one thing I can count on is that I always, ALWAYS, take it too far. In my world, there is no one-and-done when it comes to wine. I have the first glass, which allows me to relax a bit. So I indulge in a second, which gives me that giddy, happy feeling. Once I signal for my third, it’s all over. My night has been decided, the shots have been ordered, and any hope I had at a productive night, or following few days, has been pulverized.
I have been able to skate over this little issue, mostly with ease, throughout my early twenties.
But now? Now, it’s not as cute. Losing my phone at least once a month is not cute (nor cheap). Ditching my friends to hold hands with a boy I don’t even care about, is not cute. And spending two hours to get ready, only to end the night with one eyelash glued to my forehead (hey boys!) is certainly not cute.
The last year or so, it has become crystal-clear to me – drinking simply does not serve me, nor does it serve those around me, those who matter most to me.
When I groggily force open an un-lashed eye on any given Sunday, the worst feeling in the world is not knowing exactly what you’ve done, who you’ve upset.
What’s tough is that so many people around me are such great, fun drinkers. I have one best friend who’s life is entirely a “second wind”, who is never “not down”. Another best friend is the cutest, funniest mainly-mute drunk ever. And another gets a little lit and sees only cheese pizza.
What I finally, (finally!) need to grasp, is that I, unfortunately am not them, and I, unfortunately, am not able to drink with that kind of ease.
Is this post leading up to a declaration that I am “never drinking again!”? Lol, no. I’ve said that before (pretty much every single Monday morning), but we all know it’s not true.
No, I am just going to take a few weeks off to organize myself again, get back to what matters. As fun as drinking and partying can be, my soul is fulfilled by other pastimes, and I need to keep that in mind. My goal this year was to continually improve, recognize things that don’t serve me, and eliminate negativity from my life. As tough as it is to admit that I’m not the best drinker, and as “lame” as it might seem to my good-drinker friends, I need to continue on the path of just doing what’s right for myself, and not be influenced so easily by others. I think it’s important to recognize that what’s right for most people doesn’t mean that it will necessarily be right for you. Think critically about your life, and don’t just ,mindlessly follow the masses, because you are the one ultimately responsible for the choices you make. There is no one-size-fits-all path for life choices.
And although my penchant for extremes has its downsides, it has its benefits as well. When I decide to be good, it’s on. I can avoid socialization like a champ, and hibernate with the best of the introverts. So, see you at stampede, Smirnoff.