I need to write this down; otherwise it will not be true.
I made some honestly bad decisions this weekend. I have maybe destroyed the trust I have with one of my best friends.
I have decided that I want to fix myself. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to find myself doing these terrible things anymore. I want to be in control. I want out of this spiral.
I had sex on Wednesday night with a random girl I had just met. We were drunk, and I actually had been laying next to her while she was sleeping before I decided to try to seduce her. But once she was awake, we ended up having drunken sex for a few hours. I didn’t wear a condom. That kind of worries me, actually. Then, like the fool I am, once she was leaving I told her something along the lines of, “As far as I’m concerned, we’re pretty much together now.” What a terrible idea. I can’t be with her. I hardly even know her! I can’t be with anyone right now, much less another raging alcoholic like myself.
After that, though, I got trashed with my bandmates at rehearsal and tried to sleep off the residual effects of whiskey and intercourse.
Then, the next day, The Revival had a show out of town. I ended up drinking far too much there because the crowd completely hated us. I’m having a hard enough time lately attempting to find what kind of music I want to play, so when everyone basically hates whatever it ends up being, it makes it truly difficult to continue. I was angry, and then I was drunk. So we took the party back to Kurt’s house and continued drinking until the beer was gone. Everyone decided to call it quits around 4:30, except for Kurt’s mother and I. She’s a really great person, who supports Kurt unequivocally and I really appreciate that for him. But, being a complete asshole, and way past drunk, I decided to pull my little seduction tactics on her. Why? Why would I ever want to do that? I haven’t the faintest possible idea. We didn’t really do anything terrible: all we did was kiss twice. It wasn’t passionate, it wasn't subversive; it was simply something for a couple of drunk idiots to do.
I woke up two hours later, having absolutely no idea where I was. It turns out I had fallen asleep in Kurt’s spare bedroom, but the guys needed to get back home. I was still residually hammered, and I was still very angry. All the whiskey and beer couldn't have pushed that rage that I was powerless against down for too long. I shouldn’t even have been so upset. Kurt and Ben couldn’t seem to figure out what was up and did their best to console me, to pacify me. I think that frustration is actually directed at myself these days. It wasn’t the crowd, it wasn’t the songs; I just don’t like the life I am leading currently.
Once Kurt was on his way into work, I asked Ben if he wanted to go get some food and coffee after we’d unloaded all the gear at the studio. He agreed, and so later we walked around Berkeley looking for a suitable restaurant. At some point, the goal had become to get drunk. We had some cheeseburgers and coffee and then went stalking around for a bar. Finding a brew pub, we sat a couple hours returning ourselves to the numbed obliviousness that we, for some reason, can’t seem to avoid. We left that bar after two beers and went to find some whiskey. We ran into an old co-worker and his friends in the street and told them what we were after. They agreed to come with us, and soon enough, we were in a pool hall with fresh whiskeys shining in our idle hands. We had several drinks there, and eventually our friends left. Ben and I stayed, shooting more pool, and ordering more beers.
Finally, we left and hopped on BART to get back into the city. On the train, we decided to go get a case of beer, a bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, and a gram of cocaine. So we got a hold of an acquaintance that delivered cocaine and got started. It was only around 6:30 in the evening. We played guitar, rambled through conversation and burned the cocaine all night long, straight into the early morning. I continued being an asshole, allowing Ben to believe more of my mythical adventures. Why I do that, I really don’t know. I always feel so guilty for being such an uncontrollable liar. I think maybe I just hate myself enough to be willing to pretend to be somebody else at all costs. At some point in these ridiculous conversations, I told Ben he could be the lead singer and frontman of The Revival. What madness! There’s no possible way I would ever allow anyone to steal my glory like that. But, nevertheless, I spent hours convincing him that this is what I wanted to do. The instant the cocaine started to wear off around 8 AM, I started trying to backpedal. I’m not sure if right now he understands that it was all a load of drug-induced nonsense. He’s such a trusting person that he foolishly believes everything I say. I’m such a terrible person sometimes.
Once he decided he wanted to go to bed (good luck with that), I knew I couldn’t stay there so I just left, and shambled my way to the BART station. It felt like every single eye was fixed on me, like every passerby knew that I was fucked up and hated myself for it. I made it onto the train and found my way back home to try to sleep it off. In only a couple hours’ time, it was obvious that I was in for a horrible day.
The cocaine is still pounding through my body, torturing me; the whiskey is still swimming around in my head, dizzying me. I haven’t eaten in well over 36 hours. My hands are shaking rather violently. I can hardly stand when I need to go to the bathroom. I’m having anxiety attacks every few hours when I wake up, memories of the past several nights’ worthless, raging, savagely self-destructive exploits screaming through my head like a burning train conducted by a frantic banshee. I want to quit. I don’t want to do this anymore, but I almost know that I fear I cannot. The terrifying possibility that this is who I am – an untrustworthy, vicious liar and drug addict – is nearly overwhelming me. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be a good person, but I don’t even really know what that is.
