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Pretending to Be a Drug Addicted Alcoholic Because I Live Alone and Have Nothing Better to Do

 When I was a little girl, I used to dream of growing up and becoming a drug addict. I’m not sure where this ambition came from. My family consists of strict non-addicts and all I watched as a child was Nick at Nite, Wishbone, and neighborhood children running from my house in terror. I was somewhat violent. No big deal.

“I steal money from the poor and give it to my bitches.”

But my desire for drug addiction was not as self-destructive as it may sound. I only sought it for the cinematic aspects – the shaking, the sweating, the twitching, the crying, the screaming, the gay bathroom sex…ok, so The Basketball Diaries

Even as a 17 year old heroin addict Leo is still hotter than the prettiest people I know

is my only frame of reference for drug addiction. Whatever. My point is, my desire for the dramatics of a life-ruining sickness led to many preteen hours spent over a sink, splashing water onto my face, slapping my cheeks and staring intensely at my own reflection before screaming and throwing a handful of loose Smarties at the mirror, only to panic and immediately grasp them all, shoving them into my mouth and swigging down a glass of water before collapsing onto the floor in tears of self-hatred. Yes, I have parents. Yes, they are great.

 

The disturbing part is that I never really grew out of this. Recently I’ve been drinking alone, not because I’m unhappy (although…I mean…yeahhhh) but because I like to cradle a wine glass in my hand as I tremble, ever-so-slightly, twirling long strands of pearls around my fingers, weeping silent tears, streaking puffy cheeks with mascara, as I sip from my glass and wonder where I went wrong in my career now that I am an aging alcoholic starlet. I vary the storyline from time to time, becoming energetic, flirtatious, and underwear clad as I traipse around my apartment with fake eye lashes, splashing wine all over myself, pretending to be Edie Sedgwick. I have yet to graduate to amphetamines. It’s only a matter of time.

 

But these are not lies. I actually do these things. I also have most conversations with my sister pretending to be a black pimp, conversations with my brother pretending to be a soul-less slightly retarded sorority girl, and conversations with myself pretending to be perfectly sane. Clearly I am none of these things.

 

I have found that my behavior is increasingly erratic when I live alone. When I live alone I am nothing short of a complete and utter mess, literally and psychologically. Last night I skipped back and forth down my hallway several times around 2:00 am. I’d love to know why. I really would.

 

I’d also like to know why I find this:

 

Google search: “hot homeless guy”

 

So much more attractive than this:

 

Google search: “Male Strippers are Gay”

Any thoughts on the subject would be greatly appreciated.

Love,

The girl who still doesn’t understand how magnets work, despite her many attempts to find out

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