So I spend a lot of time on this blog telling you all about how crazy my drinking was and how messed up I’ve become as a result of it. Through some very in depth discussions with pals of the support group I’m on called Booze Free Brigade, I have unearthed a plethora of lovely examples of me just being plain crazy because I’m just plain crazy. Forget about alcohol. I’m not proud of any of these but I have acceptance that these are things I’ll just have to live with for the rest of my sober life. In fact, now that I am sober it seems as if they are even more terrifying/funny than they ever were drunk. For your enjoyment, here are a few examples:
- I’m deathly afraid of anything that makes loud and sudden popping sounds. I will not open a can of Pillsbury biscuits using the normal method of peeling back the paper until the canister explodes in your hands. Rather, I open the paper a little bit, close my eyes tight, and then throw the can on the floor about 5-8 feet from me to get it to pop open. I’d rather have a few hairs on my dough than a bomb going off in my hands. If it doesn’t open after throwing it, I don’t pick up the can from the floor myself. I get my boyfriend to do it. And if he’s not home, I just pack up my things, cancel the electricity and cable, and move to a new house without biscuit cans on the floor. I’m also terrified of balloons. The other day I was at the dollar store browsing. I was in the market for some stupid cheap shit from China. I was standing next to a bin that contained baby dolls which had black people heads and white people bodies when a woman who worked there started inflating helium balloons like 3 feet from me and instead of moving to a safer part of the store, I just tuck and rolled out the front door and went home without buying what was in my cart. Popping balloons make me scream. If I’m on the train or any place where a person has a balloon and they carelessly let said balloon graze against the ceiling, I will very loudly say, “Ma’am!! MA’AM! Get your balloon off the ceiling before it POPS!” If they don’t listen, I’m fucking out of there.
- I still have completely irrational childhood fears. For instance, I have to have the blankets over my feet while in bed. Not just over them, but tucked underneath them, too, so I am basically a burrito. Why? Because if by some very unlikely and weird chance that The Blair Witch is under my bed (I think she’s usually there on Tuesdays), I don’t want her to be able to touch my toes. I KNOW. Shut up. Also, if I’m in the shower and washing my hair and the soap is dripping down my face, I can only keep my eyes closed for like a maximum of ten seconds before having to wipe them clean and open them. Why? Because any longer than ten seconds and someone could potentially scale the two stories of my home and somehow squeeze through the bathroom window silently and be standing on the other side of the shower curtain stroking their beard while waiting for my naked fat ass to emerge. IT COULD HAPPEN. These particular fears are not bad enough to make me not be able to do things and I KNOW they aren’t real but the little kid in me is totally ready to bust some ass if monsters decide to one day become a reality.
- I cannot and will not play hide and go seek with anyone. I’m 32 years old and when a child tries to get me to play, I tell them they’re stupid and run away. This is SORT OF tied to the popping noise thing. And it’s equally bad for me as the seeker OR the hider. Even if I’m hiding in a room and it’s a really good spot that the seeker probably will never look in, the moment I see or hear the seeker come into the room, I begin screaming bloody murder and confess and reveal where I am. Because if they actually find me on their own, something horrible will happen. I mean, it won’t. But it feels like it will. And even though it’s my friend LaShonda looking for me, my head turns her into Charles Manson. And if I’m seeking, I constantly announce my presence. “I’M COMING INTO THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW! DO NOT JUMP OUT AT ME. LET ME FIND YOU PEACEFULLY!!” And if I find someone, I also scream bloody murder because it usually involves them jumping out at me at the same time and I just shit my pants. This same fear also prevents me from going into haunted houses around Halloween because I get in trouble for hitting people when they come at me. I’ve even hit one of those people who aren’t there to scare you but keep you safe and on the right path because I can’t tell the difference and they had a flashlight and how was I supposed to know? (THIS IS NOT A METAPHOR FOR SOMETHING UNLESS IT IS)
- I cannot go into water where I cannot see underneath me. I drown if I do. I have never been in water like this to prove that I drown, but I know that I do so I’m not trying it. Ever. There are Ursula’s down there and NO THANK YOU.
- If a bee (or any bug for that matter) lands on my body, I will immediately start screaming and shaking so violently that people will call the cops if it continues for any length of time. They haven’t called the cops yet but that’s because my success rate in getting the bug off of my body still stands at 100% because I’m really good at everything I do…. I don’t care who sees me, where I am, or how loud I get. I don’t care how stupid I look or what people think. Butterflies and hummingbirds are also subject to the same reaction. I don’t understand hummingbirds. Shaped like a bird and flies like an insect. That’s the devil’s work.
- I know I’ve said this before but I am TERRIFIED of going through security lines where they check you for things. I’m certain that somehow a grenade or block of cocaine will materialize in my crotch and I’ll be sent to jail. I sweat profusely and make no sense if they try to talk to me. “So where are you headed?” TSA might ask. “Gate 30,” I’ll reply shortly. “No. I mean where are you flying to?” “Oh. New York.” “But you’re already in New York.” “I know. My mouth tastes like dying. I’m stupid crazy boy. Sorry. I can go now, scary man?!” IT’S A MESS. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
Okay. Confession: This post was an exercise in avoidance. There is something I really should be writing about but I don’t want to. NO. I DIDN’T RELAPSE. Yay. Thank God. But I just didn’t feel like talking about recovery today. Hopefully this at least made you laugh?
Happy Thursday. Let’s stay sober even though we aren’t talking about it at the moment.