My first tryst with alcohol was way back when I was in the
third year of my graduation. It was one Durga Puja night (Ashtami to be
precise) and the four of us had gone to China Town. Being friends with a couple
of engineering college dudes is kind of taking a shortcut to hell and ours were
no exception. I, of all people, am usually more eager and spontaneous when it
comes to the journey down south. We had ordered beer with greasy Chinese
noodles. We couldn’t suppress our nervous giggles when the bottles were being
unscrewed. Before that night I used to live in a world where alcohol had only
fleeting reference as some evil object that one of my neighbours would use as a
precursor to his daily noble duty of wife beating and scaring the crap out his
poor kids. Back then, even beer was hardcore alcohol to me. Ah the simpler
times. I remember I couldn’t hide my disappointment with the first sip. What? It’s so bitter. Why would you guys
even drink this for fun? I know right?! I know the Providence has a way of
fucking with me in the most ironical way. My friend and I were quite drunk on
our way back while the boys were visibly happy to be able to show their ‘manly’
side by taking care of us. Fyi, I had stopped being in touch with any of those
friends quite long back.
My second taste of alcohol happened soon afterwards, strictly
technically speaking, with the same group of people. But it was only a tiny sip
off a White Mischief bottle so it wasn’t really a case of drinking. Then two
years would pass by without any incident of drunken escapade. Sometimes I find
it hard to believe that I spent two years in ISI without sipping a single drop.
I mean people there would chug whisky for breakfast if they could. Thank god
though, for not trading my first class degree in for a few nights of temporary
ride to heaven and back. Now when I look back I come to this conclusion that I must
have been happy back then. Or awfully simple. Oh how I wish I could meet that
girl and at least warn her to fasten her seat-belt for what was about to come.
It was some time after our convocation; it was one late
autumn evening and I was feeling terribly blue over some incident, pacing to
and fro on the dark rooftop of my house when I realized something. I needed a
drink. I think I was a hardcore alcoholic in my previous birth. I mean where
did that instinct even come from?? I called up my friend and that weekend I was
in her house. Yes folks, I had my first proper drink (vodka with twist) at my
friend’s house, sitting with the still slim girl who would turn out to be my
best friend later, AND her father whom I would be sharing many many drinks with
over the coming years. So that evening was the start of an era.
Alcohol was still an occasional visitor in my life, until
2013. It was mid-2013 and I was going through a shitstorm, (a storm that would
continue to blow till the end of 2017, with only temporary pauses) and I was messed
up and frustrated and angry and sad. I needed a friend. I was craving someone’s
comforting presence in my life. And I started drinking. I would drink A LOT. At
home, outside, with friends, alone. On some days straight off the bottle
because I would be too exhausted to even fetch a bottle of water. Honestly, it didn’t
turn out to be as comforting as I had hoped. People who have vomited and passed
out after drinking would understand. And I used to cry a lot. Alcohol is
tricky. It can either bring about euphoria or agony. And you never know what’s it
gonna be when you pour yourself the first peg promising this time you won’t
lose your shit.
I don’t know how or when I decided to stop my drinking
binge. I think it was one evening and I looked in the mirror and saw a very
haggard looking, fat girl staring back at me. I felt sorry for her. I tried to
search for the simple girl in her but she was gone. I promised to her I would
stop drinking and start exercising. Now you see, I have many vices but I have one
quality. I bloody practice what I preach. I do what I say. I quit drinking, and
started doing push-ups and ab crunches every day. It worked. Very soon I was
the girl with flat stomach and shapely boobs again. However life continued to
give it to me in the derriere with no orgasm followed. So I would continue to
go back to my old vice like the drunken man goes back to his whore girlfriend. But
it never crossed limit.
Then last year I started dating this manchild whom I fail to
describe without having to use some seriously offensive words. He (with
his beloved mother in the background) made my life hell in such ways that even my previous
boyfriends would look like straight out of The
Fault in Our Stars. There are ways you can mentally abuse a person and it wouldn’t
even leave a trace except in the mind of its victim. I remember him calling me
alcoholic one day, even though I would hardly drink that time. Because for a brief
period of time I had trusted him and shared with him my story which I have
mentioned above. And people wonder why I have trust issue. (He had once called
me energy vampire too. I mean honestly, if I were a vampire I wouldn’t touch
his blood. I mean nobody would want to die of diarrhoea. Not even a vampire.) I
had just moved to Darjeeling that time and I was going through the biggest
transitional phase of my life till date. I couldn’t take it. I fell off the
wagon. And this time I was all alone so it was easier. I would drink every day.
Every day I would come back from work and that one bottle hidden behind the box
of cereals would lure me back in. I would drink myself into oblivion until the
dull throbbing in my chest ebbed away. Not to mention you would always find
some people who would help you go to hell in the quickest way possible. Vulnerability
seeks comfort even if it’s merely the illusion of it. Mostly though, I just
wanted to do things he had falsely accused me of doing. I know. Dumb shit. But more often than not love turns out to be the ugliest battle you have ever fought in your life.
I have swiftly kicked out all those people I had found solace
in here during my initial days. I am good at chucking people without giving it
a second thought; as if they are disposable Styrofoam cups. I have asked people
to stop bringing over alcohol as gift. I go watch dog videos whenever I get the
urge to buy a bottle and wait for the urge to pass away. Nope, I did NOT quit
drinking. Nor do I ever plan to. But I mostly stick to wines these days, that
too a glass or two occasionally. Actually it is more dangerous to drink out of boredom than that of sadness. There is a biggest myth about strong people. That strong
people never collapse. FUCK NO. Strong people are people too. They fall too. But
they know how to stand back up, and not lose that childish innocence that
someday, everything will be OKAY. Until then, the fight is just not fucking
over.
p.s. I know what you must be thinking. This girl is so brazen! I mean who talks about their life on a public platform in such way? There are people out there who put so much effort to paint such a pink picture of their life and here I am, freaking the crap out of everyone with my words. Honestly, I feel sorry for those whose life is so apparently rosy. That shit must be exhausting. All that acting, all that labour to sweep the filth under the expensive carpet. I have promised to talk about my battle with depression and other mental ailments on my blog. And this post is a part of that series. I know there must be someone out there who would identify with my story and find some courage to fight their own battle. So guys, this is NOT a dark story (as some people wrongly think that I am a very dark person. I am not.). This is a story to encourage hope, and healing. And healing always starts when you let your wound breathe.
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