Musings of a drunk girl

I can remember sitting and drinking with friends.  I probably had a few before anyone got to my house.  I always did.  Then it wouldn’t seem as if I were drinking too much in front of anyone.  My tricks.  Only person that was being fooled was me.

Anyway, I remember several of us drinking and talking.  I was always so smart when I was drinking.  I had all of the answers.  I could tell my friends what they were doing wrong parenting.  I told one friend that her daughter was a brat on the ball field.  I had her in tears and felt good about it.  In other words.  I was freaking mean.  I don’t know why people kept hanging out with us.  I wouldn’t have.  I told myself I was just brutally honest.  What I was becoming was brutally a bitch.  But I could tell people things in such a way that they didn’t quite pick up on the bitch part.  At first. Drinking had a way of bringing the ugly part of me to the surface.

I was mean to my husband when I was drunk.  Not in a nagging wife way.  In a hateful, you’re a piece of shit way.  I really don’t know why.  I wouldn’t be angry.  I would just get mean.

What’s weird is that the behavior was changing my personality, even when I wasn’t drinking.  That mean voice was becoming my voice.  I was mean to my parents, my kids.  Looking back is hard because I don’t like looking at that person I became.  Looking back is necessary so I don’t forget that person.  I’m sure she’s still in there.  Waiting for her chance to dominate.  As long as I don’t take that first drink, she doesn’t get a chance to stick her head out.