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.