In retrospect, I've probably been an avoider of things all of my life.
When I was a teenager I bought my niece a fluffy white bunny (complete with pink eyes) from the neighbor across the street. My sister, disgusted at the sight of the little albino, told me that she couldn't have it. Instead of returning the animal to the neighbor, the poor thing sat in a computer box in a spare bedroom with barely any interaction for weeks until I finally built it a hutch. By then the damage was already done and it was not a happy bunny.
I can't pinpoint when I began turning to alcohol and weed to avoid life, but it was probably not long after I turned the legal drinking age. I was a pretty good kid in high school. Didn't party all that much. Didn't care about grades that much either, but was smart enough to get into university. Working at a fast food restaurant with other people who liked to drink led me to my first parties where I'd get wasted.
Cut to now, I'm 27 years old. I'm a writer. I used to be a digital marketer, writing copy for a prestigious theatre company, but my drinking habit got too hard to handle with a 9-5 job. More than once I found a quiet nook in the building to take a thirty minute nap.
Admitting this makes me want to do this:
And truthfully, I have cried for the first time in a long while over the last few days. I left my apartment and boyfriend and fled to my parents' home out in the country. It was the only place I knew to turn to to deal with the pain in a calm environment. My father picked up the phone at 7 a.m. on Saturday morning, surprised to hear my voice on the other line. I usually don't get up until 11 or 12 and he's well aware of this. Before I could tell him what was wrong, I began to cry. I've been crying intermittently since then.
Now I'm working on facing my emotions and dealing with my boyfriend. While he wasn't there when my problems began, the lifestyle that I've adopted with him has certainly not helped matters at all. He too drinks far too much. On top of that, he drinks to avoid his depression and anxiety. I know a person will only seek help when they're ready for it, but I want him to get help, too. He doesn't think he has a problem. I was expecting him to say that, but it's no less devastating to hear it.
Yes, I ran away from Toronto to avoid dealing with this on my own. But I knew that if i stayed, he would convince me that I don't need the help. His first reaction when I said I think I had a problem was "You're overreacting." Two words no woman wants to ever hear.
This all feels like the makings of a bad story, but there it is. I don't know what the conclusion is. I like it here in the country for now. I'm seeking professional help this Wednesday. Now that I'm out of the city, it feels easier to think about everything clearly, but I know that my habit of avoiding conflict and hard work is a lifelong problem and it needs to be addressed along with the binge drinking before I run out of good luck charms.