Whiskey shits

There are certain things in life that will boost your confidence (IE: A super hero cape, a passing grade, a smile of approval, that gold star next to your name), or for myself: whiskey. Go ahead and pass all angles of judgement now, because by the end of this you will wish you didn't. I guess my initial reaction to someone telling me that an alcoholic beverage gives them confidence would definitely be a red flag. But there's a moral to this story. To my liquid superhero cape. So first, you must know me. To know my alter ego of heroism.

All my life my social awkwardness trumped any act of normalcy for me. I am 5'11'' which already made me a target of jokes throughout my younger years. Being taller than the boys in my class -and still being taller than most of the male population (Did you know* the average male is only 5'9'' which puts me at an already intimidating 2 inches above most my candidates) I was the go-to for any jabs of self security. The tables were innately never in my favor, so starts the journey of my uphill battle. So we will just call this phase one for right now.

To add another layer to this onion, I was a wandering child. My mother had daddy issues which then translated into many different male companions throughout my childhood. I even can recall a moment when my mom got into a fight with one of her former boyfriends, she had him lying face down in the dirt, holding onto his 80's metal hair cut tie up in a nice ponytail, a red stream flowing from his nose, as she screamed "Just admit that you fucked her".. good times. My mother is no bag of rocks that's for sure.
Anyways moral of the story -other than my mothers badassery, men came and went, as did my childhood homes. I've lived in a surplus of places including: Florida, Ohio, Texas, California. And for simplicity's sake I'll just round off that I attended about 8 different elementary schools by 5th grade. And if my math serves me right that means that for three years I attended at least two different schools. Adding another layer of social awkwardness to my onion, trying to fit in. I tried so hard to fit in. Most attempts were suicide missions. Some slightly successful. But it never lasted. End phase two.

If you're starting to feel bad for me, just knock it off. I love who I am. I just want you to know why I am this way. So moving on to phase three, we will jump back to phase two momentarily. Also known as, my mother. Don't get me wrong, she's a good hearted soul. But parenting was not for her. I grew up alone most my life. I never even told my mom when I got my period, I think that kinda speaks for itself. I enjoyed my alone time, I still do. But all that time I spent alone as a child has had a chemical downfall, better known as an introverted personality. Therefore, I never speak how I feel. I never have, and for the most part.. I never will (unless said wonder drink is consumed, then I wield the strength of 100 ponies). Seeing how outspoken my mother was a lesson to me of what 'not to do' because it always came with a consequence. Leaving me with the emotional capacity of an.. onion. The cutter you deep, the more tears you'll see.

So far we've talked about my height, relocation, and introverted lifestyle.

The point I want to make though is that regardless the life I've lived, the corners I've cut, and the wrongs I've endured, everyone has a scapegoat. I'm not here to justisfy intoxication as a form of self esteem. I am however grateful for whatever miracle of chemical balance it brings me when I do need to speak my mind, and grow some fucking balls. Word vomit is my ode. It's my choice of emphasis in this life. I'm particularly good at articulating when said burn has filled my throat, and lightened my gut wrenching nerves. We can't always be the best version of us, sometimes we need our capes. And goddamn it, sometimes I just need a whiskey neat burning down my throat for me to stand up and say, CARPE MOTHERFUCKING DIEM, BITCHES.