When I learned how to drink the first lessons I learned were what I could drink. To avoid the sugars, to appreciate the burn, the fun was in the drunk, in the inhibition. I learned how to dance, and how to sing. Those people that judged you didn’t matter, and you were to enjoy life, as best as you could; and still, they didn’t matter. I brought something new, they had never seen before; and the things I said were new, and they had never seen them before; when I drank.
The second thing I learned when I learned how to drink is what I could do. The social iniquities were lost, and who I could be. I found the humor and attention; the fame and infamy, so I stopped pretending to be who I wasn’t. I spoke, I preached. I said what was on my mind, and the drunks laughed, or scowled, or agreed or disagreed. I poured what was in my mind out for consumption, bitter or sweet.
The third thing I learned, when I learned how to drink, was to allow adventure. I learned to go, and live, and fuck the rest. It was mine, and it was my experience for my story, all the stupid chances and immature risks . My stories were eternal, and they were mine, and no one else could have them.
The fourth thing I learned when I learned how to drink was what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t draw, or paint, I couldn’t design or create, or sing, or dance; because the ability of my hands would not develop along with the creativity of my mind, so I put down the pen when I drank. I didn’t draw, or write, or sing or dance or learn, because they’d see in, and that wasn’t why I drank. I didn’t want them to see in, I wanted to see out.
When I learned how to drink, the fifth thing I learned was to be quiet. Things people told me, things I saw for sale, and that last drink. They were unnecessary, and if I wanted to buy them or needed them so bad or should have expressed them, I would have done so while sober. So I stopped opening my mouth, my wallet, my mind, and my expression; when I drank.
When I learned how to drink, the sixth thing that I learned was how to control myself. To not let go, to not act like a child and not let those around you see the weakness in your drunken mind, the expression or the vulnerability. To stop being someone I wasn’t and hold perfect control. So I stopped letting myself play up to who I was when I drank.
Lastly, when I learn how to drink, I will learn how to speak. How to be as eloquent as I was before I took the first sip. When the drinking has happened, and I’m keeping complete control, and not spending too much, and not drawing or writing to express myself, or trying to be the life of the party, then I’ll learn how to speak, and how to be me, even when I’m not in control anymore, to say the things I was thinking before. How it was better to not have to apologize, and stay to yourself, when I learned how to drink. Then, I will stay to myself, and not dance, and not sing, and not draw; because when I drink I wont be sure of me; so I’ll be the best me I can be, and if I don’t, but no one else is around, then I wont have to apologize anymore.
So, when I learn how to drink, I will be me; even when the “me” isn’t here anymore, when I drink.