I sipped my Diet Coke with trembling hands and felt the jitters move from my feet up my body, until it seemed like my brain was going to crawl out of my head and scream at the hundred or so people packed in that flat, "GODDAMNIT, I WANT TO MOTHERFUCKING DRINK."
It wasn't so much as I wanted to drink. I was starting to need to drink. There's a big difference, and that difference is having control over the situation. At one point, someone tried to hand me a shot of vodka. Melissa and Tara leapt in front of me, as if trying to take a bullet, screaming, "Nooooooo!"
I left. I went home at sat on my bed in my makeup and pink dress and sparkly earrings and watched Zodiac. I felt left out and angry and lonely.
So I guess for each of the 9 times I cheerily clink my Perrier and beam, "I'm doing awesome, thanks!" there's 1 time I have to will myself not to cry/drink/scream. This isn't always as easy as it seems. Unless it seems really hard, in which case, yes. Yes it is.
Okay. I'm done venting. I'm off to another two holiday parties! Wish me some motherfucking, goddamn luck...