I begin to change back into my street clothes and put my pajamas and the other things back into my overnight bag as quickly as possible, sipping my addiction as I do. I don’t really want to be around the ginger. There is something weird about what’s happening.
Now ready to leave, I approach the ginger who is on the phone, and loudly ask if the Uber is here. He ignores me. I guess the urgency of my departure is changing from moment to moment. Once he hangs up, I feel the wrath of someone who doesn’t know me and doesn’t have the right to speak to me the way he is, cruel and vicious.
“I cannot believe that you would come in here and waste so much of my time while I’m in crisis. There’s no way that it takes anyone that long to pee! Something is wrong with you.”
“Something is wrong with me?” I counter, loudly. “You implied I triggered you!” I yell, feeling guilty, “that’s a really heavy thing to drop on a stranger who you just snuck up on in the shower and fucked without explicit consent.”
“Whatever. You’re not my problem. And you need to get the fuck out of my place.”
“What do you think I am trying to do, you crazy psycho?!,” I reply, holding my bag and my purse out in front of me, praying that an Uber to take me home is truly going to arrive and he’s not going to cut me up into little pieces, or something.
“Your Uber isn’t here yet.”
Of course it’s not.
“Great! Then I’m going back into the other room to give you privacy. Kindly let me know when I can get out of this hell hole.” I walk to his bedroom, not waiting for his approval.
Had I triggered him? How? Is this on me? The guilt of being an Alcoholic who arrived drunk at the apartment of someone in Recovery suddenly hits me hard. I wonder if he smelled alcohol from my “water” bottle. I wonder if it lingered on my breath even though I take great pains to suck on mints after every sip. I wonder what I might have done to make this ginger feel like he wanted to drink, and it weighs heavily on me. Not only am I upset that I could have caused this, but I am also angry it’s happening at all. I didn’t know he was in Recovery, so anything I inadvertently did to trigger him is his own fault, I convince myself. As if I say to everyone I’m about to fuck, “Just FYI, I’m an Alcoholic.” I know I’m wrong about his lack of disclosure, but my guilt overshadows my desire to care.
Yet I’m not surprised that I show up completely wasted to the home of a guy in Recovery, both of us Alcoholics, but only one of us using. There are more Alcoholics and Addicts out there than most people realize. I’ve met many of them through Tinder. This ginger is about my 14th “date” from the website. Most of them drink. All of the have offered me marijuana. I talk to up to fifty men a day through the site, text messaging, or on the phone. I’ve learned that a lot of these guys just want someone to talk to, even before sex. In fact, that is one of the benefits of my sleeping around now. I feel so estranged from normal relationships because I’m still not over being assaulted in my home. It is almost like an exchange of goods when I meet up with these guys. I fuck them. They spend hours talking to me and wanting to get to know me while wanting me to get to know them. Then, they usually want to hold me while we sleep.
And I feel safe.
With strangers.
I know my behavior is being judged by those who don’t know about nor understand the importance of the “after providing sex” part. But it’s not their life, and they’re not me. They don’t know what it is like to be trapped in this mental merry-go-round of coveting safety and closeness after being abused sexually while having been drinking.
The weapon has become the cure.
I didn’t know it when I started drinking, but I’m certain now that I am an Alcoholic. And I am not ready to even try to stop. Besides, having sex with a variety of men is not a bad trade-off as long as I have my alcohol to get through that part. After the usually, not bad sex, I’m moving forward, feeling comfort within my reach again. Intimacy is an interesting thing.
But, at the moment, I’m sitting in this ginger’s bedroom, and I notice he has about 24 watches. Who needs more than 2 watches at most? I am suddenly filled with the rage of his accusations. Not only did he accuse me of stalling when I couldn’t physically urinate, but he was now potentially blaming a Relapse on me. And he’s rude. His behavior drives me insane with fury. If there is one thing I never do it’s blame someone else for my drinking. It’s a disease. Yes. But I also decide when I yield to the disease. And here he is, implying I am a trigger.
Is he, though?
He just said he had been triggered, he never said it was because of me.
But I blame myself unilaterally.
Why, though?
Maybe he was on the verge of Relapse before I even arrived.
I have no idea how long he has been in Recovery.
I have no idea.
No idea.
JustCallMeTaco 