I had my first drink last night. It was a shot of Tequila that smelled like Clorox and gave me the sensation of warm ants crawling down my insides until they all rested in my stomach to get cozy. I took my shot while the song “My Shot” from Hamilton played in the background. My first drink of alcohol was at the same time the characters take their first shot in the show. It made me happy. That was all I had last night though.
The medicine I take for my mental health disorders has a chance of killing me if I drink anything immoderate. My family has a long history of alcoholics, borderline abusive alcoholics, untreated alcoholism, abusive alcoholics, and several family members who have drank themselves to death. I have been around enablers all my life, but I remained resolute to have my first drink of alcohol under my total control and conditions. I made sure to have a full stomach and drink plenty of water. I was teased for being overly cautious, but I had no earthly idea what it would do to me.
It made me giggly. Fun giggly. I loved it.
The bottle of tequila, which is in the shape of a man’s head morphing into a jaguar’s head, now sits on my desk at home. I have no shot glasses and will not drink straight from the bottle, so it may be a hot minute before I take another drink of it.
My hesitance to drink has been received with extreme derision and mocking by many people. They thought I was being snobbish and holding it above them. I never did though, they were just fucking idiots.
This post is dedicated to the select few that believed in me and understood why I took my time. Without you, I may have never had that first shot.