My Mental Metamorphosis: A New Year

Metamorphosis is defined as "the process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form in two or more distinct stages," according to Webster's dictionary. For anyone who needs to hear this, please, relax.

Religion has been fairly absent, and an idea of any sense of spirituality I have consistently rubbed off as bullshit. You are not some aura of positive energy, defined by the time of the year you were born, with sole purpose of eliminating "bad vibes." Give me a break. No god, no higher power wrote you a destiny before you were born, you are your own author, and for the past 6 months, my chapter that was written concludes with a new sense of realism.

Alcohol, really, is an unbelievable evil. I've spent year by year living bar to bar. Binging on the weekends, just to struggle to through the week, earn a paycheck, and do it again. No one with a problem admits that they walk with a problem, but a second D.U.I makes it very, very difficult to argue that hadn't a problem. Resentment, consistently despising the world, yes I had a problem. If there were a god I always said I'd slap him in the face. If humanity continued its selfish, stupid ways, I'd dream of famine. Yes I had a problem. I would walk into my first week off court mandated Alcholics Anonymous convinced it was a cult trying to brainwash me in believing I'm sick. Convince me I needed a god. Convince me I forever needed to be isolated. And I did. I isolated myself fluently and perfectly for months. I've grown hateful and harbored resentment, flirting with the idea of suicide, going as far as writing timid letters over the conclusion of my life while simultaneously salivating over the idea of a night out full of intoxication. Fuck yes I had a problem.

A.A taught me a few things: 1. That I am actually, and admittedly so, sick. To myprevious relationships, friends, and my own mother telling me that I have a problem, I am now listening. 2. That god is a subjective entity. I have insurmountable amounts of hatred for organized religion, but have no learned to abandon hatred for myself, the author of my story. And 3. That yes isolation is is needed, but not absolute loneliness. I confided in my family. The floors of my apartment would seldom see me, because my feet were tempted to travel to a bar. Rather I'd send them home, to my family, just so that I may not be tempted. A.A, whether what you see on television or in the movies you think is bullshit, I assure you, I am fucking alive.

6 months of vengeful hate.
6 months of exhaustion.
6 months of pure, unadulterated resentment.
6 months of learning to find myself, be myself, and love myself again.

I've found my voice, but I write because as NYE approaches, and the roof of my mouth moisten and the social activity of my right-brain dances, I will not fail. New Years Eve is not my party anymore.