Sober.

I turned 21 in June, the perfect excuse to just let go and have fun. But having too much fun was never the plan. Not my plan. I feel like I’m following someone else’s plan. A plan of destruction.

Self-destruction. Oh, the irony.

I’m sure it started as just a social thing, then I became aware of my courage after a couple shots. I’m not myself when I drink, which is the point. I started seeing someone else in the mirror. Someone more happy than I’VE ever been. I started falling for the man in the mirror. I wanted him more than me.

But then people’s approval became an excuse. People’s invites were a death sentence, and I gladly accepted to be able to see him.

Many of my friends aren’t 21, their eager minds forming a liquor store grocery list. Worse than that, I’d always pick something up for myself. I wouldn’t just stock up, I’d overstock like the apocalypse was on my front porch. “This might be the last time.”

A voices whispers to me. I’m mad at the voice, but find myself saying thank you.

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