Glaced

I hope Denisse doesn't read this. I have no intention of causing distress. I still need to write as if nobody is reading. This is my last haven.

Yesterday Denisse and I went out for drinks. It'd been ages. We have so many fond memories of meeting for happy hour, getting really happy, bonding over a drink, or two, or four if we're out dancing at clubs. What good times we've had! They feel brief now in hindsight. But I wouldn't trade them for anything.

We went to this hip and happening strip that we'd been to many times. I used to be able to pretend that I belonged. For some time, it felt like that we did, be it a chilly Saturday night or a warm Sunday afternoon. I'd be so charged, I could skip.

We weren't as carefree on this day. But I did enjoy being outside and the people-watching. We'd joked over lunch, "Who cares about food? The ultimate goal is the drinking." Denisse had laughed. And she'd lamented that, if drinks were two hours away, it was too long.

At last, after strolling past many stores whose goods we couldn't afford, we settled at a cool, open-air bar. We selected our cocktails. They were artisanal and delicious. Our bartenders were friendly and cute. I savored each mouthful, careful not to oversip. I looked around at this beautiful place and stared out at the glaring sun. I was happy.

Denisse wasn't talking. Our "usual" was that we'd open up after a few sips and bitch about whatever had been bugging us, or be sharing silly anecdotes. We'd get giddy. We'd giggle.

But Denisse stayed quiet. I wasn't sure: did the alcohol bring her down? Or was I just now noticing -

Well, I did get giddy. After telling Denisse that my parents had been up to something, hiding the true reason they hadn't been around for our weekly Skype calls, I noticed our reflections on the chrome surface of a beer tap right in front of us. Full funhouse effect. I took a photo and laughed. I promised I'd post it later.

"You're easy," said Denisse, referring to the effect of one single drink on me. I confessed that when I am out drinking, it doesn't take much. The last time I met up with Jean Henri, I had only two glasses of wine over the course of over two hours. I was so high, I had to be mindful taking a short trip to the restroom so as not to stumble. It was embarrassing. Also exhilarating.

My theory is that our mindset BEFORE the intake matters. (Not an original insight, I realize.) If you're already in a good mood, having a few sips can elevate that mood exponentially. If you're drinking to drown your sorrows, and I speak from experience, of course, ain't no magic potion gonna lift your spirit. Primo champagne is not gonna make you happy if you're not already happy.

Which reminds me of the sad fact that so many of us with an addiction circle back in search of that high. No substance can get you back there. Nothing beats sweet memories. Nothing will compare.

And so it hit me: Denisse wasn't happy.

I've known this for quite some time. She is not UNhappy. But she is definitely not happy by definition. Even though this pseudo-epiphany caused no consternation, it saddened me.

I told her that her drink was weak compared to mine (we'd tasted each others').

Comes to memory one of the nights early in my friendship with the now deceased Sherry (so many nights were a blur). I forget the context, but I said something to the effect of "You have to surrender and become susceptible to your poison", which made Sherry laugh her hearty laugh. It was a great memory, making my friend laugh.

Years ago, when I experienced heartbreak like I'd never experienced heartbreak before, I couldn't believe the pain. How EVERY second would hurt. There was no relief. I wanted to curl up in fetal position and rock myself to oblivion. I came across one of those quotes that seemed such pearls of wisdom. Little did I know that some time later they would be a dime a dozen on Pinterest and the like.

The quote was:
Everything is going to be okay in the end.
If it is not okay, it is not the end.

I was blown away. It offered solace, a respite from the unrelenting pain I was acutely feeling.

Now I chew on it. "The end". That's death, isn't it? So are we saying, in essence, we're all looking forward to "the end"? The end of our daily struggle, the end of not knowing what fucks you next, the end of suffering? The end of our last breath.

Buddha offers a path to end suffering while one is on this earth. But that's too much work. What works for me is knowing "This, too, shall pass." And when it all passes, it's the end of the road. We'll get there, all in good time.

I care for Denisse like a sister. It is unsettling, the knowledge of her unhappiness. But we are all unhappy one way or another (except those enlightened creatures amongst us). RJ is unhappy, I'm unhappy. I know my love can't fix unhappy. And I'm okay with that. But I am also happy, in my own way. You can be both. It's not contradictory. Human beings are complicated.

I just hope that Denisse, in her unhappiness, lives with happiness as well. Our time on earth is a constant battle. But what is the alternative? The end.