I don’t know why I insist on eating Mexican food. Either I forget what it does to my insides, or I refuse to listen to my body’s wisdom. The margarita didn’t sit well with me either! Though it was natural. It had real grapefruit pulp in it. Ah well.
So, instead of snorkeling, or lying on the beach in my appropriately modest one-piece, I’m in my hotel room. I’m feeling groggy, and keep running to the bathroom. My intestines are complaining. Loudly and repeatedly.
I normally don’t drink at all. Every once in a while, when I’m surrounded by people who are loud, happy, and inebriated, I decide to have a drink. I don’t like the taste of alcohol. My body does not like alcohol. I don’t have fun when I drink it. If anything, I get even more fatalistic than usual when I drink, and I forget about all of the goodness in my life.
It’s strange to me that we live in a culture that sees alcohol consumption as the norm. It is rare that drinkers think of their bourbon as a drug. Plenty of individuals who drink regularly, are incensed by ‘drug’ use. As they see it, Pot, LSD, Mushrooms, etc., are evil. It’s funny how drug use is monitored by the government, and it’s frightening how much power the lobbyists have.
I personally have not been very interested in getting high, or having the perfect trip. I’m on prescription antidepressants, and anti-anxiety medications, and that is good enough for me. I have flirted with the idea of trying mushrooms. On rare occasions I’ve smoked pot. The last time was about one year ago. I was in bed with my boyfriend, and we ate pot brownies. Boy, did I lose it. I was convinced that I was dying. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to dial 911, but my boyfriend convinced me to hold off, and let the disturbing sensations pass. Not fun at all.
I also like being in control. It’s an illusory feeling, but I like it anyway. I am not easy-going or laid back. I’ve always wished that I was, but no, I inherited a hyper-sensitive disposition, where I am easily set off in various directions emotionally. It sucks. I try to emulate my more relaxed peers, and fail miserably. I meditate, I go on walks, I do art, I write. None of these endeavors have served to change my personality.
I guess that I’m stuck with myself, for good or ill. It’s like when a couple gets married. For better or for worse. Our culture often doesn’t get into the concept of having an enlightened relationship with oneself. The focus tends to be on how we relate to others.
When it comes down to it, it seems like how we deal with our own selves is paramount. I’ve found that the closer I get to accepting myself, including my weaknesses and not so nice pieces of my personality, the easier it is for me to like the people around me. We are all wacky, complicated creatures. It’s frustrating at times, but it’s the truth. The sooner we come to that conclusion, and embrace it, the better off we’ll be.
I wish I could lighten up, and be chill, as some individuals are. Many of them do smoke pot constantly, or engage in other illicit behaviors. That is beside the point. I wish, I wish, I wish. But I am, I am, I am. Whether I like it or not, I’m married to myself, till death parts me from my personality.