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  • Someone once said, “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” It seems I’ve done quite a bit worth writing. With that said, I can’t believe it’s been 8 weeks since my DUI. After it all sunk in, I began to equate my life to that of an emotional train wreck. Now that time has set in, the cleanup is all but finished up. It’s humorous when I think back and realize how many times I believed I was invincible. Pride obviously comes before a fall. I’ve always been one to make things more dramatic than they should be, it’s as though I go to the basement of my past and pull my files, grab a big meaty handful labeled “Eff ups” and beat myself down with it. For most people, it’s just another page in their story. As for me it’s an entire chapter, maybe even a first part of a beautiful trilogy (with a happy ending of course). Unfortunately I don’t drink for enjoyment, it’s “get blacked out drunk!” or nothing for this menace to society. With that mentality, I feel doomed to repeat history as if my entire life is deja-vu, only with different friends, different places, and the same liquor. I’ve been the closest friend to so many people only to screw things up on one night in a drunken stupor. At times like this I become a recluse and seclude myself from those closest to me. I’m not quite sure why I find comfort in solitude, I mean, I desire to love and be loved. Have the number of times I’ve been burnt numbed me of all my senses? I hear that anarchy follows apathy. I wonder what I’ll rebel against next. I know most of my problems derive from the use of alcohol; at least I like to blame my actions on it. It’s like a blindfold for me, I’m not able to see what’s going on, or even see how I’m acting, and as everything seems to be going fine, the blindfold is ripped from my face revealing the destruction I’ve caused. Exposing the hole I’m in, showing the shovel’s been in my hand the entire time. But really, I feel I can justify beating myself up all I want, because on the night of my DUI, I drove a good forty minutes through downtown Canton, most likely past the police station, and all the way to Akron where I must’ve been tired of driving because when I awoke back to reality, I was standing up outside my car on the side of the road with my shirt halfway on and handcuffs around my wrists. I was lucky I didn’t kill anyone. The two arresting officers were women and they were telling me in the police car that when they were able to wake me, they had me get out of the car and were searching me for any paraphernalia, I began to take my clothes off, apparently giving them permission to perform a strip search… they began to laugh when they told me this and so I joined in, apologizing for being inappropriate between laughing. They began to ask me routine questions, and then they asked me about my home life. I felt comfort in talking to them as I would my mom, and then it hit me. When I tell my parents about this it’ll break my mother’s heart. I started to think out scenarios in my mind of what their reaction would be, even of how I’d tell them in the first place. I knew my parents raised me to make better decisions than the one I made that night. But I can’t go back in time and I certainly can’t lie to them about this. So I’ll take it as it comes… to which I’ll end up writing about.

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