January 5th 2022
I went to my first-ever New Year’s Eve party this year. Craig invited me to a party one of his co-workers was throwing. It sounded like fun: drinking, games, movies—nothing too heavy. I didn’t realize that by drinking, he had meant becoming a raging alcoholic.
His friends were nice enough; they included me in the games and made some effort to talk to me. Craig was drastically different around them than I’ve ever seen him. He was pleasant in a way that didn’t sit right with me. He smiled, he said nice things, he laughed, but none of it met his eyes.
No one else seemed to notice that something seemed off.
Maybe I really was the issue. He always said I was the reason he was always stressed out.
I brought too much drama into his life. Seeing him around his friends, how happy he seemed, maybe he had a point.
His disposition just seemed counterfeit to me.
I really needed to figure out if there was something wrong with me.
Now I was trying to make him out to be a monster when he was having a good time.
He drank to the point I needed to drive him home, smiling the entire walk down the driveway to my car, turning to wave bye at his friends periodically.
Once we got in the car, I asked him if he was going to be okay going into work the next day with how much alcohol he had consumed.
He blamed me. Having to stress out about my anxiety had pushed him into drinking excessively, and he told me that if he had to call into work, I would be responsible for helping to cover his bills since it was my fault.