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And the Award for Best Actress in a Sober Role Goes to . . .
November 22, 2003, 12:16 a.m. A dinner party. I stayed glued to the couch, with my sister and my cousin’s girlfriend. We had an okay time – watched Degrassi Junior High (old school Degrassi, none of this “new generation” shit) and the AFI Awards. Everyone was drinking. Red and white wine. I hate it, I really do. My mother wasn’t, thank god, but my dad was – god he was gross. My cousin and his girlfriend want to get me drunk, because I haven’t been. I can’t do it. I was over at their house last night, for dinner, and they bought me some Vodka Mudslides. Man they were good – so sweet and delicious. So bloody dangerous. I wanted to drink it like I would a normal drink, finishing it in about 15 or 20 minutes. I had to rein myself in. I don’t want to get drunk. I’m scared. I don’t want to lose control. I don’t want to slur my words, and say stupid things, and have people look at me the way I look at drunk people. I want to remember what I did the night before. I don’t want to do something stupid, something I’d never do sober. Because I’ve admitted I’m scared, you’ll all tell me that I should do it, to get over that fear. That makes me feel backed into a corner and even more scared. Defensive. I’m scared of pain too, but I’m not about to start cutting myself to get over that fear, am I? I just don’t see the point. When you drink, when you get drunk, you’re changing your personality. You’re not the same person, even if it’s only a little change, it’s not you. I don’t know you anymore. I don’t want to change myself, not like that. I want to get over my fears and insecurities, but I’d rather do it under my own power, I want it to be something I can feel proud of, rather than regret. They’re all supposed to be coming round to our house tomorrow, for a lamb roast. Ugh. I can’t barricade myself in my room because it’s a fucking mess, and I have to work tomorrow, so I can’t clean it up. Save me. No . . . I’ve got to save myself.
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