The misfortune of inheritance

This evening, after coming home from a rough day of work, I headed straight for the chocolate liqueur. It was completely premeditated, I'd been thinking about it for hours before I busted out the bottle.

Yes, I drank. Despite being on Prozac, and knowing that the alcohol would mess with my emotions for the next few days, I downed it. My roommate, on hearing me get out the ice, warned me not to drink, that I would regret it in the morning. She's right. But I did it anyway.

Growing up, I never thought I'd get mixed up with alcohol. I hated what it did to my aunts and uncles, how changed they became after a few drinks. The thing is, these things run in families. So, the habits of these aunts and uncles became my habits. My grandmother's method of self-medicating her depression has become my method when the Prozac just doesn't stretch far enough to cover the day's stress and hard emotion.

At some point, I hope to be beyond the alcohol and the Prozac. I hope to find a place in which I am at peace, with enough hope and faith and resilience to keep going under my own strength. Unfortunately, today is not the day. So, to forget the alienation, the anger, the uncertainty, and the carpal tunnel, I drink.

There are some things I'm grateful for having inherited. This is not one of them.