I moved to Berkeley from Oakland because my quack-ass therapist told me that it might be good for me to be physically removed from all those things that encourage my bad behavior: the downtown Oakland bar scene, my ex boyfriends, the house where so much crazy shit went down. I took her advice because I wanted to believe that on some level the reason why my life was in a stasis of spiraling out of control was because of all these external factors. I had this fantasy that me, removed from the outside triggers of drinking and drugging and fucking would be a new me. A renewed me. A fresh me without the hang ups and the problems and the bad reputation. I thought that me that I was had been caused by my environment, external stimuli, and that I could remove those things to create an environment in which a better me would blossom.
I was wrong. For the past few months I’ve just kinda been stewing here in Berkeley, and I’ll admit that while I do have a few healthier habits, I am the same person I have always been, just in a better zip code. I had deluded myself by telling myself that I was a victim of circumstance – that I happened to live in a bad neighborhood and have shitty boyfriends and that I was surrounded by crazy people because it was just the luck of the draw. However, now that I’m in a supposedly better environment, well – I mean, I tell myself that maybe I attract this kind of shit because that’s all I really know, that I’ve been in it so long that I don’t know how to get out of it or how to have friends and lovers that are “normal.” But that’s the thing – anytime I hang out with those so called “normal people” I am bored to fucking death. (Also: I really love my friends, even though they’re all crazy.) I don’t think I could change if I wanted to, because I’ve been trying to change, and I’m just bored. Bored, bored, bored. In fact, as time goes on, I realize that a lot of my friends relinquish their crazy lives and retreat into a life of supposed normalcy, and then I hang out with them less! How wild is that.
So. I have to admit to myself: this is who I am. It’s not that I’m disappointed, it’s more that I thought that I could achieve normalcy if I laid out a ten step program. I’m a goal oriented person, and normalcy seemed like something that I might really want to experience. However, the closer I get to it, the more I find myself letting my impulse control go unchecked. I just like being a scum bag. It suits me.
Sure, I know, everyone who supposedly loves and supports me wants to see me be my best me. They want me to be smart and pretty and funny and successful, and I want those things, too. They don’t want me to be wild, feral, unfettered, drunk, sloppy and trashy. But turns out it’s a package deal, guys. No matter where I go, there will always be mischief.
This is good to know. The journey of self knowledge is fucking long, but at least it’s not boring! I’m always going to be a self indulgent asshole, no matter where I go, and that’s fine. I’ll also always be a lot of other things that for reasons of false self flattery I don’t want to list here. But let’s just say: the devil is inside me, and I really can’t blame anybody else for putting him there. I was born like this, and I’ll die this way, too.