Doesn't matter what it is, anything that we turn to that helps us find balance in ourselves is our tool.
Meditation.
Drugs.
Alcohol.
Coffee.
Sugar.
Food.
Photography.
Art.
Singing.
Music.
Music.
I drink coffee, black, like it's air. I jokingly say that I'm 80% coffee, at least. I don't eat much, but when I do it's protein bars, oranges, maybe a banana, or liquid vitamins. Doesn't sound healthy, maybe, but with my weird body, it works.
So there's that.
And I love to be out in the mountains, or on the beach. Every chance I get. The air, the scent. Sometimes I crave it so badly that I have to go, somewhere, anywhere. To the marina, sit on the dock, or the woods nearby and tramp around, pretending that I'm up in the hills. I can fake myself out pretty easily, as long as it's myself doing to faking.
But my real coping thing? My drug, even?
Music.
And when I really need to lose myself from a problem, dancing.
Club dancing, rave dancing. Bass beating my heart into shape, taking my breath and making it it's own, pushing down into me through the walls of worry and confusion...i hear it, begin to feel pulse of it, open myself to it, swirling through my body, owning every part that lives, pulling it out and into the light, touching all that is around and entering in again.
I lose myself in it, allow myself to be taken in, out, through.
When emotions are just too large to handle well, when I can't surround them, see them...I dance.
In a club, it's like home. I let go, I don't care who's watching, who isn't. It isn't a show. I hate to go to bars or spaces where nobody dances or where they just sit and watch. Whatever. I do know how to dance politely, I do it all the time, the "Welcome to the HS dance, where everyone is there to be somebody that they're not" junk. But that, to me, isn't dancing.
The only people who see this dancing are either complete strangers or someone who is all the way in...and the time and space have happened.
I've never needed a drug to make it happen. I see these kids all the time, and not just the kids, strung out so far, falling on me, needing hauled off the dance floor, calling security into the bathrooms every damn time, checking on them in the alley. I don't get it. They aren't having fun, they aren't getting closer to a solution...but maybe that comes with age. God knows I've got that. But whatever. No x for me, no blow, no hash, no smack, no caps, all other names ad naseum...sometimes when I'm asking the kids what their friend did, they come up with one I haven't heard, then it's "cut the shit, what'd they do". No, A drink. One. And I'm good.
Tonight, it's our last club crawl of the year, my closest friend and I. It's been a hell of a year for us both, funny to look back and realize that I took her to her first rave almost this time last year. Wow.
And we both need it. We go together, we're a team, watching out for each other, claiming each other as our bitches to push people off, taking turns blinding ourselves to what and who is around us.
Eat.
Sleep.
Rave.
Repeat.
I do understand why.
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