I don’t drink. It’s one of those parental standards I grew up with and never really questioned. It’s not that I’ve never had anything alcoholic, but I don’t go find it. As I’m realizing that a lot of people I know are drinkers, I’m thinking maybe I should start specifically not drinking. A couple things have come back up recently that I quit in the last few years, and I realized that my personality is really prone to addiction. I’ve been hanging out with college students all summer, and now I’m having withdrawal because I’m not seeing them on a regular basis.
I don’t miss the things I gave up. Not until I start talking about them. I didn’t enjoy them or even really like them even at the time. But they were habits. And I’m such a routine-oriented person that I’m terrible about breaking habits.
If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you probably know about the boy I call Alex. Alex was a friendship I had to give up. He wasn’t my boyfriend. We weren’t even that close. But I was addicted to the relationship, the way I felt around him. Giving up the idea of Alex was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
But I still miss him sometimes. I miss laughing over certain TV shows or learning how to make certain dishes together. I miss hearing his voice. I miss the brutal honesty.
I don’t regret giving up the things I’ve given up so far in my life. But sometimes I still miss them. And that worries me.