Am I Okay?
Experimenting with alcohol at the age of 15 was not really a cry for help; it was an attempt to figure out who I was without my parents’ influence. My school years were filled with poor attempts to be myself. I was always torn – and still am, sometimes – between who I thought I was, and who I thought I was supposed to be.
It’s impossible to explain to a teenager that it takes time to learn who we are – that “finding oneself” takes years, if not decades. It makes no sense, really, because we are all born knowing exactly who we are. Somehow, though, our concepts of who we are change over time; they are muddled by the input of others. And then we can spend the rest of our lives trying to sort out what muddling was productive and helpful, and what was not.
For me, my biggest question has always been: Am I okay?
I am pretty sure, deep down, that I am okay. I am not seeking reassurance. I am a decent human being.
But usually I am driven by a little internal dialogue that suggests, without fail, that what I do and say – always, even right now, as I write this blog post – is not okay. So trying to find out who I am, and then reassuring myself that I am okay, has been a lifelong journey.
When I was 15 … 18 … 23 … I truly, beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt believed that alcohol was going to help me get past all that. With the help of alcohol, I thought I could find myself faster. I could learn to reassure myself that I was okay before I went off the deep end.
Instead, I delayed every single chance I had for emotional growth. While my peers grew up, I stayed … young and stupid. Every drink I took kept me from facing my fears. Every drug I took kept me from dealing with my angst. Every single time I used something outside of myself to help me feel better, I ended up feeling worse.
This didn’t teach me a single thing; I spent year after year after year trying things outside of me to make me feel better. I expected people, relationships, cigarettes, drugs, alcohol – even chocolate – to fix me. I expected relocations, vacations, staycations and incantations to fix me.
They didn’t, and they don’t.
But so far, in all of these years, I have found exactly one thing – one – that actually makes me feel better.
I am hesitant to talk about it because, sadly, it’s gotten a bad rap over the years. It’s no longer okay to just say it. But if anyone ever reads this particular blog post and all they read is that nothing works… Well, that just wouldn’t be helpful. So I am going to admit the one thing that actually helps.
It’s prayer.
Wait, wait! Don’t stop reading! I am not a religious zealot. In fact, my understanding of God has nothing to do with religion. But when there is not one single thing in the world going right, I pray. When I am worried, I pray. When I am confused, I pray.
I basically just chat with God, because it helps to just chat. I don’t think what I believe about God even matters.
But prayer works. I mean, it works every single time. Suddenly, I will get the answer I am seeking. I will understand a little better. I will feel a little better.
And when things are really good? Well, I pray then, too. Because “thank you” is a really good prayer.