Genetically, I�m predisposed to become an alcoholic. My grandfather on my dad�s side, his father, and so on, were alcoholics. My dad wasn�t, oddly enough. Though he did get drunk and piss in a corner one day. My brother also said he found beer in his closet one time, but who knows. Regardless, I�m at high risk.

I started drinking at the tender age of thirteen. Technically I was twelve, but I was only three weeks away from my birthday. I mixed about a shot�s worth of all the alcohol I could find in the house into a glass and drank it down. Then I did that again. Possibly again, but I�m not sure. I remember scouring the phonebook for the number of a friend who lived down the street from me, calling her, telling her I was bisexual, and disclosing certain personal details. That�s really when my beautiful drinking problem started. For my entire eighth grade year, I was plastered as often as I could be. As soon as my parents went to bed, I started hitting the bottle. I would sometimes pour some in to a separate container for the next day. One day, I took a bottle of Pepsi, drank half of it, refilled it to the top with vodka, and took it to school during our all-important K.A.T.S. testing. I still don�t know if I got anything right that day. Regardless, I was stumbling around the halls, the classroom, and the gym falling all over myself and everyone else. Probably a bad thing, but whatever.

So, end of eighth grade year rolled around and summer arrived. I spent most of the time drinking at my friend Michael�s house. Don�t really remember too much about that, either. But my glory days of intoxication came to a screeching halt one day when I went just a tad bit too far. My brother was visiting for the summer because he was living with our father at the time and when we would live with him, we ritualistically stayed with our mom for the summer. So, bored out of our minds, I suggested to Dustin that we start drinking. Being the silly na�ve little boy he was, he was happy to oblige. I think. A couple of glasses of wine later, I�m laughing at him crawling around on the floor complaining about not being able to feel his legs. Mom came home from work and we were trying to hide our drunkenness by staying in the living room watching TV. As usual, she began to complain about the house being a wreck, and I just fucking snapped. I did a lot of stupid stuff that I am in no way proud of and really wish I hadn�t done. Long story short, I get kicked out and have to move in with dad. My drinking stopped, but I picked up smoking cigarettes which, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. Once again, something I wish I hadn�t done.

A year and a half later, I move back in with mom under the condition that I no longer drink alcohol. Two weeks later, I go to a party and get completely shitfaced just like I told my mom, my girlfriend at the time, and my best friend I wouldn�t do. My girlfriend left me shortly afterwards, and my friend lost all respect for me. Even more so after I supposedly vomited on his pants.

The following summer, I meet an interesting crowd. Not by any means a decent or good crowd. I started partying and drinking more often, and once again, everything comes to a head. After a four day long Fourth of July party, mom�s house was left practically in shambles. It still has battle scars from the shit that happened there. My supposed friends had also rifled through my step-dad�s military equipment and completely trashed the attic. They also stole my little sister�s cough medicine, my mom�s anti-anxiety meds, an $1800 anniversary ring, and a snub-nosed revolver. Two months later, I get thrown out of the house. Ever since then, my relationship with my mom just hasn�t been the same. Every time I�d come back out of desperation I would end up getting thrown out on my ass just a short time later. I was thrown out four times before I turned eighteen, and one last time for good. I haven�t lived with mom since then.

That�s not to say alcohol hasn�t brought me good things, though. But the bad far outweighs the good. And it wasn�t until last night that I realized just exactly how bad it was getting when I was more than willing to get drunk while at work at a store at which I�d never worked before. I guess my point is that alcohol is really the main reason � aside from my own idiocy � that I�m in the situation I am today. I mean, I know it could be so much worse and I�m lucky as shit that it�s not, but that doesn�t make it okay or even any better. I�m all for partying and getting lit and having a good time, but I think it can still fuck up your life irrevocably.