How do you talk to an angel…of doom?

This is the worst song ever manufactured for a fake band to sing for a spin off of Melrose Place. And one of the myriad of moments where I knew I was in the wrong crowd was when I had to work out to this song at cheer camp and the instructor said it was great and everyone agreed. My black soul felt so alone in that moment.

So, they tell you never to meet your heroes. Why? Because they’ll always disappoint. But sometimes you have to learn that lesson for yourself.

I met her. She has a song I liked when I was a kid. I met her through a strange connection, but suffice it to say he was awful and I thought the fact that she knew he was awful was a sign that she wasn’t.

But she was.

I’ve dealt with my fair share of mean drunks. They flip a switch at some point and you see any humanity drain from their faces and all that’s left is vitriol and a need to take the world down with them.

It doesn’t happen often, but when I witness it, two things happen. First, I check in to see if I’m scared. I couldn’t do that as a kid, but now it’s easy enough. And second, I ask myself how much I am going to allow before I leave.

That moment happened at Do or Dive last night. She (we don’t need names) was trying to get me to match her in rounds of drinks. It’s what alcoholics do. They force people to keep up so they don’t have to feel out of place drunk. And in the blink of an eye, she went from fun to boorish. And then to scary dangerous.

Maybe you know because you know mean drunks. There’s this sweet spot where they let go of their crippling anxiety and are fun. And it’s like the clouds parting and light is shining through finally. But it doesn’t last. It’s the eye of the storm and the second half of that bitch is coming through in a hurry with a fury.

All that self-destructive energy is just lurking there, waiting to come out and play…and attack anyone else in the room.

Little things get said at first. And then it’s just a litany of why you are the asshole, not them.

When my mom did this, I had to take it because those trauma bonds were so deep. But with this woman? I didn’t have to care about any of it. I could leave her on the floor of her Bed-Stuy apartment along with whatever shreds of dignity she might might have once worn.

With most people, I can deal with them as they are. But mean drunks I’ll deal with once. Others will say that it’s the alcohol talking and they’re really the fun person. Give them a chance!

It’s not the alcohol. The alcohol just unleashes the demons that are always lurking, taking notes, judging, resenting and biding their time until the booze dissolves whatever affect they wear to make people think they’re not awful.

The sad part is that these people are really truly miserable and trapped with themselves all the time. It gets to the point where they confuse the dark thoughts for a personality. They wear their trauma like Boy Scout badges. They think it’s what makes them interesting. And they revel in their hatred for the rest of the world.

It’s no wonder that they’re a string of loners. They think that the club they’re in is just more proof of how real they are and how bullshit everyone else is.

So many lies. They swallow them down like a daily vitamin. And when they’re together in a room, and there is alcohol? It’s like nuclear fusion and their shittiness magnifies until it consumes everything.

I’m not reveling in knowing she’s this person. I’m not trying to justify how I’m not all those terrible things she accused me of being. What I’m saying is that life experience has taught me that I can leave these situations and these people in the past. I don’t have to fix them or tolerate them. At the first sign of damage, I can leave forever because it’s just Groundhog Day for these poor unfortunate souls.

If I got away from my mother, I can easily walk away from these angels of doom.

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