I won't drink to that.

I'm not fun to be around.

I'm nice. I'm smart. I can be witty, odd, different, creative, confusing. I can be interesting.
But I'm not fun. Why? Because, unlike 99% of adult Australians, I'm not a drinker.
This means, essentially, that I have a social disability. It's difficult to engage me in conversation. So difficult that some don't even try. I'm just not equipped with the tools I need to cope in a social environment. I lack some vital part of the human psyche, that part of us all that recognises the glorious gift that is alcohol.

I know what it's like to be different. I was a smart girl in a state school. An atheist while all around me were being dragged to church. But this is different. I'm in uni now, and I know at least a few people there who are using their brains. My peers have finally made their own choices about faith. But I cannot foresee a time when people begin to agree with me about this.

I fail to see why drinking alcohol is so compulsory for everyone in this country over the age of fifteen. People don't seem to realise that it makes them ugly, stupid and boring.
I hear some people - designated drivers, for the most part - saying they don't mind being the only sober at the table. "It's funny," they say. Watching drunk people is funny. I beg to differ. The unwelcome physical contact? Not cool. The unselfconscious spray of saliva during speech? Not cool. The clever sexual jokes and pranks? Not hilarious. Not. I can't stand hanging around most drunk people. I prefer to stay home. I prefer to watch TV. I prefer juice.

Someone's (haha, everyone's) probably thinking right about now, "Well, that's your choice, Miriam. This is ours. When are you ever going to stop judging people? We're only having fun."
However, this becomes difficult after I have been judged myself so many times. When someone finds out that I don't drink, nine times out of ten they will respond thusly: "You just haven't found the right drink yet!" They'll follow this up by asking about what I've drunk before and constructing a list of all the drinks I must try instead.
"This one doesn't burn at all."
"No aftertaste. None."
"Guaranteed no hangover."
"Guaranteed hangover."
"You like chocolate milk, don't you?"
"Like fucking ambrosia from Mount fucking Olympus."
"Here, I'll shout you this round."
"What do you mean, you can't shoot?"

It's funny that I've had more bad reactions for being a teetotaller than from being a lesbian. Sobriety is less acceptable than almost any other differentness. That's because alcohol is part of being a human. It's a social adhesive, helping you all to stick together. I'm unstuck. It's a rite of passage for teenagers; a ritual for adults. For me, the passage didn't take. It's an escape, a memory cleanser, an excuse for the terrible things you don't have the guts to do. I'm still too afraid. You drink to those you love, in glory and in death. I won't accept this ritual. You drink together and alone. You drink to enjoy yourself. I don't want to turn myself into somebody else. I don't want to believe that this is the only way to feel joy. You drink to pickle your pain. Alcohol is the most powerful drug, the most alluring symbol, the most exquisite human creation ever to grace this planet of men. Alcohol is the drink of celebration and despair.

And without it


you



can't



cope.