Have you ever had a moment where you look at yourself and think, Why the actual fuck am I like this? Because, buddy, let me tell you I have that moment every single goddamn time I step into a social setting and feel like I need a cheat code to function.

It’s not that I love alcohol. It’s not that I’m some reckless, liver-abusing degenerate who can’t go five seconds without a drink in my hand. No. It’s worse. I’m addicted to extrovertism, and yeah, I don’t give a single shit if that’s a real word or not, because it should be.

You remember that movie Limitless? Where the guy pops a pill, and suddenly his brain is firing at an IQ of 400, he’s charming, successful, smooth as hell, practically untouchable? That’s me. Except my pill is just one beer, not a six-pack, not shots, not blackout-level stupidity, just one. And that one beer? It obliterates my social anxiety faster than a toddler wiping their greasy hands on a clean window.

It’s not even about getting drunk. I don’t get drunk. I don’t even feel tipsy. That beer barely nudges my BAC; it’s legally insignificant. But what does it do to my brain chemistry? Oh, it fucking revolutionizes it. It doesn’t lower my walls; it takes a goddamn wrecking ball to them. Suddenly, I am free. I can talk. I can be. I can navigate a conversation without mentally prepping every response like some awkward-ass NPC. I can walk up to people without feeling like I’m trespassing in some invisible, socially-guarded territory.

And when I say the difference is night and day, I mean we’re talking complete Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fucking Hyde transformation, except the monster isn’t the villain here. The monster is me, without the beer, the stiff, overthinking, hyper-self-aware introvert who mentally rehearses ordering a coffee three times before stepping up to the counter. The “normal” version of me is the absolute nightmare.

And you know what pisses me off the most? That extroverts exist like this. No cheats. No potions. No magical elixirs. Just… walking around, talking, enjoying themselves, being part of the world like it’s the easiest thing in the universe. If reincarnation is a thing, I’d better come back as one of them, because this introvert shit? It’s a scam. A fucking scam.

And yeah, sure, I could practice social skills sober. I do, actually. But it never feels the same. Without that one drink, every interaction is a fucking strategy session. How am I sitting? What do I do with my hands? What’s my face doing? Am I talking too much? Too little? Am I interesting enough? Did I accidentally insult them? Do they actually want to talk to me, or are they just being polite? Should I leave? Am I making this weird? I feel weird. Fuck, I am weird. Abort mission.

But with the drink? Boom. None of that shit matters. I’m present. I exist without a twenty-layered filter of overanalyzing bullshit.

And that’s the mindfuck, isn’t it? I hate that alcohol is the only thing that makes me feel this way. I hate that I need it to unlock the best version of me. But I also love what it does for me. I love that, for a few short hours, I can just… be.

So my question is, why the fuck am I like this? Why does my brain need a goddamn substance to do what extroverts do naturally? And if I can’t change it, can I at least get a goddamn refund on this personality trait?

Because this? This is bullshit.