An age of pain

Ow. . . I thinking I'm getting to old for this shit. The weekly masochistic events that inevitably end in regret or disappointment. The play or the hunt for another to share in life. As someone once said; the human race in naturally self-destructive.
Ever got to that point in age where you just kind of told your self that your too old or mature to be doing this stuff? You ever told that voice to shut in the hell up because your too hardcore to give it all up now. Your constantly trying to live up to the sophomoric motto's of "Party like a Rockstar" and "If it's too loud you're too old". Everyone goes through their party animal phases. Of course you'd have to be as stupid as me to say that it's not a phase, you're the party. Yeah, the sober thoughts starting to hit after driving like a bat out of hell on the freeway last night and almost rear-ending a car in front of me because I was racing. No more Vodka and Redbull; I'll have to stick to the brewskies. There's nothing like that hair trigger feeling of wanting to vomit in your new car and the only thing keep you from doing so is knowing how much of a pain in the ass it's going to be try and scrape it out of the carpet. The question why do I continue down this masochistic path to self-destruction.
The drink is the symbol of fun times, happy living, and social echelon levels. The more alcoholic beverages you have the better everything is. If that was only the truth. The only truth in that is the orgasmic amnesia of what the real world is like with out the goggles. Nothing is more fun and socially promoting than being able to get smashed as shit and getting everyone around you to the same level. Every one loves the party boy. Only to stay a party boy you degrade your quality of living for social, emotional, physical, and occupation levels. Just be fun and not be the fun as it was once said. All this social anxiety and attempts at social acceptance just for something as small as a grain of sand on the beach.
The liquid courage as it's called. Have a drink and you're suave. Have a few more and you're sharp. Have a lot and you're Superman. Trying to maintain a consistency at any level is like trying to empty out water from a sinking boat with a table spoon. Where's the out path? Every plan has a back up plan in one form or another. Where's my out from this physically, mentally, socially, and occupationally tormenting life style? How does the party leave the party boy? It's easy when you have more to do and are socially accepted. But does the purple dragon amongst black sheep have an out? Or am I destined to be in this purgatory life of boozing and loneliness? Life with out the drink is easier than a life with out the acceptance. I know what I need to change. I only fear the fact that I need it or want it.