Tear down the house

I decided to go with a new theme tonight because

a.) I can’t sleep– I have too much on my mind, AND I’m going home tomorrow, so I’m really excited

b.) It’s time for a little change, and

c.) I’ve been neglecting this outlet for too long.

I know, it’s been busy, and blah blah freakin’ blah. So what? So I don’t have five or ten or fifteen minutes– or thirty seconds– to write? Seriously, it helped my mental and emotional health SO MUCH this summer when I was journaling on paper. To think it wouldn’t help to write my thoughts on my blog is just silly.

So here I am again, with a new theme and a little pizzazz and even less sleep.

I felt guilty not blogging on my birthday (the 30th), but to be honest I was a little emotional during the day, and that night was an absolute wreck. Definitely did not feel like writing after that. I felt like shit, in almost every way possible.

But I suppose it’s time to talk about that a little bit. So I did six extra or so too many birthday shots. My normal limit is four– five if I’m feeling crazy. Blame it on peer pressure and one– I repeat, ONE– night of reckless decision-making. That’s all it takes for me to learn a lesson, I promise. I’m not stupid or careless. But I was missing my family and excited to be with my friends, and I’ll confess to having a natural inclination toward vodka.

So I was a little reckless. Not one of my friends took care of me until I was back in my room– and even then, I barely remember getting there. It was actually repulsive. I ended up with a boy in my room that I didn’t want there and a choice to have sex or not have sex. I say that bluntly because that was the decision. I can honestly admit that I was so drunk I don’t remember how I phrased things or how loud I was– but I can clearly recall telling this boy before we had even left the party that I was Not Having Sex With Him. Period, no question. It’s highly probably that other people heard me telling him this. I wanted there to Be No Question.

Well, when he found his way into my bedroom, he told me he’d thought I was kidding.

I tried to explain that I was waiting for love. I tried to explain that I had not had the greatest experiences before with boys in general and that type of pressure. I tried to explain that all I wanted to do now was cuddle and sleep off the vodka.

After spending I-don’t-even-know-how-long trying to explain, I gave up and left him in my room, and, frustrated with myself and with the evening (and with the fact that there was a boy in my room who was demanding sex and wouldn’t leave), I went over to Katie and John’s. They returned with me as amused reinforcements, but I was really upset, simply because I HAVE been pressured in that way before, and it’s humiliating and degrading. And unacceptable, whether you’re drunk or sober or scared or experienced. No means no, and should always mean no. Every time.

Finally with a little peer pressure, the boy left and I retired to my room with Katie. There I basically wept away the early hours of the morning after my nineteenth birthday. I couldn’t help myself: everything is more emotional when you’re drunk, anyway. And in all seriousness, if I wasn’t stronger than the boy I’d had in my room, I might have been raped. Like I said, it only takes one experience for me to learn. My previous experience led me to refuse this boy at any cost, even my pride. This most recent awful night taught me how dangerous birthday shots can be… and all joking aside, it taught me to know just how much I can trust my friends to get me out of certain situations. To get me home safely without making bad decisions: not one bit. To keep me safe once I am home and support me in my own choices: rather a lot. It’s interesting, anyway.

But so. Yeah. That was my horrendous October 1st. I was extremely sick when I woke up, and for most of the day. I guess it might look like the average weekend of your every day college student to some? Maybe. But for me, it just wasn’t a good fit. I like to share a bottle of wine with friends, and a couple of beers at a party are just fine. And normally, shots are my favorite when it comes to drinking. But this was too much, and it led to really unpleasant things. I disappointed myself.

But it could have been so, so much worse. I could have had drunken unprotected sex with a boy I barely know (and a really short, kind of scrawny one at that). Bad decision. I could have compromised myself in a way that I vowed I wouldn’t, not yet.

And I closed a certain circle, in a way… I took back what had been taken from me. I knew what I wanted– or rather, didn’t want– and I didn’t let guilt or obligation or shock or even flattery rampage over that. The fact that I was flat-out wasted and able to maintain the willpower not to have meaningless drunk sex has to stand for something, I figure. And it might make me a prude or a tease but it’s my body. I’d said from the very beginning that I didn’t want it– I was honest. And that’s all you can ask for. Although I respect everyone and tend to feel bad if I hurt people, I’m sure this boy feels nothing but a bruised ego, and I can’t be sorry for that. Also, Katie informed me later that day that he’d said he “forgave me.” Then I made the decision to forget about him completely and allow him to go fuck himself if he chose. That clinched my original choice not to give a damn or to feel bad.

This past year, I’ve discovered that it is vital to love and respect yourself. The decisions I make are mine, for my own reasons, and I answer to no one but myself and my maker– whether that be God or the Creator, or some Great Spirit that’s the best and the brightest. I can’t help but be satisfied that the person I’ve become has enough strength to know her mind and her heart even while seriously inebriated. That might seem a little strange, but since I never plan on being that drunk again, that means that I’m stronger than even I realize. And that’s reassuring, considering life is only going to get harder as the years go on.

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