The Beginners Guide to Losing Your Dignity

“A quiet one” is what Saturday night was deemed, previous to the antics that later transpired. As usual I ended up rushing around to get ready, breaking draws as I went, and leaving behind what looked like a case of gastric flu on my wardrobe’s behalf, with my clothes expelled around the room. I often try to avoid abandoning my place of existence in such a state, as I know my arrival home when deeply intoxicated, with an acute lack of coordination, making the possibilities of treading on upturned plugs even greater, will be made increasingly difficult and far more raucous. But there was no time for forethought this evening. Without a glance behind me, I made my hasty exit out the door.

After having run for the bus in five and a half inch heels, I was finally on my way. Once I’d met one of my friends, appropriately clad in a gorgeous peach coloured dress to fit the summer weather, opposed to myself, who donned an all black attire, we made a quick stop to Tesco so I could purchase some deodorant, as in my rush I had forgotten to use any, and then waited for our other companion to join us.

Almost as soon as we sat down we began to discuss where the night would take us. We didn’t want to have a wild one, but we also didn’t want to stay in the one place for the entire night. We decided that we’d have a couple of drinks and then decide on our mood.

With a group of girls sitting together, I’m sure you can guess where the main focus of conversation headed; boys. It’s strange how the subject of the opposite sex never tires. We digressed from the somewhat explicit nature our normal conversations hold regarding said topic and instead our thoughts progressed to a more emotional level. With the alcohol flowing, no one felt shy in expressing the love for their significant other, and we all agreed that our previous crimes of infidelity are a thing of the past.

In the end we decided our night should continue down the road at The Crown and Treaty, hosts of one of the continuously featured events of my blog, Rock Night. This night however, they were playing sixties music. I can safely say this is where my night went to shit. Apparently my concerns for money escaped me and I had no issues with ordering myself, and those around me, endless quantities of alcohol. So it’s no wonder I became astonishingly drunk in a short period of time.

As usual, I ended up circling the pub talking to everyone I knew, how well I knew them was irrelevant. Although oblivious at the time, I now see the looks on my victims’ faces when my gaze would fall upon them. As I tumbled along towards my chosen prey, their eyes would begin to shift, hoping they were mistaken and I was falling towards some other poor fellow. Upon realising their fate, a look of terror would flash through their eyes, as if facing a mountain lion. Without any grace or precision, I would strike. What followed was surely a band of indecipherable words and sentences, to which they would politely humour until the situation was too unbearable and they’d issue an excuse in order for them to flee. I remember one such individual stating “I’m going inside to get another drink”, to which my bold response was “It’s because you don’t like me isn’t it?” What more did I expect than for him to agree?

By this point I’m sure my coordination was greatly impaired and I’m glad to say I no longer felt the need to dance. I did, however, feel the need to consume more alcohol. By now my funds had run out, but lo! I had my debit card on me! To my hindrance I proceeded to start purchasing my drinks by card.

The next person I engaged into conversation was an ex from a long time ago. This was one of the first times we’d had a proper chance to converse in a years and we couldn’t have picked a less appropriate time. At this point the alcohol in my body was clearly governing my actions more than my brain was and the alcohol had decided it was tired and I now needed to not just fall asleep, but entirely collapse. I smacked my head down onto the bench at which I was sitting at and was subsequently engulfed into paralyses.

The memory of my exit has been repressed, with events far too traumatic for me to recall. Unfortunately, my mind isn’t as advanced in protecting itself as it thinks. When it comes to the memory of being sprawled across the back seat of a cab and uncontrollably throwing up onto the floor, it devastatingly slipped up and I will forever remain scarred by this image.

Once I’d plummeted out of the cab and onto the pavement, undoubtedly to the cab drivers joy, the struggle to get me into the house began. My trusted carers were forced to awaken my family in order to achieve this goal. With my sister in her pyjamas, she voyaged out onto the street, where she joined the taskforce. Eventually they got me inside and up into my bed. The state I had left my bedroom in on my departure was surely an impediment to their labours. After tears, insistent phone calls to my boyfriend and yet further bouts of vomiting, I was finally settled.

The next morning when I woke up, the closest I can get to describing how I felt is to say I was horrifyingly ashamed. I immediately text my boyfriend, despite the time only being five o clock in the morning. I wasn’t aware that I’d phoned him during my self-inflicted state of intoxication, and even though he hadn't been present during the hysteria that had taken place, I felt the need to apologise. My efforts throughout the past few months to not become a burden to those around me and to avoid making a fool of myself have made my social life that much more enjoyable, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I am however, not going to let this minor hiccup ruin anything. I’m not going to swear to a life without alcohol because of one night, like so many futilely do. The memories are embarrassing and the hangover was dreadful, but the cookie dough Ben & Jerry’s ice cream I devoured whilst sitting in the sun was delicious and the fact that no one has terminated their friendship with me has made me appreciate them all the more.