By Anonymous, Oak Park, IL
Author's note: I am proud of this peice because I wrote it knowing how embarrassing it was, yet i feel like it... Show full author's note »
My StoryGetting ready for the big party was essential. I had to look my best, smell my best, but most important, I had to act my best. I tried on at least seven outfits before sticking to one. You could go one of two ways at a party. You could go simple cute, or formal skimpy. I tend to go in the simple cute direction at parties. You always want to look good, but you never want to look like your trying too hard for attention, and formal skimpy normally goes under that category. I went with True Religion jean shorts, a Nordstrom black tank, a gold studded black belt at waist, and my Frye cowgirl boots. It was moderately sexy, but not over the top. I also accessorized accordingly. When you go simple with the outfit you want to go big with the jewelry. I wore my gold hoop earrings and my four lucky bracelets that I wear on a daily bases, each that I got from a different part of the world: one from Germany, Rome, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico. I made sure my makeup looked dramatic, and my hair looked as straight and healthy as possible. I went with the smoky eye, and a nude lip with a bronzed face, then left all my hair down teased. I was feeling hot. I know it sounds silly to try so hard to look your best, but in this kind of crowd, it was key. There’s nothing better than going to a party and having all eyes on you, that was something I always needed to do. I wanted to gain everyone’s attention tonight, I wanted to be the new-and-improved –junior-girl who looked like she had it all going for her, but I knew deep down, that was a lie. I knew I really wanted to gain the attention of one person, and one person only. Charlie Wilson, the now 6’8” graduate who I’ve had the biggest crush on since freshmen year. This summer he finally started to notice me and we’ve had a thing now for almost two months. I feel like since im younger, im still insecure about him loosing interest in me, and it makes me praise his attention even more. I knew he was going to be at the party, and I couldn’t wait to see him. By seven I went to my friend Blake’s house to pre-game for the big night. There were five of us, Blake, Tatum, Benett, Quinn, and I, my four best girlfriends. This wasn’t just any old night, it was the last night of summer, which everyone knows has to go out with a bang. We sat on a couch and started chugging a red mixture my friend put together in a Gatorade bottle. It was a mixture of ½ vodka, 1/3 gin, and less than 1/5 Hawaiian punch. We took turns chugging the mix, passing it to who ever wanted more when we were done. The sour tingle it made going down my throat was unbearable. Before we knew it, it was eight and we had to get going to the main event. We all quickly drank what was left in the bottle, and then made our way out the door. We weren’t totally irresponsible, and we all knew no one was driving or going to be in a car with someone driving drunk, so we had to walk. The walk wasn’t too bad, a good eight blocks. We could all feel the effects of the mix we drank earlier, and it made our walk more entertaining. We sang Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga, every once in a while we’d start to play eye-spy but then we’d all get distracted from a squirrel, or a cool looking car. Blake and I would sing the chorus to “Love Story” while Quinn, Benett, and Tatum backed us up with air guitar and drums. We’d stumble out the lyrics “… Cause you were Romeo and you were throwing pebbles, and my daddy said stay away from Juliet…” giggling in between the lines. People were dancing and racing each other down the block, just having fun. I remember while I was walking I had this pit in my stomach, the kind that you get when you’re really excited or super nervous. Mine was a mixture of both. When your body gets super tense and you start to get goose bumps up and down your arms. You can hear your adrenalin pumping, but at the same time you feel something in your throat that makes you feel sick. Your body and mind almost feel disconnected. I couldn’t stop asking myself if this party was a smart idea. I feel like party’s are never a smart idea, but they’re risky and dramatic yet fun which is why I think people are so drawn to them. The number one rule when you go to a party is to not get caught. Number two is to be with a good crowd. Number three is too not make an ass of yourself. In order to not get caught you need to make sure the party is safe, that was something I wasn’t sure about this particular party. Parents gone, upper classmen throwing down, open house. Sounded sketchy. I knew everyone who was anyone was going t be there, so the crowd was going to be killer. In order t not make an ass of myself, I had to control my liquor, but it’s hard when you don’t know your limit and there’s drinks everywhere. My head was spinning, but all of this seemed to be in the back of my mind. I was already too shaky to think straight. Getting to the party, we could all tell it’s been going on for a while. In the living room girls and boys on the couch rounding first base while in the dining room others put their two cents in for beer pong. In the kitchen, rows of warm bud light and half filled vodka bottles lined up with stacks of red plastic cups next to them. The tv room seemed to be the place to be. Crowds of people laughing hysterically, each with a red cup in their hand, jumping to the beats of Jay’Z and Lil Wayne. This party was definitely ranked high on the crazy meter I immediately walk into the dinning room where I put my name down on a list for beer pong. I then made my way into the kitchen, trying to find Charlie, but I ended up getting bombarded by a group of guys screaming “shot shot shots!” They sat me down at the island in the middle of the kitchen and put seven shot glasses lined up in front of me on the counter. The guy standing next to me poured vodka into each of the glasses making each over flow, creating a pool of vodka surrounding all the glasses. Not having any sense of anything really, I quickly slammed each shot into my mouth while the people around me still chanted “shots shots shots!” Around the fifth shot I felt a vibration in my pocket, but I was inclined to ignore it. After all the shots were consumed I ran over to the sink, turned on the water, and slurped the water from the faucet with my mouth. I then turned the water off and leaned over the sink, unsure if the vodka was going to stay down. I felt this severe revolting punch in my gut, like my stomach just got rammed by a wrecking ball. I really wasn’t sure what was going on at this point, I just knew I had to calm down and get myself together. Once I felt comfortable standing up, there was a round of applause, and a new victim was chosen to smack shots. I looked around and met eyes with Charlie who was standing outside of the kitchen. His face said it all, his eyes were stabbing me with disappointment. I wanted to run over and talk to him but I knew I had to go check my phone. I then walked out of the room with an aching stomach and an intense burning in my chest; That was the moment I knew I was f***ed. I made my way to the living room where I stood awkwardly in the corner and checked my phone, trying to ignore the several couples on the couch exchanging saliva. I could hardly see my phone, everything was blurry and out of focus, and on top of that I was wobbling back and forth uncontrollably, trying not to gag. Looking closely I saw three missed calls from mom. Sh** was the only word that popped up in my head. I quickly dialed home. Ring-ring. My mom answered. Talking to her was a struggle. Trying not to slur my words and sound fine was definitely not easy, and nearly impossible at this point. She told me it’s late and I need to come home now since I had my first volleyball game in the morning. Sh** again. I couldn’t tell if she was suspicious of anything, but since I didn’t complain about coming home so early I’m sure she had no idea. I hung up and ran out the door, trying my best to run as fast as possible home without making a scene. At this time I could hardly stand up straight, let alone run. The run home was a complete blur of sidewalks and trees. I just remember moving in a complete zig-zag motion and hardly having any control of my legs, or my body for that matter. My feet kept on getting tangled in my step, and I ended up falling over several times. My head was going crazy. So many different ideas and thoughts running in and out of my mind continuously, as if my brain was on a roller coaster that never stopped. The ideas of what was about to happen to me at home, and not knowing really what was going on made my stomach sink into my hip. This feeling of guilt, and pain, and uncertainty came over me and made me light headed. I was scared for my life. I somehow made it to my house. As I walked up my porch steps, I could feel my knees shaking uncontrollably. My heart was beating at what seemed a billion times per second. I was dripping cold sweat and my eye lids could hardly be kept open. I finally made it to the front door, opened it, made one step through and collapsed. I had a weird sensation going through my body, as if a small shock was going through my veins. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I blacked out. Waking up in the hospital was beyond awkward. Lying on the bed and looking over and seeing my father inches away from my bedside made me want to pee myself. He looked at me with rosy eyes and a pale face, with a slight smile telling me everything was going to be all right. I looked past his smile and saw his pain. I made him suffer, and it killed me inside. I immediately broke into tears, hysterically crying and screaming how sorry I was. My dad came closer and held my hand saying in the softest voice that things happen and that we’ll get through it. He then kissed me on the forehead and stepped back and took a seat in his original position. I then took a second to put myself together. Although my speech was still choppy since I was still far from sober, I tried to put together some questions for my dad. The more my dad said the less I wanted to no. My Dad ended up telling me everything that happened from the time I passed out till the time I woke up in the hospital. I was very disturbed with what I heard. After I passed out, my thirteen-year-old brother was the first to find me. He found me lying in front of the door to the entrance of our house. I was lying on my stomach with both my arms and legs extended, with my eyes and mouth slightly open. My brother knew I drank but he had never seen me like this. He ran to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and splashed it on my face. He then nudged me vigorously trying to get a response. Nothing. At that time he saw I was starting to foam at the mouth, which terrified him so he ran to get my parents on the second floor. My Dad ran down to help me while my mother called for an ambulance. A few seconds after my father came down, I started vomiting uncontrollably. My dad then struggled to move me to the bathroom, but I still wasn’t verbally responding. When the paramedics came, they picked me up from the bathroom floor and laid me down on the daybed in my living room. While the paramedics checked me, the cops questioned my parents and searched the house for alcohol and other drugs. The paramedics then took ten minutes pinching me with needles on my hands and arms trying to get a response. Nothing. They then moved me on a stretcher to the ambulance. My parents decided that my dad would come with me in the ambulance while my mother and brother stayed behind, still being questioned by the police. In the ambulance they were able to get me somewhat responsive. At the hospital they quickly changed me into a paper gown and onto a bed to take tests. They stuck an iv in my arm, and stuck sticky circles with chords attached to them all over my chest, stomach, arms, and legs. Soon after they asked for permission from my father to get a cat scan to see if I had any brain damage. My dad said yes, so I took the scans. When I was done they put me back into my original hospital bed. My dad and I then waited there for the test results. They came back later saying my brain was fine, but that my blood alcohol level was .40, which is crazy high for an adolescent. After that I didn’t do much but vomit before I gained full consciousness. After my father was done giving me all the details on what happened while I was unconscious a notion popped up in my head: I could have died. This was a life or death situation and if it wasn’t for my family, I’m unsure to what would have happened. I put myself in a position where my life was at stake. The thought made me feel sicker then I already was. My dad then started asking me questions of what happened earlier. I knew these questions were coming but I just didn’t think they would come so quickly. I decided to tell him everything. I felt uncomfortable giving him names and places so I left those out, but everything else I felt he deserved to know. He seemed pretty understandable, but still concerned. During my father’s and my conversation my doctor and nurse came into the room, asked if I had any questions or concerns then said I was able to leave. My mother came to pick us up but didn’t say a word to either of us the whole ride home. When I got home, my dad helped me up the stairs while my mother and brother watched with concern. They then all gave me some time to myself in my room to get situated for bed. My dad then came back in when I was in bed with a bowl, incase I had to vomit anymore, and a glass of water, since I needed more fluids in my body since I lost a lot of them from throwing up so much. He then left my room, turning off the light and closing the door. I laid comfortably in my warm, safe bed, falling asleep almost immediately. The aftermath of that dreaded day still brings me pain. I lost so much that day and gained absolutely nothing. My mother put together a two page list of my rules and regulations the day after the incident. I was to obey those rules for the rest of high school or boarding school was going to be taken into consideration. I didn’t mind the list my mom put together, I actually appreciated it, and took it very seriously. I was mostly upset with the effect the incident took on my family and our relationship. My parents and I were always very close and it was hard seeing them keep their distance from me. I could tell my dad tried to be easy on me and sympathetic on the situation, but we still weren’t the same as we were. My mom seemed the most disappointed with my actions. She said little to me the first month after everything. I could tell she was hurting inside from what I had done to myself, but also her. I just didn’t know really what to do or say to make her trust me again. My brother was disgusted with me. He showed little sympathy for me. He reacted to everything that happened that night by hating me. I felt the worst about what I put him through, he deserved better from his older sister. Charlotte, my older sister, knew little to nothing on the incident. I told her a few days after, but we haven’t talked about it since. She seemed more understanding then everyone else, but then again, she wasn’t there, so she didn’t have the same experience as everyone else. Now that time has passed, much has changed. When you hit rock bottom, you can’t do anything but move forward and learn from your mistakes. I have not partied since the incident and have no intentions of partying any time soon. I am still best friends with the same girls, but they have all been very supportive of me and have all stopped partying as well. As for volleyball I was suspended for five matches after the incident, but now I am more dedicated than ever to improving my skill. In school I am doing much better than I’ve done in the past, and I am getting much more serious about my future. I am still with the boy I was talking to that summer, but I hardly ever get to see him since he’s in college down south. As for my family, we are much better. Trust is finally beginning to rebuild itself. My parents and I are closer then ever and so are my sister and I. My brother and I still need time to settle things but in time, I can only hope that he’ll forgive me for what I put him through. All in all, those seven shots were an experience that I’m not ever going to be proud of, and the consequences of them took their course. From here, all I can do is learn from my experience, and grow from it.