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Bottom of the Bottle

By , Ann Arbor, MI

You hear the horror stories about the girl who drank too much at the party. How she doesn't know her limits and made a fool of herself in front of everyone. How she drinks because she thinks she looks 'cool' or popular' when she has a Bud Light in her hand posing for pictures that will later be on Snapchat or Instagram. The caption reading 'love this girl' as the beer over flows the red plastic cup and the background being hazy from the smoke.

You hear the stories, but you don't feel the pain. You don't feel the pain that she feels when her dad comes home and announces he's engaged for the fourth time. You don't feel the pain that she feels when her brother moves to a different state without telling her. The pain is unbearable for a 17 year old to handle. No one believes that her life is anything but perfect, because that's what she is.

She smiles and laughs. Saying hi to everyone and makes sure everyone is having a good time. The beer in her hand has to be replaced after every few minutes because she knows that the more she drinks, the more likely she is to forget about what is going on at home. 

Her smile stays for as long as she can, but after shots and beers, she can't control it anymore. You'll find her in the bathroom, crying and puking, with no one there to hold her hair. The girl that is suppose to have everyone crawling at her feet has no one when she really needs it.

Once she sobers up some, she makes sure she looks presentable before entering the party again. Her smile is perfect. Her breath smells good. She has another drink in her hand. Nothing wrong has ever happened.

While there, the alcohol makes her think about the guy who chose someone else a few months before. She remembers the times they had together and takes another shot while cuddling up to a stranger. The memory becomes blurry and the stranger becomes the most familiar thing in the room, so they go away for a little while.

The party begins to slow down. More and more people are leaving to go home, but she is still ready to party. There is still a drink in her hand and she is dancing to the music. At this point in the night, she hasn't a care in the world, but you know she doesn't want to go home. 

The party is over. She is on the couch, crying herself to sleep. The host is passed out in the shower and her friends all went home with someone else. She has no one. She is alone. So she walks to the cabinet and grabs the Jack Daniels.

This girl is me. And every weekend I decide to forget everything and drown myself with alcohol. The bottom of the bottle is the only familiar place I have left.




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