Love Me: The Manoir

My First Time Getting Drunk

My first stunt with vodka and house parties seemed very insufficient as I walked towards the location of the second ever house party I had attended. I was wearing crop top and flared trousers this time, and had already had a few sips of Prosecco to warm myself up.

This was the party of a girl who would later go on to be one of my best friends, but at the time someone who I barely knew. I was invited on a connection I had with the co-host, but I didn't mind that. When you don't get invited to parties often, you tend to ignore the technicalities when you are.

As we walked in the music was already playing downstairs, but there were only a small group of boys who I knew of but had never met in my life. I felt uncomfortable, and my group of friends slowly shifted to the beer pong table where we watched the boys unsuccessfully play. They probably didn't want us being there as much as we didn't want to watch them.

And so, in times of crippling awkwardness, something the only thing that can help you get through it is alcohol. And I drank a lot. I wanted to know what it felt like to be blazing drunk. I even drank straight Pimms which is not only potent but tastes disgusting. And slowly, the room around me began to get fuzzier, and my inhibitions seemed to float away.

It was brilliant. I didn't care who I was talking to and about what, I felt like I was floating. Or maybe like it was a dream. The side of me that I often prayed for was coming out. People began to dance and begin kissing, but I didn't care. I was passed out on some bean bags at the corner of the room with a boy I vaguely knew while we spoke about stupid things. I would finish the night sat on the lap of some boy, hoping and wishing that he found me more attractive than the other girls around me. He didn't (although a few weeks ago he did comment 'fit' on my photo before deleting it so I guess I would win in the end game).

As we got picked up at 12am, I felt myself still spinning and at an all time high from the night I had just been exposed to. Now that was true teenage living (as you can see, I spent most of my teenage years validating my existence by acknowledging that I was doing teenage things). I woke up the next morning hungover for the very first time, and I felt accomplished.

People came into school on the Monday and told all the stories of the things I had done. Apparently, I had taken someone's phone and taken a series of drunk selfies. Apparently, I had run up and hugged someone random. Apparently, I could barely speak straight. To me, this was all the best form of validation. It meant I was fun on a night out, it meant that I was a bit of a legend. That despite the fact I had spent most of my teenage years sat at home watching YouTube, I was still worth having at a party.

It would take a while to work out that being the drunk mess isn't always ideal. That sometimes it's embarrassing, and should be avoided at all costs. That while people are laughing, they're laughing at you not with you.