There's a first time for everything

I know this might sound cliché, but one of my most embarrassing moments happened on a night out drinking with my high-school girlfriends. I am sure there are many more cringe-worthy moments in my life that are not coming to mind at this moment, but this one stands out particularly in my mind, neon signs pointing at it in all possible gamut of colors to keep reminding me how utterly embarrassing it was.

Nothing screams “earth-swallow-me-right-now” like the passionate and blind heart of a teenager that feels unrequited love. Before you go on thinking that this story is about a sappy girl in love, I need to clarify that I had my reasons to think the love was mutual. The guy in question had been my boyfriend up until a few days earlier.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

I was seventeen and I was out with my girlfriends for a night of celebration. We were having a farewell party on my behalf, as I was leaving at the end of the month to do a road trip to Sweden with my mom and two of my sisters before heading off for my next adventure as an exchange student in beautiful California. We went for Chinese food and then decided to go out partying. I was not a drinker. I had never had a drink (perhaps the occasional glass of bubbly wine for New Year’s, but nothing else). However, I decided to have a couple of drinks: we started with Cuba Libres and had some beer after. We went to different clubs, and as the night progressed, we dispersed. I lost my friends and ended up wandering on my own to different places.

I was a bit sad because a few days prior my boyfriend at the time had told me to “fuck-off”. I won’t get into the details of the reasons, but suffice it to say that he was a bit manipulative and was annoyed that instead of being with him I had decided to go for a walk to take a break from studying for finals.

If you have been a teenage girl, and your “first” treats you like dirt, and you are slightly self-conscious and insecure, I can guarantee you that you know what I’m talking about. I was feeling utterly devastated. I also thought at the time I was madly in love with him, which made the pain even worse. Needless to say, when I went off wandering into different clubs for drinks, I was feeling slightly sad.

Here’s the thing, I am two different types of drunk: 1) when I’m feeling good and balanced with myself, I’m a VERY happy drunk; 2) when I am sad or I feel slightly lonely or empty, I am a very mopey drunk.

Well, that night, the first night I EVER got drunk, I started off funny, but as I lost my friends and the alcohol running through my veins increased, I started turning into a sulky drunk. SMH.

I had no idea where I had lost my friends, I knew one or two had met up with their boyfriends and disappeared or gone someplace else. It’s irrelevant. All I know is that I started wandering around. The other thing that happens to me, and you, dear reader, might relate to this, is that when I drink, when I reach a certain point, I just throw all caution to the wind. I think, ‘well, I’m already drunk, who cares if I have a bit more alcohol’. I can remember that through my maundering, I ingested Kiwi liquor shots, Heineken, maybe something with Vodka at some point, but I can’t be sure anymore. I’d be lying if I said for certain what else I had after that.

Well, so far so good, right? You are all thinking, oh, oh, what did she do? Because none of what I’ve told you thus far is cringe-worthy. Far from it. Wait for it… wait for it… I got to one of the clubs which I knew my-just-recent-ex frequented. At this point, I was WASTED! Utterly and painfully drunk out of my mind. Well, I walk in and feel overjoyed when, by the bar, I see him standing with one of his friends. In my distorted mind, I think, ‘oh, great! He’s here… I’m so funny and cute like this that he’ll have no choice but to take me back.’ Dignity, you ask? What’s that? That night I was not acquainted with Ms. Dignity. Oh, no, siree! I thought I was being so cute being all drunk, probably mumbling and making zero sense that I must’ve been irresistible. If you are raising your eyebrows right around now, you are not alone. I’m with you just recounting the events.

What did I do, after such clever thoughts crossed my mind? Well, what any sane person in such a state and circumstances would do, of course. I called his name, and with a big, drunken grin I approached him with open arms. I can still remember the look of shock and disgust on his face. I made it all the way to where he was, I wrapped my arms around him and must’ve said something which I have since forgotten —thank fuck for small favors!— I remember him removing my arms from around his neck and saying something which, again, I cannot remember. The next thing I knew two of my friends were standing over me, slapping my face and maybe even throwing water on my face? I can’t remember the details; mind you, I had blacked out and lied on a dirty club floor with a white dress to boot. Good times! I slowly came to and found my friends smiling and then, of course, laughing. My ex was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared.

I can’t recall exactly how the rest of the night continued. I know my friends made me drink water and helped me sober up. It must’ve been around 5 a.m. when I was somewhat aware of what was going on.

Now, you might be thinking that, well, I was probably better off without the guy, after all, who just abandons someone who’s that drunk to their own devices? The person I am today would agree, but, somehow, my dignity and self-respect hadn’t caught up with me back then, because when one of his friends approached me and started telling me how much the guy loved me and how he was just being proud and that he thought he’d been wrong and… yada, yada, yada, next thing I know I am forgiving him. What? You want to punch me in the face to wake me up? Don’t worry, I’m with you. Oh, Natalia! What were you thinking? I don’t know. What is it about certain men (or probably, certain people) that just turns us into total idiots? Was I a masochist? No. But I was obviously missing something to allow someone to walk all over me that way. Now, I don’t remember whether I ended up going home with him or not that night. Whatever happened, my brain decided it wasn’t worth keeping THAT memory either. Whichever the case was, we DID get back together for the short weeks I had left before going to California. I could say I wish I hadn’t, but I have learned that living with regrets of what one does is much better than those that remind us of what we never dared to do. So… am I sorry I made up with him? No. It was an experience from which I learned much about myself. Granted, not at the time, but over the years it’s something that’s reminded me to love myself better and treat myself with the respect I deserve. It’s been a long road and, at times, still a work in progress. As cringe-worthy as any experience might be, there’s also a hidden treasure in it; an insight into our souls, if you will, that guides us to learn and do better next time (or the time after that, or the one after that… sometimes it takes a lot of hitting the same stone before we learn to avoid it).