Hopefully not a lot of people I know will ever stumble upon this blog.
I go to a party school. On any given night, I am sober. No, this doesn't make me better than anyone, it just makes me in control. I need to learn to submit control. No through the act of drinking, that is still a habit I have no intention of starting, but in another way. I am learning I have too much control.
The funny thing, I fought for all of the control in the world until I got it and I never realized how much control I had.
Tuesday night made me realize that I had too much control. I was no longer just in control of my life, I was in control of everyone else's lives too. I clean up the messes. Both literally and figuratively.
Tuesday, my friend texted me about her "dead baby." My friend claims to have been a prostitute who apparently got pregnant through butt sex. That's not meant to be funny, that is meant to be serious. Sad thing is, she is a liar. I am pretty sure she is a virgin. I think she has lied about every aspect of her life. All of us are terrible people who laugh at her behind her back. But, the best part of it all is, when she tells stories about her days from "the street corner," everyone in the stories have names from Harry Potter books. Sad thing is, I am such a nerd that I was able to catch that. I never called her out on it though.
Then I suffered through math, but, after, I had Speech and Debate practice, (okay, why do I go to a party school?) which is one of my favorite parts of the week! I love Speech and Debate, even if I suck at it.
I got back to my dorm right when my roommate was about to leave. About an hour later, our neighbor starts frantically knocking on my door. I let her in and she asks if she can hide in here. I say yes. She says a bunch of people (including my lovely roommie, by the way) were caught pre-gaming on the guy's side of the floor and she was the only one who "escaped." She leaves soon after (with the lovely roommie) and they go off to party and get wasted.
So, because my life is my life, my phone starts ringing (I get excited everytime my phone starts ringing because my ringtone is "Loose Lips" by Kimya Dawson.... I always sing along when it starts ringing...sad thing is, sometimes, I get so caught up in the song that I forget to answer...) and it's my favorite skittles addict! (not a DXM addict, an actual skittles, the candy, addict. although it wouldn't surprise me if she was using DXM. It surprises me that I know that skittles is a slang term for DXM.) So, I get excited about answering the phone and talking to her. She tells me that she just got off the phone with her ex who is holding a blade to her wrist as we speak and she can't bring herself to call the police. So, I take the responsibility of calling the police. Too bad you can't put an area code in front of 9-1-1 and their non-emergency number was closed. So, I call the 'rents, who end up calling the skittles addict, who ends up calling the police. I think I was at a point of hysterics. I couldn't stip laughing over the fact that my speech for speech and debate (which I was practicing) was about suicide (it is actually the TWLOHA story and the girl had just carved "fuck up" into her arm) and that I was also wearing a suicide prevention shirt.
Then my roommate came back. Apparently, she drank a little too much. She stood outside my door and laughed and said "No, I don't want to go in there." Three guys had walked her back. Apparently, she passed out in some bushes, got the SIM card in her phone switched, was, consequently, phone jacked, an ambulance was called, the paramedics couldn't find her, one guy that eventually brought her home found her and explained to the paramedics that she was okay, and then took her home to the comfort of MY dorm room. She was wearing three sweatshirts and her pulse was really low. She had apparently puked all over her clothes. She continued to puke into the trash can. Sad thing is, it was only about 12:30 and she was this wasted. One guy from our floor brought her back. This is the guy she "likes" but he doesn't "want a relationship" and she doesn't want a hook-up because she is better than that. She kept apologizing to the both of us. But I understood.
Guy she likes stayed to take care of her. My skittles addict called me back and I talked to her about everything. The suicidal ex was taken in the back of a police car, 5150, not sure if she was in the medical hospital or the psych hospital.
Guy roommie likes asked me about my phone call. I was so not caring at that point and I told him everything including the funny part about the suicide prevention shirt and the suicide prevention speech. And then we shared secrets and it was a good conversation.
Wednesday, my "day off," I had an hour of Speech and Debate practice. I woke up, stepped in puke left over from the roommie, went to Starbucks, and spent six and a half hours at practice. (They were having an all-day thing, but we were assigned different times. I just needed to stay, so I could be away.) And then I got to go to my small group communication's meeting. I went back to my room and, thankfully, the puke was cleaned up. Then we had a floor meeting. We usually do something with art. That night we were making door decorations for our roommates and we had to write why we were thankful for them. "Um, um, um, um, she's nice? But that's all I can think..." is a direct quote from my brain. I saw her across the room, scrawling what seemed to be a novel. Seriously? You are that grateful for me?
This was the span of two days and this isn't even everything that happened. It was just a week.
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