I Could Be “The Real Me.”
My freshman year of college saw two distinctly different personalities emerge.
First, I embraced the happy person I’d become – someone comfortable with her geek status and excited to be around other smart people. I was thrilled to be at college, living the dream, and I imagined a career in television, radio or newspapers. I found like-minded friends, most notably my friend, Debbie, who I’d met at a Communications scholarship interview. We’d stumbled upon each other months earlier and when we arrived on campus, we lived next door to one another in King Hall.
Debbie and I became fast, dear friends. We would stay up nights “studying” in the dorm lounge, where we would laugh so hard our stomachs would ache and our eyes would pour and attempting to stop laughing only made us laugh harder. Debbie was an innocent if ever there was one – a sweet midwestern soul who knew only that she wanted to work hard and do well in life. And I loved spending time with her.
On the other end of the spectrum, I sought like-minded people with whom to drink. Debbie didn’t have any interest in alcohol, and I wasn’t going to give up my supposed safety net for one friend, no matter how dear. Plus, unlike me, Debbie actually spent time on studying and coursework – so I needed something to do while she worked.
So I found Amy, who would go out with me any night of the week. We’d walk to the local liquor store and buy four quarts of beer, which was all we could carry. Then we’d go back to the dorm and drink two quarts each – however long that took – and when they were gone, we’d go to bed. At some point, we realized that five quarts of beer was just a tiny bit better than only four quarts, so we figured out a way to carry five.
Amy and I laughed, too, although not nearly as heartily or as often. Instead Amy and I were morose, and spent hours discussing the absurdity of societal norms. We detested authority and we both felt like we’d gotten a raw deal in life. We were rebels. We drank and listened to the Doors and got loud during quiet hours until the other girls either drank with us, or shunned us.
Looking back, it’s so easy to see what was happening. I could be “the real me” with Debbie – sweet, innocent, fun-loving Debbie, the one person at my college graduation with whom I cried real tears of regret because we’d be leaving all those nights of laughter behind. Sometimes I think Debbie was the first true friend I ever had.
But alcohol had its hooks in me even at 18. I thought drinking would make me popular and wild and exciting, even as it turned me into a social leper. I thought alcohol offered me freedom even as it chained my soul. So I chose parties with strangers over time with Debbie almost immediately.
Parties with strangers became parties with friends … which became parties with groups who may or may not be able to be trusted … which became parties off-campus because I couldn’t trust anyone.
A lot happened in those four years. I’m still not sure I did even one thing right, other than graduating. But what happened there got me to where I am today, so I have zero regrets.