I hit rock bottom a little bit yesterday. Well, I tapped it gently and felt for a brief moment the enormity of my terrible decisions and humiliation. It was not a good view from down there.
It was turning out to be a fantastic night. I had green glitter on my face and I’d just passed my mock exam (Jemima sitting next to me got a 2:1. Jemima was upset she didn’t get a first. Fucking Jemima).
Shots were 80p – so who isn’t going to buy everyone 3 each and then go back for more when the effect doesn’t hit you instantantly and so you assume you must need more alcohol.
I danced a lot. And tried to climb over the barrier onto the stage because it seemed like a hilarious idea at the time. I hugged a lot of people and declared I loved them all so much and I couldn’t wait for the numerous coffee dates/cinema trips/summer beach holidays we were all going to go on together after this Insane Night Out.
And then I kissed my friend. I would say it was unintentional and out of the blue, but I wanted to do it.
I wanted to do it because I like another boy. And it’s confusing and I pretend I want the Casual Fling. So this was my weird way of pretending I have the upper hand and I’m the one who goes around casually kissing other people and doesn’t want anything more (who has time for a relationship anyway? Not this wild thing, that’s for sure).
So my cunning solution was to kiss my good friend and, increduously, I actually felt better for a fleeting moment.
As though kissing your friend to make a boy jealous when he won’t even know you kissed a different boy is the sign of a rational, cool and desirable woman.
So this takes me back to the point of rock bottom. I felt it when I woke up this morning and realized how low I’d flung myself. It was a suprisingly brilliant enlightment. I realised that it’s so horrendously awful to weigh my self-worth on whether or not boys like me, especially certain boys. I cannot continue to do this. It’s unsustainable and a little bit crushing.
I say all this with a determined frown creased across my forehead and my fingers slamming the keyboard violently because I am going to be oh-so-different-from-now-on. However, Boy No. 1 will message me at some point (here’s hoping) and I’ll dive back into his attention, glowing and giggling and just generally being awful.
But I am going to try and not do that. There’s only so much confidence a girl can lose.
Boys will be boys, and girls will be girls. And there basically lies the whole bloody problem.