In memory of my social life

Over the last year or so, I have wanted to post so many times. I wanted to describe my adventures of the night before; I wanted to detail the highs and lows, the joy and silliness, the pain and heartbreak.

The problem?

Whatever I post, you would be so lost as to what I am talking about. Maybe it’s bc to understand the monumental-ness of the situation/experience, you would need the complete history with the people and previous nights just to keep up.

Or maybe it’s just bc I’m a shitty writer.

Who knows?

The basics of the last year; my level of popularity has plummeted.





From trying to break into a bar after hours totally blackedout, to passing out and having to be carried out of the bar after taking too many xannies. From several one-night stands (without any sex occurring – I know, actually a shocker), to having a (relatively) long term relationship (EEK I KNOW!! But it really was only for like 4 months, BUT that’s the longest I’ve ever been in one for!!!).

I’ve lost good friends.

I’ve gained better ones.

I’ve had my heart broken; again, and again, and again.

I’ve learned how to put the pieces back together on my own. Eventually…

I’ve learned the difference between being in love, and being attached to someone.

I’ve made a boy cry – 4 TIMES!!! 2 different guys tho (1 was 2 nights ago… More on that later tho) kinda feel empowered by that, as awful as it sounds…

Biggest news:

I got arrested for 3 felonies; 2 distribution, 1 possession – of cocaine ($70k bail)

I acquired a boyfriend

whom I then “cheated” on

and then got pregnant w said guy

(but at first was confused who the father was)

I got an abortion.


I’ll try to catch y’all up on all these events/experiences over the next few days (I have nothing better to do anyway)
I’m telling you tho…

This past year and this summer have been wild.

To say the absolute least.


4 November :: It’s Wednesday

I told myself on Sunday I wouldn’t go out until Saturday this week. 

I told myself I would work out everyday and restart my BBG guide by Kayla Itsines.

And, I have.

I have worked out everyday at least once; I did the first circuit last night – my aching body can attest to it…

I didn’t go to $0.50 beer night on Mondays.

I didn’t go to $2 wells on Tuesdays.

But, now it’s Wednesday.  Possibly the hardest day to say no to the bars.

WineWednesday is my weakness; I have been to every one since I first received my fake ID, a few days before Valentine’s Day.

One spends an only $5 for an entire full-sized cheap bottle of wine. 

The bar holding this glorious deal, was always my stomping ground last semester; I was there almost every night – the bouncers didn’t even check my ID, the bartenders gave me free drinks, and I always knew at least 3/4 of the population under the roof.

Some of my most infamous moments occurred there. As well, it is where I met and became best friends w every single one of the friends I am surrounded w to this day.

It was at this bar I was yakked all over by some fucking frat star bastard.

It was there that I almost fought a fat chick for slapping her boy friend’s best friend repeatedly (which I swear he really did deserve, and he actually thought was fucking hilarious). She kept asking me “who the fuck I thought I was” to which I responded, reiterating plentiful with “upper east side, motherfucker” over and over again.

But, recently… Things have gotten messy. 

Messy with the ones I love and care about

Messy with the ones I don’t give a shit about

Messy with the ones I don’t even know

Messy with the ones I see but have never had a conversation with.
It’s messy, and I know I should stay away – but I also know that “should” has never been a word in my vocabulary

But more than anything ::

I know I won’t be strong enough to stay away .


It started 2 July 2009

Its a scary thought to realize you no longer recognize yourself anymore. 

You wonder and question how you could have strayed so far from the girl you once were; or, when it really was that you began to wander down this destructive and undesirable path you seem to have taken. 

I’m 21 years old, and I can’t see myself, who I once was, in the mirror anymore;

I can’t fall asleep without desperately clinging to my memories of times I went wrong.

“You’re so different now.”

AKA What happened to the girl we used to know and adore, and why do you have to be the one to replace her?

The girls who once knew me so well – better than anyone in the world – I drifted from; returning years later, only to discover nothing was as it once had been, nor would it ever be close to it either.

They tell me I’ve changed; but really they want to know how and why I became such a different person. 

I wish I could tell them. I wish I could explain it. 

Because, then at least I would know, too.

“That child is a different kind of person, don’t ever break her spirit”

“Oh, don’t worry – [childhood nickname] is indestructible.”

But I wasn’t. I’m not.

I think back; racking my brain; screaming and demanding for answers, but I only receive silence. 

Then, a faint whisper, delicate and accusatory. It invades my mind. A younger, but stronger and more free-willed person than I’ve been in so long, “you broke my spirit, you rattled and shook me off. You don’t deserve them – the ones you love. You don’t deserve anyone. I did – I do; but not you, not ever you.”

I’ve lost myself. 

I’ve lose my precociousness, my confidence, madness, joy, appreciation, sense of identity.

Who is this person I have become?

Who is this monster that lies and fears; not only what lurks under the bed, not only the world at large. More than anything, this monster within herself and whom she has become?

I saw a piece of myself again, once. But, I lost it and have only spiraled even more heavily since.

I recognized my change in attitude, spirit, eagerness, curiousity, creativity. I witnessed the looks of disbelief and disappointment in the aversion of an eye, the slight tug of a frown, the pinch of a cheek, the twitching furrow of a brow.

How have I lost myself so badly?

I’m afraid.

Afraid I’ll never live again

I’ll never love again, or be loved 

I’ll never grow and experience again

I’ll never laugh and care again

Since I’ve disappeared; in so many different places, they have called me a psycho bitch.

I could never understood. I couldn’t fathom why or how they could feel so strongly in such a hurtful and spiteful manner.

But even I can no longer hide from who I’ve become, who I now am.

How did I lose the identity that set me apart in the best of ways?

How did I lose the girl with a never ending supply of laughter and love?

And, how do I get her back? 


This Lost Dream

Innocence and betrayal

Lacking in motivation

How do we speak

The words we feel

When what we see

Is not all that is meant to be.

Breaks on your heart

Stomp on your dreams

Stop this pain

Or leave again.

Hear my breath

Touch my soul

My eyes, they plead

For a long ago dream.

Forgiveness and torment

To be lost and ignored

This scar you drew

On my heart is real.

w h o r e

Definition of WHORE ~ merriam-webster dictionary

:  a woman who engages in sexual acts for money :  prostitutealso  :  a promiscuous or immoral woman
Definition of whore ~ Urban Dictionary
a woman who sleeps with you in exchange for something, usually money
When they call me a whore, they think they know. They think they have it all figured out; like, they’re so clever for deciphering the code, for labeling me, for getting the message out.
When they call me a whore, they think it is their words that will hurt me. They tell themselves that I deserve it, that I had it coming because I slept with so many guys. They believe that my number will always outrank who I am as a person.
When they call me a whore, they define me for my mistakes. They define me as a person by the things I have done, or have supposedly done. They don’t take a moment to pause, to consider the validity, or sense it may or may not make.
They think they know all that is worth knowing.
But; what they don’t know, is that I am a whore.
I am a huge fucking whore.
:: The summer before Junior year of high school, I slept with almost every boy to even give me the time of day.
:: It was only towards the end of Senior year in high school that I began to question my logic of sex and sleeping around.
:: It wasn’t until a year and a half ago that my actions and decisions had caught up with me; and the consequences became very real.
:: After that I slowed down, going from feeling emotionally off when having sex with someone I didn’t care about, to finally, hitting a breaking point.
:: Four months ago; I went on Facebook, scrolled through my friends list, and wrote down every guy i scrolled past that I had slept with. After, I thought on it and wrote down the name of boys I could remember that were not on my Facebook.
It was then that I began to understand how fucked up my logic of sex and sleeping around had become. My view had been so warped, and so screwed up; it had left me with nothing inside.
Since four months ago, I have struggled so immensely with the weight; of the consequences I must now live with for the rest of my life, of the dignity and self-respect I have entirely lost for myself, and for the memories and reminders I see every waking moment of everyday.
The shame of my actions blind me, they blind me and they hold me back. From loving myself, from letting myself be loved by anyone else. From feeling worthy of anyone or anything, from allowing anyone else to think I am worthy of them or anyone else.
The shame that resides deep within the pit of my stomach, that controls my every move and thought, that has me teetering on the edge of the sanity; allows me to brush off the words of others, and allows me to laugh at the labels they give me.
When they call me a whore, they think they know.
When they call me a whore, they think it is their own words that are making it difficult for me to breathe.
But they don’t know, and it’s not their words that haunt me.
I, alone, will be the one to feel the weight and burn of the knowledge and truth behind their words, behind my own words – that of which are so much harsher than they could ever imagine. I, alone, will the one to carry the shame and lack-of self-worth through the rest of my life, until the day I die.
So, when they call me a whore, it is because I let them.
It is because I deserve it, in such a way that they will never comprehend.

the cup of tea i don’t remember having


I’m thinking back. I’m remembering; not a lot, just small snippets, words, flashes, emotions, questions, and haze. For the most part, I don’t know what happened that night. The last thing I remember clearly was kissing him at the bar. And falling- or did I just slightly slip? I remember sitting on his lap in a small car. I remember being in an apartment and standing by an island/bar thing in the kitchen. I think we were at [[off-campus student apartment complex]]. I remember Alec handing me a glass of water. I remember swaying quite a bit and propping myself up against the wall. I remember thinking that this was almost certainly the drunkest I’ve ever been that I could consciously acknowledge.

I’ve been full on blacked out once before, but the pieces I can still sometimes grasp of that night, I did also acknowledge that I was drunk- but I wasn’t concerned about it the way I was with Alec that next time, the other previous time- I was happy drunk. I was “let’s go on an adventure” drunk, not “oh my god, I don’t know if I can walk to that door 5 ft away without falling.. I just want to lay down… I don’t care where, TBH. I don’t even care what Alec thinks of me and my drunkenness anymore. He’s nice. He’ll understand. I definitely need more water” drunk, like this next time.

I don’t remember walking to the door. I don’t remember sitting on the bed. I don’t remember who made the first move. I don’t remember if I was even present [at the time this was happening]. I think I remember kissing him in the bed, but I don’t know if I really do or if I just made it up in my head. I remember saying “condom! We have to use a condom.” But I don’t remember anything leading to that moment. Not at all from the moment Alec handed me that glass of water. I slightly remember him leading me to the bedroom but IDK if I actually do. I remember Alec saying “turn over- I want to take you from behind.” I think I remember obliging, actually no I don’t think I do.. IDK.

I remember a knocking on the wall from the other side of it, so I put my arm up and knocked back. I started to think about that movie I watched as a kid w that boy at a hotel who tried to save a monkey from his owner. The boy knocked on a suitcase -Idfk why but he did- and he heard knocking back. It was the monkey inside. Dunston Checks In. When I knocked back, I think Alec told me not to and pulled my hand back down. I don’t know when this occurred in the time we were in the bed. The bed with no sheets.

I remember feeling uncomfortable. It is my strongest memory. I was being watched. I was sitting in the bed, somewhat attempting to cover myself with spare pieces of Alec’s clothing. I was naked under them. The fat guy was standing there. On Alec’s left. He was watching me. He was saying Alec didn’t even live there. That this was his room. His bed. Not Alec’s. He asked me if I was really naked and covering myself with Alec’s clothes. I remember Alec’s other super strong friend who I always thought seemed nice, being on his other side. His right side. FatBoy on his left. I remember feeling uncomfortable. Scared uncomfortable. Like something bad was going to happen uncomfortable. I felt ridiculed. I felt judged. I felt laughed at and made fun of. I felt like a joke. Like entertainment for them. I remember being afraid. I started to wonder if I was going to have to have sex with them too.

Alec gathered my clothes for me. I remember getting dressed while they all watched me.

I want to cry as I reflect on that part of the night, that is how uncomfortable I feel about it. I want to cry and talk to someone.


Allison. I want to talk to Allison. I’ve told Milla parts, but I don’t really trust her with all of it. She doesn’t believe in… this sort of thing.

I laughed most of it off- like I was just embarrassed. But I’m not. I’m humiliated- in the deepest and most disturbed way I’ve ever known.

I think they saw me put my bra back on. I think they saw me put my thong [back] on. Idk if they saw anything though. I remember feeling uncomfortable and afraid. So afraid and so uncomfortable.

I want to talk to my mom about it, but I know she doesn’t want to hear about my sex life. And I don’t want her to call it rape and try to press charges or then try to pull me out of school here. Because it wasn’t rape. I wanted to hook up with him, just not right away. I wanted to wait, and hook up some time later on. I didn’t just want to give it up right away. I wanted to do it sometime in the future- like in a month or something.

But I always fuck up when I’m drunk. I do things on impulse and I don’t consider what Sober-Me wants. It’s like I have no boundaries, no morals, no self respect.

I should be studying for finals. I should be working on my make up work. I should be packing.

It’s 4:14 am.

I should be sleeping. But I can’t. I keep thinking back on that night.

My phone was broken. What if it hadn’t been? How would that have changed the events of it all? I think maybe I would have tried to call someone before I went into the bedroom. Or text. I might have texted Ari. Or Allison. Or Caleb. Or Tommy. Or Jason. Or Milla. Or even, Bella. I could have. I should have told them to come get me. I think I would have told them to come get me. I feel like I definitely would have. I’m attached to my phone. [Every time I go out] I choose someone I trust, and I text them all through the night. I know they can tell how drunk I’m getting with each text. I tell them exactly how I’m feeling and what I’m doing and where I am- if I know. I know I would have asked for help.

I feel taken advantage of. I feel embarrassed. And gross. I almost feel violated, even. I feel ridiculed and paranoid. What if they have told everyone and laugh about it between themselves?

I feel so uncomfortable. That’s the only truth I’ve disclosed with anyone about that night. I laugh it off. I put on a smile. [Waving my arms around elaborately] I exclaim about losing my wallet and breaking my phone, and act exasperated and faux-freak out that I may or may not have had sex with Alec. I act like its a joke; just another wild adventure on a night out in the life of India. But it’s not.

I feel more than uncomfortable about it all. I feel almost disturbed and IDEK.

There are worse things that have happened to other girls. Gang rape. Savagely abused. There are worse things.

But Alec was sober. Or at least a lot more than I was. Sober enough to see and understand and acknowledge how hammered I was. How gone [I was – how checked out I was]. He should have known better.

There are worse things, yet I still feel distraught over it. Like I don’t even know how to make sense [of it all]. I need to talk to Madonna about this. First thing when I get back. I’ll text her now.

But he was sober. He was stone cold sober. I was hammered. I can’t wrap my mind around that.

Couldn’t he tell? Couldn’t he see I was in no way, in any condition to make any responsible decisions, or even one at all.

Or maybe Alec could and he did; but he just chose to ignore it. IDK.

Disclaimer:: for the purpose of allowing all y’all to share the raw thoughts and emotions in this piece – the only edits I’ve made are in regard to format, names et al, and I also edited some of the writing BUT they were only the parts I felt you needed more information to better understand the train of thought I was following. I’ve bracketed and bolded my inserted information; however, I did not remove anything from the original writing.


One and Five ;

They don’t see me, not really. They can’t hear me, not at all.

Am I a ghost?

To them, so it would seem.

Two all Alone ;

I’m at your side; always, because I care.

Whispering promises; forever, because I love you.

All unnoticed.

For, I am a ghost.

To you, it must be true.

One and Three, Two and Zero ;

Smashing plates Why won’t they look?

Screaming and crying Why won’t they listen?

But; even worse,

Why don’t you care?

This Liar is on Fire

I am a liar.

I am always lying.

I lie even when I don’t mean to.

I lie so much, I no longer know if what’s coming out of my mouth is the truth, or just another intricate web of dishonesty.

I am not a traditional liar, however. I don’t lie to make myself, or my life more interesting. I don’t lie to be deceitful – well, not exactly anyway.

| Here’s a little secret | Anyone who tries to tell you that people want to be surrounded by others who are their own person and original; they are lying to you. Everyone thinks that that’s what they want in a friend, but it’s not. They’re really actually not interested in your complicated and dramatic past, or self. They don’t want to know about how your parent’s divorce affected you in high school. They don’t want to know about your stint in rehab. They don’t want to know about your friend who committed suicide by suffocating themselves with a plastic bag. They don’t actually care because, they don’t want to know complicated people, with a drama-filled life. They just want cookie cutters of themselves for friends, no more – no less.

So, I lie.

I lie to sound like every other basic white girl at this football-obsessed southern university:

I put on that red lipstick for game days.

I whiten my teeth daily.

I wear the unofficial girls’ uniform here – norts and an oversized tshirt.

I straighten my hair, and occasionally even curl it to perfection.

I post basic photos to Instagram, and use basic captions with basic locations.

I smile and nod.

I laugh at all the right moments, and at all the right jokes.

I tell everyone life is great.

But, it’s just a front.

I’m lying to sound less interesting. Less wild. Less complicated. Less different.

And yet, I’m not lying.

I’m only telling people exactly what they want to hear.