I’m in college, so you know. Things tend to get cray from time to time. People turn up.
And I don’t have anything against having a good time, you know? But I’m starting to realize that far too often, people around me are using their frat parties and their pre-gaming as an excuse not to have a good time, but to get away from the world around them.
I get it. If you’re alive, you know what it means to feel stress, pressure, worry, sadness, anger. And sometimes, these emotions can press down on you and the only thing to do is either face them head on or shove them into a tiny box that you bury deep inside yourself.
But then, somehow, six or seven shots and a couple of beers in, all that mess that you’ve shoved down deep inside of you starts bubbling up to the surface. You’re blackout drunk and you can’t escape from the hurt that put you here in the first place.
I’ve consoled girls vomiting up into toilet bowls between their tears, asking me over and over again why that boy didn’t love them, why they felt lost and unwanted in their lives. And what could I do, but tell them that I was here for them, that God loved them, and that it was all going to be OK. But does that mean anything?
Because they forget it all the next day.
I want us to share our fears and dreams with each other: painfully sober. I don’t want us to rely on drunken vulnerability.