A few hours from now marks the time and date of something I did and probably never should've done. The title explains what happened post-prom 2014. Yes, it was one hell of a night of sitting around, waiting, getting pissed at people, waiting, more waiting, forcing people to join the circle and eventually starting a game of truth or dare (Hotel tequila-smuggler version).
To cut this short, this will be another rant post--mostly regrets, complaints, a few laughs here and there but most definitely, it's a rant.
But contrary to my stereotype rant post, this is a rant where
So, okay, basically, this is a post about what I did post-prom and how I felt post-post-prom.
A drink or two...or seven can make just about anyone like me go completely stupid. Yes, I have to admit. Stupid. But to be truly truly honest about how I felt right then and there, they don't lie about how liberating it feels to be blinded by folly and well, multiple shots of tequila.
As long as you're with the right people, of course. My friends were kind enough to take me under their wings in my sorry state. But really. It was just one hell of a liberating feeling. It's literally just one of the moments where you can say things and never give a shit about what people would think about you.
So, to capsulize the things I said, basically it was me screaming, sobbing, being smothered by a pillow so we wouldn't get caught in an overpopulated hotel room with smuggled drinks and of course, professions of unrequited love.
Pathetic. I know.
But it did me well for the time being, honestly. All those feelings were just... bottled up, I suppose. So bottled up that I was being unfair to myself for clamming up for so long. So bottled up that it would be selfish to think that it was a selfless act to keep quiet for so long. So bottled up that I just--Well, I'll leave the details to my slurred conversation with Bea in the bathroom.
It did me well for the fact that I cleared out some confused feelings with myself. I screamed one thing over and over again in that single night of inebriation and I'm pretty much sure that a drunk's honesty after introspection would be the best way for me to determine what I actually feel and not have the conscious pride or self-abhorrence to deny the fact that
Maybe I need a shot or two again to finish this post.
But no.
So, now, sober and myself again, unable to be numb and totally capable of bottling up the hurt, I feel so... mixed up. I feel happy for having let all those out, liberated for finally knowing what I feel without denying myself of any considerations, touched by how people looked out for me when I was in that state but then again... there's him.
We're worse than before now. We can't seem to find our footing anymore. The truth is just a really big bitter pill to swallow and sometimes, the truth just aggravates things so much and so badly that it becomes a point of no return. I just...I don't understand why I still have to be the one always being patient, always understanding, always having to listen and just shut up.
I don't get why I can be some sort of a wall that has to take every single blow that's taken against me but when it's my turn to finally shatter, no one's every there to pick up the pieces and patch me back up. There's just always that nagging feeling of having to be swept underneath something to keep other people from stepping on the shattered pieces of Danielle and hurting themselves on it.
I don't understand why I always have to carry the burden and when I ask for someone to share mine, it just ends up with me looking like the needy one, with me looking like the weak one who couldn't shut up and thus ruined everything I just...
I just need Steffi to shovel noodles in my mouth right now and for Bea to give me that cupcake she still owes.
Happy One Week Anniversary too Inebriation, Celebration, Humiliation and Wanting a Cupcake.
Cheers.
(or not because anything with alcohol is revolting to me at the moment. #PURGING.)
(Still, please don't tell mom and dad.)
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