I couldn’t really move. I sat there like a little used up doll in the corner of that loud bar, head tilted just enough on my shoulder an acquaintance felt the need to step in. She called another acquaintance who came to pick me up. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t have been the last either. I was confused, sad, and somehow the life of the party. Yes, sitting there in the corner without enough control to dial a friend to come pick my drunk butt up, I, was the life of the party…? Funny how it all feels more like death when I look back. Hindsight, right?

I’d mentored a bunch of girls for a while after this dumb phase of life had passed, and I’d see the same eyes in some of them as I’d once had myself. Those eyes longing for acceptance and finding belonging in the alcohol, the party, the pretty. I still see them often now, and the ones I don’t see, I do see their Facebook Wall, Instagram Posts and heartache. I get the odd text and sometimes even, the pleasure of a coffee and vent session. And they’d leave with eyes a little less void, though the race will still call their name. The chaos of it all is baffling, and it is beyond wrecking to see them go through some of those same moments as I had. How had I found myself there? How do my girls or maybe even you find ourselves there? Looking for life while really the enemy is simply looking for blood. And that’s what he’s getting if we could stop fooling ourselves Sunday morning at four am when we question what the hell happened even an hour before. Isn’t it difficult to navigate when life becomes an adrenaline rush and love becomes lust?

It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve been in that place, but I don’t ever forget it. What started as searching begins to look more like desperation. Looks more like a plea, and yet somehow, we consider the life of the party any semblance of a life? If you find yourself the life of the party and feeling a little more like death instead, I’m always just an email away.