Tonight is the penultimate night of my last ever freshers week here at Reading. The last four nights I’ve been out drinking, slowly increasing the alcohol intake and the damage done to my poor, unsuspecting liver. Thank god it regenerates that’s all I can say.
Last night, was a hard one. I recommend you never take your card out with you on a night out. It doesn’t end well. Although I’m sure it probably won’t end with you having a breakdown in McDonalds and wearing a skanky golf visor you plucked off some poor randomers head. Did I mention I had a panic attack as well as a breakdown? No, didn’t think I did.
Alcohol does funny things to people, really it does. It makes you say things that sometimes are better of unspoken. It can even make you say things that really need to be said, too. Last night was a night that necessary things were spoken, which I won’t ever forget, nor will my housemates either I suspect.
I always thought despite putting it off and just being totally uncertain to be honest, that I would have a bit more class in doing what I did in a club and McDonalds and then the taxi on the way home. It wasn’t at all how I imagined telling them, and the random people who I think I told too.
I blame alcohol for that, but I also love alcohol for giving me the courage and spurring the mild panic attack that eventually led to what happened. I now have full sympathy for people that have panic attacks regularly, it was god damn awful. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of my own thoughts and drowning in the confusion and anxiety. It was truly horrifying.
Not to mention I then bought a flaming McDonalds for the three of us. Such a classy way to come out, eh?