October 28, 2022
October 28, 202 The first time I got drunk, I was thirteen. I was hanging out with a girl who was in my grade but a year old than I was. We were at her cousin's or her sister's house; I can't quite remember. We lied about my age, and I started drinking spiced Captain Morgan's rum with Coke. I also can't quite remember how many I had, or how I started to feel, or why I kept drinking when I knew I didn't like the taste and had to force it down. The specifics are hazy, for obvious reasons, and one of the next things I remember I was in the bathroom, hanging off the toilet, puking up all the alcohol I had just drank. I remember sleeping on the floor, in this random house, and feeling like I had done something good. I have finally gotten drunk. I wish I could tell my thirteen year-old self that this wasn't an accomplishment. It wasn't something to be proud of. The drinking continued for a long time after that night. Throughout my teenage years I oft...