August 8, 2020 – The night of drinking would start respectably enough, but casual getting-to-know-you moments and conversations about schoolwork would devolve as it wore on. Like many people, I used alcohol as a social lubricant, filling awkward pauses with sips. A drink or two and I’d relax. Three drinks in, I’d lose all inhibitions. I call it ‘trauma bonding’ aka “Let me tell you the worst thing that’s ever happened to me! Now, it’s your turn…” — it’s typical of people when they’re drinking. Drunken oversharing may feel like a shortcut to intimacy, but you’re likely to forget half of what was said, so you’re not really building any kind of long-lasting friendship, and it seriously alienates anyone with a healthier sense of self. The next day, I’d wake up — alone, if I was lucky — my head pounding, heart racing as memories of the night before flashed back to mind. Assuming I hadn’t lost it, I’d look down at my phone to find dozens of worried texts and missed calls. At some point I’d call the bar looking for my bank card and discover I’d racked up a hundred dollar tab.
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