Just a Few Honest Words

So, since I left for college, my former bedroom has been occupied by my dear younger sister. She moved in after I left to stop herself from killing my youngest sister, with whom she used to share a room. 

This left me with no place to call my own when I would come home to visit. I’d either end up stuck with my youngest sister—an incredibly territorial nine-year-old—on the bottom bunk of her bed (and just so you know, sharing a room with a nine-year-old absolutely sucks. You have no kind of privacy and the TV is permanently stuck on the  Disney Channel.), or on the couch in the family room. I had no place that I could actually call my own, no place to put my clothes or books, no place to retreat to in order to get a bit of peace and quiet. 

But now, wonder of wonders, I have a room again! 

My mother, taking pity upon my poor, homeless soul, decided to transform our office into a room for me. I got to pick out a lovely duvet and paint the walls in the colors of my choice, and I even get my old bed back. My mom found an antique writing table in the basement that I’m going to use as a nightstand, and she actually bought me a new lamp, shampooed the carpets, and bought me a beautiful new rug that covers up most of the room. And the best part? I get to keep the huge bookcase that used to be a part of the office! I’ll probably be posting some pictures here in the next few days. 

I’m just so happy. My new room is beautiful, airy, and light, and it fits my personality well. I have room for my stuff again, I have a place to go when I want to be alone, and I no longer feel like the outsider in my family. 

I am content. :) 

Sometimes I have to wonder what’s wrong with me. 

It seems as if, whenever I choose to indulge in alcohol to the extent that I can actually say that I’m, for lack of a better word, “drunk,” I always wake up the next morning feeling awful about myself. I don’t know if it’s because oftentimes I can’t remember every single thing I said the night before, and that my social anxiety bids me think that the worst happened, or that I just worry that I was obnoxious, uninteresting, and annoying, or if it’s some other factor, but I always end up with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, one reeking of melancholy and shame.

I’m not happy during the days after I’ve been drinking.  

Last night my friend Travis had a party at his house. It was great, there were a bunch of spectacular people there, indulging in delicious alcoholic beverages, and everyone had a wonderful time. 

Except waking up this morning, I had that same hollow pit in my stomach again, the one that whispers awful things like “shame” and “embarrassment” and “idiot.” I’m worried that, in my drunkenness, I upset one of my best friends, and once again shared way too much information about my life, and was, for all intents and purposes, the obnoxious drunk girl at the party. 

I feel awful about last night, and what’s worse is that I know it’s probably unwarranted, because, like I said, everyone had a really great time. But I can’t shake this unhappy feeling—I’m not pleased with myself, nor proud of myself, and I absolutely despise feeling this way. 

I know the solution to this would be to stop drinking, which I’m usually good at, for a few weeks, or until the next party comes along, at which point I usually tell myself that I won’t let myself get to that point again. It doesn’t usually work, and I end up waking up unhappy the next day.

So, I’ve decided to make a pact with myself: from this day until the end of the summer, I’m not going to drink. I’m going to force myself to be the sober one at the party, no matter what it takes. I’m not going to give myself the opportunity to feel bad about myself. 

So, sober Ashlynn is going to start making herself happy again.

Bring it on, and wish me luck.