Brain Fog

I’m trying to remember events now and I’m finding it hard to recollect the last couple of months of my first year at University. If you were to take the memories from my mind and pour them into a penseive (yes, I’m a Harry Potter fan) and try to investigate what I remember you’d be left stranded in a fog of confusion.

Maybe I’ve gotten my sequence of events a bit wrong, but there are a few events that I know certainly happened during my last term at University. I think the Pink concert had been part of the Easter break but I can’t be certain. One thing I remember clearly is that when I got back to Portsmouth, I made it all the way to my room before I realised I had left my keys in Somerset.

I had no way to get back home to retrieve them. My first call was to my parents to ask them to send my keys to me in the post. The next was to contact facilities to come and let me into my room. Spare keys wouldn’t be issued. I had to wait downstairs for someone to come out and let me in. While I was waiting a guy from the floor above who I’d met several times in the lift and spoken with sometimes stopped to chat to me.

He was smooth I’ll give him that, and he waited with me and kept me entertained until I had been let into my room. He was attractive and cheeky, and somehow invited himself up to my room. We were just hanging out talking about our tastes in music and he flicked through my extensive CD collection. I don’t think he was expecting to see so much Janet Jackson in my collection. It was something we both had in common.

I honestly don’t know what was going through my mind, sure he was attractive, charming, cheeky and clearly admiring why was I encouraging him? Maybe it had something to do with having reached a real low point in my life, I felt hated whenever I was back in Somerset, I was emotionally drained and had spent the better part of the year going off the rails.

I was shallow enough that it felt good to feel wanted. Everyone else in my life was playing stupid games with me, blowing hot and cold, leading me on, using me, disappointing me. Perhaps that’s a little harsh, I had great friends, I just didn’t recognise that at the time and turn to them when I should have done. So instead for the second (and last time ever) I had another one off encounter with a man. The first time I was ridiculously drunk, this time I have to confess to being stone cold sober.

It didn’t stop the disgust I felt afterwards. Again, not for the experience which I didn’t actually feel anything but numb about, but with myself for not being sure of my own mind and predisposition. Where before the disgust had been felt only after the event had passed and I woke up in the morning after my drinking binge and the shame then dawned on me. This time I stopped proceedings (although too late) and explained that I didn’t know what I was doing, he was a decent guy but this just wasn’t me.

I confessed to him that I was a lesbian, and although I had lead him on I wasn’t being true to myself. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact I think he was quite pleased with the situation, some guys just don’t get the concept of lesbian. I know I didn’t help situations by getting involved with him. I showed him the door and locked myself in my room, had a shower and went to bed to try and forget the whole experience.

I never told anyone about that night, not for a very long time. I threw myself back into the last couple months of University. I made my arrangements to change onto a design course at the end of the year, I had many drunken nights out with Chris, with some memorable photographs being taken in the photo booth at the train station on the way home. We would quite often see how many people we could fit in there and it was a old fashioned one that took a different photo with each flash, not the ones you get now with 4 perfect replicas of the same shot.

There was an evening me and Christ dubbed as Black Monday, we got incredibly drunk and walked home at a casual pace in the pouring rain. Took the customary photo on the way home and we both looked like drowned rats and eventually called it a night. The following morning I had a call from Chris asking why he woke up in soaking wet clothes, I had to remind him that on the way home the night before he fell and landed in a huge puddle. I was often the story-teller after a night out since I never seem to suffer with alcohol-amnesia.

So, how did I get over my latest disappointment with myself? I went back to the partying and women. I would spend night after night in 227 dancing the night away, on the prowl for some meaningless encounter. Although I was more careful this time around, I’d learned my lessons. I kept it strictly to a kiss here and there with, quite frankly, countless women. It was actually kinda fun, if I never let it go to far I wouldn’t get hurt by being rejected later down the line if I actually liked one of these girls. Plus it was a massive confidence boost, I was invited to go home with 3 girls one night and when I had been cheeky enough to ask who wanted me, they said all of them and they didn’t mind sharing… well I declined, but the offers were coming in and saying no was empowering.

There would be one last time when I wouldn’t say no. Like I said before I was done with the games, and I had hit rock bottom, the only way was up from there. I started to feel a bit more like myself from then on. I remembered all the things I believed in, like love and romance. I started to sober up and spend more time with my friends Chris and Debbie during the day time and just enjoying their company without the alcohol. The first year was coming to an end and it would go out with a bang.

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