There are two things I want out of my freshman year of college: to hook up with confusing hottie Jared and to chug some beer as soon as possible.
Getting wasted is like purely medicinal freedom. I murder my secret and constant soul sucking fear and tense nervous body beneath 17 glorious shots of pseudo-sanity. And destroying self-conscious crazy me reveals a sexy confident stranger who likes to try wild new things.
Then there’s the Jared complication, the guy with the Halloween costume that features his ripped and naked chest. It’s an attraction I can’t deny. Too bad I can’t understand what he wants because half the time we’re making out on the dance floor and the other half we’re screaming at each other about whether or not I’m a party slut.
And as the year party-crashes to an end, my drunk-scapades and severe panic attacks want me to pay up, big time. What little sanity I started out with is clinging by a thin thread and when that thread snaps, I’m lying on the cold basement floor of my parents’ house, a loaded hand gun kissing my hot tear streaked forehead.
As I’m craving the freedom and soothing blackness of death, he calls and I open up like a fire hose of self-hating hot mess. After we hang up, I make a choice.
April 17, 2005
I need it with a quivering terrified glassy-eyed frenzy
I take a step down the stairs, waiting for the line in front of me to move. My heart hammers and a wave of fire ignites and burns up from my stomach to my cheeks. I feel trapped. There are people everywhere, the stairs packed in front of me and behind me now too into the hallway of the floor above. I’m freaking claustrophobic. Losing it…can’t escape! Not that I want to. I want to stay. Please, Victoria.
I focus on the crowd, the basement floor jumping and throbbing as far as I can see, people dancing, yelling to each other and of course, everyone has something to drink. I pick out the bright red of the cups here and there across the crowd and it reminds me of beer. Oh beer, I need you and I need you with a quivering terrified glassy-eyed frenzy. Like now, right NOW. I need to run down these damn stairs and push through the crowd and gulp down about a cup and a half and then keep it up for the rest of the night. Drunk robot on repeat.
The music is pulsing and it’s one of my favorite songs. Normally, if I were drunk enough I’d be energized right now, ready to dance and party, get a little wild, but right now I’m subsisting on the sips of vodka I had at Hannah’s dorm before we left and the fumes of the tiny sip I had before I drove to her house from my parents’. It’s not enough. Shit I couldn’t dance now if I wanted to, I’m stiff as all hell, muscles tightly clenched in fear.
Hannah turns to smile at me and then points out the guys across the crowd near the keg. Thank the freaking lord they’re in the right direction. However I need all these assholes in front of me to freaking move it so I can get myself a drink. MOVE!!! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!
I look over at them again and stare at him. My new boyfriend. My fucking ridiculously hot boyfriend. I’ll do just about anything to make sure I can be here with him and that he and our friends won’t find out my dirty crazy secret. If it means drinking at home, driving, drinking at Hannah’s, drinking here until I pass out or turn into a drunk slutty idiot, so be it. At least being a drunk seems normal. Being a freak and totally crazy…not so well received. Hell, I can just see the dumbfounded look and then the freaking smug smile when I try to explain. You…what? Why? Huh? Weird….!
I try to distract myself with him,
eyes traveling over his rugged body, wide shoulders and those eyes, those expressive sexy eyes as he laughs at something his friend is saying to him. My heart takes a tiny break from hammering to flutter a bit. I’m so…smitten with him. It’s awesome that we’re together. If only I wasn’t spiraling down into utter despair and desperation because I never feel normal.
For God’s sake, I freaking drank before class the other day. I whip this thought right out of my head. It’s like a goddamned boomerang, zipping away but sure to be back to torment me soon enough. I smile, or grimace, something like that. No use, just don’t freaking think about it, you stupid beotch!
We’ve move a few more steps and then stop. People are taking their freaking time, chatting with friends, fooling around. MOVE IT!!! My heart races again, pulse revved up and then slamming through my veins under pressure. Pressure. Hazy-eyed, pulled back into my own freakish terror thoughts, stomach devouring itself alive. Sickness. I look up the stairs, escape? No don’t do it!
I force myself to look across the crowd again and he looks up and sees me and smiles. It’s this little half-smile with just a flash of white teeth. OMG sexy hottie. He’s wearing a fitted T that outlines his chest and his arms are crossed showing off thick biceps. I love those. Wow…Another kind of throb starts inside me…I’ve been like a sex fiend lately. I just want it…and want it and want it. Sex and beer, sex and beer and weed, sex and beer and weed and being someone else for tonight. No. More. Crazy. Fear. Yes, please.
We move a few more steps and people finally seem to be getting the hell out of our way. Hannah’s shaking her hips to the music in front of me and looks back over her shoulder with a grin and I force a smile. Almost there, almost there. Calm. Breathe. It’s gonna be okay.
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What you see on the outside is not what you get on the inside. On the outside,
Victoria Sawyer is polished, confident, put together, but on the inside things
are a bit different. She’s creative, thoughts whirling, anxious, alternately
depressed and happy or self-critical and confident, energetic, charismatic,
cranky and panicked.
She has suffered from panic attacks, anxiety and depression since the age of 10
and has been writing for just about as long. Her love of writing started as
journal entries as therapy and eventually morphed into a melding of fact and
fiction. Sometimes writing drives her to drink or drinking drives her to write
or sometimes it’s depression, anger, mental illness or love.
Angst is a story she has always wanted to tell, a fiction retelling of her own
struggles as a college freshman. Her goal is to be completely honest about
mental illness and life’s struggles and to reduce the stigma of mental
disorders. She hopes to follow up with a second book featuring Victoria in the
future. For more Wicked Victoria, visit her blog: