How can everything just change in the course of several days, a few specific defining moments, a couple choice phrases? And now there are all these questions, all these messy complications that can be construed differently when surrounded by different groups of people. It’s funny when I try to pinpoint a specific second where the course of my life was changed, as if finding this moment will somehow, someway, help situations revert back to the way they once were. I try to identify the feeling, the people, the emotions, and I reassure myself that this change was necessary, and that this change was for the better. But that’s just not the truth anymore.

This summer changed me. I know this. The person I was at the end of the May and the person I am currently midway through August are hardly comparable anymore. So, was there a specific moment that stemmed the initial change? And if so, how could I let it? I remember a few key phrases spoken, and a few agreements brought on by that unknown source deep in the core of my stomach, and I remember not knowing how to go back, and not wanting to. The problem with this progression of change in me is that I could not will myself to stop it, that I wanted that change so badly at the time that I somehow can no longer find my way back.

So who is to blame? Is it Amy who initially suggested that first night of binge drinking with the “boys from work”? Was it Mike and the way he handed me those first few Jaeger bombs? Or was it myself for continuing to double fist the Smirnoff watermelon vodka? All in all, those first couple nights didn’t change me fully, in fact, those nights were when the feelings were bearable.

 I would have to say that the turning point for me would be one Friday night in June. I remember the way the bottle of Smirnoff felt against my palm, and the way each swig from the bottle burnt my from my throat to the base of my stomach until it was followed by the warm taste of peach flavored iced tea. I remember meeting Chris, his eyes letting me in, his smile following after my every word, the way his hands felt when he placed them on my waist, how his lips tasted like Bud Light while he kissed me. I remember Lance and Amy in the front seat of a sedan, and Chris’s arms around my waist, as he kissed my neck in the backseat. I remember the house we ended up at, red brick with construction vehicles still parked outside, and Chris’s hand as he pulled me out of the car and toward the pool. I remember Amy laughing as Lance pulled her into the house and the splash as Chris and I jumped in the pool stripping off our clothes as we went. The water was cold, the air was colder, and so we huddled together trying to stay warm—before we migrated to other activities. I don’t remember much after that, not the drive back to Amy’s car, or the drive back to her house, or changing into something else before getting into bed and falling asleep. I do remember that feeling the next day, the bruises on my back, the realizations between Amy and I, and I do remember that this was the start of a trend for the rest of the summer.

Since that night, there were several more boys without numbers, a few nameless faces, blurred memories of moments that I should’ve been aware of. It got to the point where I didn’t care about myself or anyone, and I was no longer happy unless nursing a beer with some random whomever placing his arm around my waist. A July 4^th spent in a high and inebriated state, fireworks looking that much better after a few drags in the car with some people, too many parties and places and drinks that had to be worked off at the gym the next day, and the loss of the person I used to be.

Now at this exact moment in time there are different problems to be explained at a different time and place, because the end of this summer has been worse and more confusing than the rest. Currently, I don’t know what I want, need, or should feel. Sure, it’s fun at moments, and I like these new faces in my life and how they are becoming constants instead of nameless one nighters, but is this really what I want? I was doing an okay job at hiding my unhappiness from myself a majority of the summer, but it’s hard to ignore it when I was driving home buzzed and crying at 4 am from a party on Saturday night. It’s  hard to ignore the feeling in my stomach as I sit in my cubicle at work and try my best to concentrate on the names and numbers on Excel spreadsheets. I could say I can’t wait to go back to school, move into the dorm, and be comfortable again—but that’s not true.

There is some deeper feeling in me that wishes I could just stay in one place for longer than a semester or a summer, to make a home and not have to leave it, and to have a significant relationship for once in my life—someone that I won’t leave in a month or two, and that I won’t cheat on in the heat of the moment because the beer was affecting me and someone else was allowing me to enter his life for a night.