The feels all serial drunk texters can relate to

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You’ve just woken up on a Sunday morning. You wake up feeling not too crash hot with only the foggiest memory of last night’s shenanigans. Then you remember to check your phone. You reach for what seems like your third limb for some form of confirmation of last night’s damage. This is when you realise that the inevitable has definitely happened. You’ve done it again. You should just crawl into your hibernation cave and hide away for the next six days. When I say you, I of course mean me. “Hi, my name is Erin and I’m a serial drunk texter.”

Stage one: “I’m just going to ignore the fact that I even messaged them and they definitely will too, obviously.”

You may know that you’ve sent something a bit too risqué, incoherent or even just down-right illegible. But as long as you don’t open the message and re-read your drunken messages, it means it didn’t happen right? Right! Even when someone texts you and says, “Wow someone had one too many sauv’s last night”, ignore them. You don’t need negative people like that in your life.

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Stage two: “No I am definitely not being naïve, everyone does it. They won’t mind that they received seven messages at 2am. It’s fine.”

False. They will mind. Whether it’s the cute guy from the gym, your best friend who you are confessing your unwavering love for, an ex-partner (everyone does it) or a family member (such as your Nan who you text at 2am to ask why she isn’t picking up her house phone – still apologetic for that one Nan!) Yeah nah, they will mind.

Stage three: “Oh well, at least they will know that I think about them when I am that inebriated. It’s a compliment right?!”

It might not be as cute as you make it out to be in your head. If you’re like me (I mean my “friend”), you’ve drunkenly messaged someone you’ve only met once or twice in your entire life. They’re not going to appreciate the drunken crack on. Ever. It isn’t going to be taken as a compliment. You are now the renowned drunken weirdo. Good one. Truth bomb – you will probably never be able to come back from that.

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Stage four: “It’s Saturday night, I am going to go out with the girls and not think about them and just have a good night.”

Famous last words. Never going to happen. Just remember you’ll feel the same pang of guilt you did last weekend and repeat the above stages. Try and get through the night without messaging them. It’s going to be real hard but it’ll be worth it when all you have to deal with is sourcing infinite amounts of water to quench your unwavering thirst and where the closest Maccas is to refuel.

Of course, you can try and learn from your mistakes. To do this you have several options – if you find yourself only messaging the one person, block their number on a Saturday so you don’t feel tempted. But speaking from experience, this doesn’t work. Just throw your phone out the window after the damning message, Snapchat or phone call has occurred. Then change your name and take a flight to Thailand and never return. I’m tempted to take the latter option.

Originally posted on Hijacked. Link here – The feels all serious drunk texters can relate to

 

Why is it so hard to take your own advice that you give out so freely to others?

I don’t know why but previously, during my early (single) years I was always the go-to for all advice on relationships. No idea why as it didn’t make any sense. Still doesn’t really. But everything from babies to fights to in-law problems, I knew it all. I could dish out advice quicker than they could tell me about their problems. I was the Buddha of relationships. Did my advice ever work? Probably not. Did they ever listen to me? Again, probably not. But my friends entrusted me with their problems and the goings-on and I was happy to oblige. Fast forward to now. Everything in my relationship turned to sh*t. And if it was a girlfriend going through this I would know exactly what to do, what to say, how to treat their ex-partner. I would be able to fix me. But when it’s your own advice, and you say it to yourself, you’re bloody Helen Keller 2.0. Blind and deaf to the entire thing.

Now, a little bit, ahem, older, maybe wiser, definitely more experienced and definitely more attune to the world around me, I am asked for opinion and advice on things regularly. The one thing that I wish I could solemnly do however, is give myself advice. And listen to it.

The best thing to do with pain, is wait. Sounds cliché AF but time really does heal all wounds. Whether it takes days, weeks, months or even years, it takes time. So you distract yourself. You might get a new hobby, or start reading again, or masturbate. You distract yourself so you don’t think about the pain that you’re feeling. You don’t want to spend time dwelling on the past, what happened or worse; what could’ve happened.

The weekends are the worst. Because even if you are trying to take a ‘break’ from alcohol aka becoming a drunk mess and crying in public; other people do not. Other people like to tell you their drunken feelings and opinions. A lot, and I mean A LOT of people will tell you that they never liked them, they always knew something was off about them or that they knew they weren’t right for you. Of course, unless these people are malicious a-holes, they are trying to be sincere and cheer you up. And of course, it doesn’t work, but I’m sure it helps them feel better to get it off their chest and to ‘help’ you.

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Until now, I hadn’t realised how much of a hard bitch I was when it came to other people. I was so quick and found it so easy to say, “dump him”, “move on, you aren’t happy”, “he doesn’t deserve you. He is so batting,” or my old favourite, “you deserve and can do so much better.” Who the F am I to say what someone else deserves? My other favourite was always something along the lines of reminding them to be the bigger person and to ensure that they stay the ‘mature one’. Safe to say, today I have failed my biggest advice BS spiel.

I have been petty. I have deleted every trace of that person from my life – the photos on my laptop, reset my phone to factory settings, deleted every trace of them and their friends off every facet of social media I could find. And of course after this, I decided to go investigating, ahem, stalking. Stalking for any skerrick of hope that they are hurting as much as I am, for answers, for opinions, for information on what he was doing. Why? Absolutely no idea. Did it help? No. Did it make me cry? Of course it did. It was inevitable, it had to be done for peace of mind, and in some weird twisted way it was therapeutic. I knew it was wrong because I would NEVER admit to anyone I was doing it. But this is all part of fixing myself. Since alcohol doesn’t work – found that out the hard way – I found this to be quite soothing, comforting almost.

So now I’m helping myself. I am literally doing everything opposite of what I would tell someone else to do. I am not going to kick myself over what has happened though. The actions that took place sucked and definitely kicked me in the hypothetical gonads but I sure as sh*t can’t change anything and I am beginning to see that I wouldn’t want to. I wasn’t, and he definitely wasn’t happy and we hadn’t been for a very long time. So it’s both a blessing and a curse.  I am going to jump on the hobbies bandwagon, take up tinder full-time, maybe dabble in knitting, smash through another three different seasons of some mindless TV shows and who knows, maybe take up bikram yoga? I’m not too sure yet. Maybe ask me next week what I end up doing.

Peace out, love recently retired advice girl x