Day 18 - Regrets

People always say, "Don't have any regrets." In fact, I said it in an earlier blog post. See it? Down in number twenty? But honestly, how can we NOT have regrets? Moments in time that pull at our stomach muscles, making us wish we could take it all back and make the memories fade away. I have a few, but I'll share one of my biggest ones. Which will probably make people say, "THAT is your regret?!" Hey, we all have our inner battles.

The first time I drank alcohol.

Now, I do not see anything wrong with an occasional round of something alcoholic. Wine. Beer. Margaritas. A flaming shot you tried just to say you did. But there is a moment, usually in your 'underage' years, that you drink the wrong stuff, in the wrong amounts, and at the wrong time. I was 17 and was on break from work. I headed back to a friend's house with my then fling, S, and his gal pal C. They decided to pour me some shots. We weren't at a party. It wasn't a Friday evening hanging out with friends. It was the middle of the day and here I was, sitting on the floor doing shots of liquor. I remember after the third one I exclaimed, "I'm going to be sick!" and ran to the bathroom, only to gag into the toilet. Soon enough it was time to head back to work, and soon enough the effects of alcohol were working through my system. What was my job you ask? I was a waitress in a retirement home. And now I was an almost drunk waitress in a retirement home. I remember getting out of S's car and stumbling into the building, my co-workers glancing at me with worried looks. After all I was their resident good girl. They used to tell me that I lived in a bubble. As the evening went on I was able to do my job with ease, somehow, but my co-workers grew upset. They questioned if S slipped me something other than alcohol. They questioned his motives. Somewhere into the second hour of serving dinner S and another guy got into a fight. Why? Because the other guy, J, accused S of trying to take advantage of me. Fists were flying. A door was punched. A hand was broke. And S was fired. That was the first time two guys fought over me and that was the last time I was almost drunk. In fact, I would not be lying if I said I have never even been buzzed since that point.

Regret, I have it.