Punch Drunk Love

You look good, you feel good, you dance the night away, you flirt with the attractive bachelor that's stood next to you at the bar and then you find yourself in a downward spiral of tears and fears in a toilet cubicle stacked full of your nearest and dearest. This is when you have to ask yourself "What the hell happened?" I have decided to entitle this little return to your teenage years, Punch Drunk Love. An awful amalgamation of drunkness and loneliness with a hint of "Why doesn't he want to be with me?"

Punch Drunk Love was definitely something I mastered as a teenager, I sheepishly have to admit. My first year of University saw me taking it almost to another level. I would get drunk. Extremely drunk, atleast once a week. The kind of unattractive drunk in which you have to be carried home due to your inability to stand up straight and it was something of a ritual to find me in the bathrooms at the end of the night, with an Oscar winning crying performance. I was so caught up in my love affair, or lack thereof (due to his inability to commit solely to me) with Prince Charming that my drunken state would do nothing to heal my wounds. Instead it seemed to use the salt from my tequila shots to rub it in. Fortunately I turned twenty and as quick as somebody could say "You're no longer a teenager!" My drunken debacles ground to a halt. I had controlled my addiction. Thank God.

So you can imagine my dismay when several years later, when I supposedly knew better, I found myself sat in a toilet cubicle, mascara smeared across my face, head in my hands with my friend Janis force feeding a cigarette down my throat to calm me down, despite the fact I don't smoke. How had I come so far to then shave four years off of my life?

Not only though had I resorted to my former youth but I also, nonetheless seemed to exaggerate it in order to create even more upset for myself. Why do I always feel the need to create melodrama out of thin air? Surely I knew better than to pursue a situation that was so unhealthy it made crack cocaine look nutritious? However, off I went "guns a blazing" chasing down yet another unsuitable. This is my new name for just about every man I have ever come into contact with romantically, I think it has a certain ring to it. Once again I was rejected, being told that "I do like you, you know I do but I just want to be single at the moment." Of course you do, please let me finish your sentence for you, believe

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