I’ve come to realize that drunk confessions keep my soul thriving. I am not a heavy drinker, since I usually have to drive home or DD. However, my friends get drunk–very drunk. So drunk they confess all their feelings to me. Okay, not all their feelings, but at least their feelings towards me. Twice, these confessions have changed our relationship.
The first time was with a friend I affectionately call Black Death, Sunshine, or Spanky. It varies. Black Death is the name she prefers. I prefer Spanky. Normally she goes by Sunshine. Anyways, we were at a house party and she was very drunk. She looked at me and smiled. She said, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re really one of my best friends and I like you, human.”
How sweet is that?!
This is the girl who doesn’t hug me, or touch me… ever. We call it our running joke and it still stands to this day. We are polar opposites of each other and I still think she hates me most of the time we’re in the same room. She also says things like “Hey, you’re the only one in our group of friends who doesn’t have a tattoo or a boyfriend.”
I don’t think she’s intentionally cruel, but she excels at it.
It’s not just her. I get offended easily, apparently, and defensive… so it seems. I snap at her unprovoked and usually without reason. I wish I could explain why, but my only excuse is that I am short tempered and make odd associations.
Her drunk confession is still my most favorite memory of ours, even if she doesn’t remember it. Although there was the one time we went to Popeye’s while I was dog-sitting and we watched Spice World. Regardless, it helps me believe in our friendship. Maybe we’re not as close now, but we have a long and full history. Also, it’s nice to have validation from your friends that not only are you not a bad friend, but you are one of the best friends. That’s a pretty big deal.
The second and most recent drunk confession came from my Beef/Sheep stealer. This girl and I have been friends since 6th grade. We also like to parade around as cousins. So, obviously we were best friends and she loved me, so why does this drunk confession matter? It wasn’t like it was the first.
Because in August 2011 we stopped talking to each other until May 2012, shortly after I graduated. It was complete radio and internet silence from the both of us. Terrible things happened and neither of us handled it well. We slowly started meeting up more once I moved back home. In November, last year, we had the DTR (define the relationship) talk. We set back to where we were in August before we stopped talking and everything was fine. You know, except for the fact that everything was weird.
It’s not easy to go from, essentially, being broken up to being the bestest of friends again. We talked it out and we got the closure we needed, but the guilt was still there and you still wonder if it’ll happen again. Nevertheless, we still weren’t as close and we had missed so much of each other’s lives. To this day, I still feel like there’s something missing, but maybe I’m overly sensitive about it.
Anyways, we went to a pub crawl the weekend before Halloween. The Sheep Stealer got absolutely tanked. I’m not entirely certain that tipped the scales, but they had officially toppled over. Actually, I should have known when she busted out dancing to Beyonce in the park… but then I was doing it with her and I was stone cold sober. And so were the group of teeny boppers that worked in the haunted house. They most likely weren’t drunk. It was a great Beyonce dance party.
As we were making our way back to the bars after the impromptu party, she was telling me that we had been friends for over a decade, which was true. We met in 2001 when I was 11. It is now 2013 and I am 23. She was amazed and couldn’t believe it and kept asking me if I could believe it. Then she said I could never stop being friends with her… or she’d kill me. What can you do but laugh in that situation? I mean, she even threatened to kill other people that might have stood in the way of our friendship, as well as maintained my ranking as #1 Best friend. She was quite inebriated–tanked, I say. In her defense, she carried herself very well up until the car ride back to her boyfriend’s house. The struggle started then, but so did the confession.
She felt sick and she was feeling the effects of being tanked, hammered, and sloshed in every single way. I thought she needed help throwing up/standing up while she was in the bathroom, but apparently she just wanted to talk to me. While she peed. That’s true friendship. She said I was her best friend and that I could never, ever, ever leave her. If I ever did leave her, she’d find me and kill me and then exorcise my ghost. Then things got deep. To paraphrase it, she said that we’d been through a lot of crap, but she could still count on me to be there for her and that I could count on her to be there for me. She said she didn’t know what she’d do without me.
Of course, I returned the sentiments in a two-word sentence full of emotion: “Me too.”
It was a long and very drunk “I love you, you’re my best friend,” which was then followed by the long and tedious task of trying (and failing) to get her out of the bathroom. However, that doesn’t make it any less appreciated. Even as she threw up on my foot, I was comforted by the fact that I wasn’t the only one in the friendship that was all in.
I don’t need the validation from my friends to know what I’m not a bad friend, but it is nice to hear that I’m doing a decent job of it. Sometimes the only time you get to hear these praises is when the friend is drunk, especially Sunshine as she is allergic to most human emotion. I thrive off of the drunk confessions because they let me know that I’m doing something right. In a time where I am unemployed, unmotivated, and flailing, that is more than welcome.