Party girls don't get hurt
Can't feel anything, when will I learn
I push it down, push it down
I'm the one "for a good time call"
Phone's blowin' up, they're ringing my doorbell
I feel the love, feel the love
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
Those are the lyrics to Sia's song Chandelier, and they apply pretty much directly to my old life. The six months when I let it all turn me upside down. Now, I could be wrong but I think my lack of teenage rebellion led directly to this moment of clarity in the kitchen of an older, guy friend of mine's house. I drunkenly made it to the settee sofa in the den sort of laying half on the sofa and the floor, his big brick mansion in the middle of my suburban dream neighborhood. He sat across from me in an armchair, and I laughed to myself. It all seemed so silly, my life looked like one of those paintings in a museum. He finally asked me what I was laughing about as I tried pulling the weight of my body off the floor and back onto the sofa, he lept up to help me. He was a classic case of what I like to call, Peter Pan Syndrome. He was single, 40-something, and nowhere near a relationship, which made him similar to about 40% of the population of my hometown. It was to his detriment, because in theory, at that time he could have had whatever he wanted.
"What is it?" He sat next to me steadying my sway.
"I was just thinking about my life. I mean, this is the dream."
"This can't be your only dream."
"No. Of course not. I'm in your amazing house, and you're playing Tom Petty. We just went out. And everything just ... floats."
"It gets harder."
"Don't tell me that. Can't this just be it? Can't this just be now?"
We sat there a few moments, and when I finally looked up at him with sad, drunken eyes he lunged at my face. I pulled away, sobering up to the fact that for over a year he had probably been planning that. He was, and is still a great friend, but for some reason that kiss made me feel empty. He made me feel wonderful, but I was somehow dead, and broken on the inside. My heart was broken. I had but only three months prior, been broken up with by my dream boy, and I was still in love him. It was the worst possible time for that kiss, and it slowly started to eat away at me. He tried a few more times to kiss me until I said stop, and then he went into the kitchen to make us more drinks.
"C'mon baby. Let's go watch the sunrise. I don't have to work tomorrow, and neither do you, we can sleep the day away!"
I looked around at the bookshelves, and at the arm chair, everything perfectly placed in my dream house. I walked into the kitchen, watching him as he meticulously poured vodka and orange juice into big glasses for us. He looked up at my face, the sadness just downing me, and walked over to hug me. In fact, after a few moments in his embrace he sighed knowing that I'd released him from whatever emotional distress he was currently experiencing.
"I'm sorry. I just ... I don't want to do this anymore."
He lifted my chin up to look at him.
"It's ok. It just makes me a little sad."
"Why?"
"We knew you had so much potential!"
I laughed and laid my head on his chest. He hugged me tight, and I slid my keys into my fingers behind my back.
"I'll drive you home."
I smiled at him and walked towards the door, back into the garage and back to my car. He stood there in the doorway with his drink and waved. I backed out slowly, the dream house towering over me. For once, it didn't look so unattainable. I drove back to my house that I shared with a roommate, where I was living rent free to escape it all. I was tired, sick of living that life. I was just sick, that is until I got a call that afternoon that changed ... everything.
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