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I am thirteen and I am at a friend's house. 

The friend of the friend's drunk uncle is asleep on a sofa, his dark leg hair is as distracting as the bottle of vodka on the coffee table in front of him. 

Someone has the idea that we take a sip and get “drunk.”

I remember the burn. 

I remember Ingrid Michaelson “The Way I Am” playing when my body began to ironically feel like it was trapped in a sweater. (Look up lyrics to “The Way I Am” for reference).

We had more than a sip.

I am drunk for the first time.

I am sixteen and I wear Juicy sweatshirts with my midriff showing. .

My friends and I hang out outside gas stations waiting to “hey mister” someone into buying us four lokos.

I ask for the grape flavor.

It works. It always works.

I remember the playground we snuck out to. 

I remember trying to say no.

There is laughter in the distance, my friend is kissing someone on the slide.

I remember the grass in my face, the hill he laid me on.

I remember waking up with the taste of grape in my mouth. 

I am twenty two and in love.

We have a kitten together and I am always shotgun in your truck.

You let me tickle you when you stretch in bed and I let you fall asleep before me.

I remember there was a tour bus. 

Four boys and four of us girls.

Four Vodka sodas.

I kiss him in the back,

His hands are tracing the top of my lace panties.

You are at home.

I am in the back of a tour bus.

I want to distinguish between his kiss and yours,

I try to turn away from the unfamiliarity of his lips 

but all I can taste is the vodka.

I am twenty five and I am like my mother.

My mother is the life of the party.

She is confident. 

She’s not afraid to sting you with a joke. 

She finds a man and gives him her shell 

because her insides are too far gone to give.

She goes home with whoever will carry her there.

I am a spitting image of my mother.

My mother is drunk. 

I am twenty six and tired.

Short dresses hang in my closet and my 

wallet is always empty or lost at the last bar.

I get compliments from men every weekend 

But cant look at myself in the mirror.

I don’t need chasers anymore.

I drink to feel warm.

To feel funny.

To feel loved.

To feel less like myself,

But I don’t know who that is.

I am twenty seven and sober.

I have fresh flowers in my apartment,

nectarines on my kitchen table,

A journal filling up on my bedside table.

I eat vegan ice cream with friends across the street from the 

same bars I hardly remember being in. 

I get matching tattoos with new friends,

I do yoga before bed,

I ride my bike before sun falls.

I am twenty seven and sober.

I kiss boys only when I mean it.

I bake brownies on Sundays and almost never forget to wash my face before bed.

About Tori:

My name is Tori, I am from Seattle, Washington and I am the founder of Retired Party Girl, an online sober/sober curious community for people who value community and joy. My first love was reading and my second was writing, I am so honored to share this piece of my story with you and I hope it brings you as much comfort in your own story as it brought me to write it.

Instagram: @theretiredpartygirl