A/N: So for my English summer school essay I had to write about the stupidest thing I ever did and as I wrote it I turned into a mini story. Most of this is true but to make it a little less terrible I gave it a happy ending. Tell me what you think of it!
And for this it will be in Miley's POV!
The stupidest thing I ever did was get extremely drunk. Back in January, I was severely depressed, and my urge to end everything was strong. I felt as if everything had been going wrong; my best friend's life revolved around her boyfriend, I was continuously being harassed by a boy I used to think of as a brother, my grades were slipping due to my lack of focus and energy, and my mom and I were fighting more. I was so afraid of everything, and I didn't know what else to do. Before I even thought about turning to alcohol, I used self harm to relieve what I was feeling inside. I hated myself for it and I was in desperate need of something else to ease my pain; drinking seemed to be the only option. In my kitchen there was an unopened bottle of vodka, just begging for me to open it, so I did. At first I took shots, letting the liquid burn, dripping down my throat. I soon decided I couldn't handle it on its own and mixed it with soda, which relieved the burn slightly. I moved to my room, knowing I would get caught in the kitchen, and continued drinking. So far, drinking had seemed to prove to be a better alternative for my pain, and no physical harm had been done. For me, this was much improvement. The alcohol quickly took effect. At first, it was like I wasn't even awake; like I was in an odd dream. When I tried to stand up from my bed I would simply fall over, causing me to break into a laughing fit. I simply sat on my bedroom floor laughing for what felt like hours, but was merely a few minutes. When I regained the strength to stand up, I move myself back onto my bed, and continued to consume more of the vodka.
By now half the bottle was gone; along with the three cans of soda I had opened to kill the sharp taste. I couldn't hold still, and when I stood up and tried to walk again, I still fell back to the ground. Eventually I was able to hold myself up and stumble around the room. As I walked around my room, laughing and falling over constantly, my phone started to beep, alerting me of a text message. I eventually found it and read that it was from my best friend. This caused me to laugh more; I couldn't believe she was talking to me. I made my best attempts to respond to her without giving away the fact that I was terribly drunk, which didn't work in my favor. I later read the messages, and they had made absolutely no sense. The only good thing out of this moment was that I was happy. It had only been a moment, a split second, but I was happy for the first time since August. That false happiness soon disappeared, and I started to feel nauseous. I clenched my stomach, praying for the horrible pain to stop. Fearing that I was going to be sick, I crawled to my bathroom, barely making it, I puked into the toilet over and over again. I started to cry hysterically, immediately regretting my actions. This was no better than what I had been doing before, if not worse. I sat on the cold tile ground wishing for the dizziness to stop. Twenty minutes later, when I felt that I was done throwing up the entire contents of my stomach; I stumbled back into my bedroom and fell to the floor, crying once again. I was more depressed than when I took my first shot, if that was even possible. I got up off the ground and walked to where the bottle was, taking another long sip, trying to get the relief I felt before only to find that it didn't come. Eventually I passed out into the deepest sleep I had had in ages.
The next morning I woke up on my floor. The sound of my alarm made my head pound. I held myself up and looked around the room confused and wondering how I had gotten on the floor. I looked up at my bedside table and saw the bottle sitting there, barely a quarter full and that's when I remembered I had been the one to drink its contents. I got the strength to stand and it felt like the whole room was spinning and stomach aching. The aftermaths of the night before events were far more horrid than I could have possibly imagined. I pulled myself together long enough to get ready for school and avoid my parents knowing the stupid thing I had done. To them seeing me slinking around was normal, I was never a morning person so they just let it slide. I entered the school hallway and made my way over to where I sat every morning, only to be greeted by, my very upset, best friend. I sat down, wanting to cry and just disappear forever. She sat down next to me and asked me how I enjoyed the pain, if I enjoyed the pounding in my head or the pain in my stomach. She just sat there and smiled at my misery. That was the moment she showed me the conversation we had the night before, which I had no memory of. To her this was her way of punishing me. I don't remember anyone else acting as cruel as her that day. Sure, my other friends found out, were upset, told me I was wrong, and all the usual; but they were nothing like her. The guilt eventually ate me alive and I had to get it off my chest, but it wasn't until six months later I did so. I broke down and told my mom about the pain I had felt and what led me to that horrible situation. Since then, she has been helping me work through my depression, but that night remains to be one of the most horrendously idiotic things I have ever done. To this day I have never touched alcohol again, and I honestly couldn't be happier.