But, what if your trusted friend that invited you, knew everyone that was going to be at the party, and brought along his bestfriend? What do you get then? You get ditched. This doesn't happen to everyone, I noticed, but it happens to me.
There I was alone; a little peeved that I was alone since I went there with people I called friends. Well, they went to talk to their clique and ditched me, so I went for the booze. It seems I entered into my friends' big frat house when I hate frats. The booze was my only solace for some time. This friend that invited me would come by once in a while just to stand near me in pity of my lonesomeness, but I didn't want pity.
That's when I decided to call on my own friends. I wanted my friends. I missed my friends. My friends are always there for me, I thought. Two replied to my text. But, the two closer girlfriends of mine, surprisingly never replied.
No one cared to join me. At that moment, I felt more alone than I've ever felt at a party and I realized a few things.
The scenario presented the truth. I learned some substantial truth about San Diego, my friends, the boyfriend, their friends, and me. Everything I've cultivated here is superficial I don't think I belong here. I'm someone that needs substance...meaning...and to be with people who really care.
Well, not being the one to mope at a party for long, I dialed another old friend, Sideshow. He came and he came to be with me. I revealed some truths to him and he listened. Some of these truths were very wrong, but entirely real and I don't know if I should be ashamed of myself. He told me that he cared and decided to remain by my side the entire night.
An odd part about it was, when I finally felt that I was enjoying myself, the other friend who ditched me wouldn't let me be happy. He kept interfering in my conversations since I finally had someone to talk to. Why did this other friend finally choose to talk to me now? It was just strange how that happened and it angered me. Eventually, he left me alone and for the first time I was glad that he did.
The party died down and we left for another one that consisted of cholos and cholas. But there, I had to deal with belligerent drunkenness, drunken professions of love, and the worry of not being able to remain the responsible one in the whole outfit. I yelled out everything in anger, frustration, and sadness. I did that on purpose though, because I knew that the next day it would be forgotten anyway. At least I could vent.
For me, love is based on action, not meaningless words and belligerent professions of love.
The next day came and it's like nothing ever happened. Even though most people would call this a problem...I strangely take comfort in it. I may be wrong and hurting myself by taking such comfort, but I do anyway.
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