I have a secret.

One I have kept for a very long time and one I have had trouble admitting. I do not like to drink. It seems like something easy to say to people, but it isn’t. It seems like it’s easy to go out and be accepted, but it isn’t. It has evolved into a secret. One that I have had to keep for a long time.

Let me set the record straight. I do enjoy maybe a beer occasionally, a glass of pink wine, even a mojito, but the only time I can enjoy them is during a meal. They usually cannot be finished without help from a friend. After drinking half, I usually end up offering the rest to whomever I’m with. Making the excuse of “I am too full to finish” or “It wasn’t the right choice of drink." I have sadly been questioned about my choice and even have lost many friends because of it.

One friend, in particular, comes to mind whenever I think of my secret.

When coming to college I had absolutely no one coming with me. Yes, people from my high school were also accepted into FSU but with a class of 808 students, you don’t really get close to too many people. The only person that I felt close with was this guy who was in band with me, George. George was my best friend in high school. I explicitly remember when my kitchen was getting remodeled my sophomore year he and I wrote in the wet cement where the new island was to be placed Kayla and George, best friends till the end.

I can remember him coming over for dinner many times a week. Us walking around the neighborhood talking about school and stories we had from the day. I loved George so much. Not in love with him but he was my person and I never wanted something to hinder that.

George, however, stopped being this person for me when I got my first boyfriend. He stopped coming over. He stopped talking to me. It became a situation where I would only see him in classes and after-school band practice. He was no longer my person but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving him. Once college came about we decided to hang out again.

The first night of fall semester, freshman year, he invited me to a party. At this party everyone around me was enjoying beers, shots, you name it, celebrating their first night of college and independence. I sat there with a red solo cup filled with cranberry juice passing it off as my own secret concoction. Pretending that I was partaking in this celebration the same way.

When it was time to leave nobody could stand, talk straight, even open both eyes at the same time they were so gone. I ended up having to drive the “designated driver’s” car in a town I had never been in before. Dropping off people at their respective homes. Wondering what would have happened if one of them had taken the wheel.

That next week I was in George’s dorm where we were talking about the party. He mentioned that he knew I drove home because I didn’t want anybody driving a car after drinking. The next thing he said has not left my mind. It’s been three years and I still see this moment as if it were that same day so long ago. He looked down at his notebook in disgust and stated:

“You think you are so much better than everyone else because you don’t drink and party like the rest of us. You sit around and judge everyone.”

I never partied hard, drank, smoked in high school because of things. Because of the addiction that runs in my blood from not one but both sides of my family. Because of situations that have occurred with these substances. From witnessing people’s lives destroyed because of these substances. I don’t participate like others not because I judge but because of fear of what I could do to myself. Of what can happen to me so easily. Because I refuse a very dark shadow I try so hard to conceal come over me.

I sat before my former person holding back tears. He to this day doesn’t know how hurt I was by these words. After confiding in him. After telling him why I made this decision for myself. He said these things.

I made an excuse to leave.

I left.

I didn’t talk to him again.

Throughout the years I have made friends that have accepted this secret. They never push me to go beyond my limits. They gladly take the drink I secretly pass to them at parties and finish them on my behalf. They never judge me for my beliefs. I am lucky now. I always think back to George though. I always think about how things would be different if that never happened. If I had never shared my secret.