Stumbles and falls cascade like alcohol-filled waterfalls around me. I look out, in this sea of unknown. I know no one, except one, but I pretend anyway like I'm enjoying myself. I sway my hips, as the others do, and wish upon wish that I was with someone, talking, and I mean genuinely talking. Talking about anything other than how drunk we are.

I don't get it. What is so interesting about a mind altering substance? I mean I get it, but what is real anymore? Is it abnormal to talk to someone's face now? Is it abnormal to talk about anything other than how fucked up everyone is? I'm missing myself and this true aspect of life as a whole. I look out, in this sea of waves, and as it crashes drunken faces emerge with a whitewash of sins. I look out wishing the white of the harsh crash could take me anywhere but here. I look out and fade into the foam of my beer.

What people tell you about partying in college is disturbingly accurate: The birds chirp and the sun shines, but in no way are they coming onto me as a lovely morning. My head throbs and my stomach aches as the hazed memories from last night gallop among my thoughts causing the throbs to beat upon my brain like a dead beat drum. Only the lord knows how many boys I kissed after I went on a silent rampage with myself. Everything is pretty hazy as it is, but those Nebraska rays are making the clouds in my eyes a lot thicker.

This image was a disgustingly accurate depiction of what all of my older friends sat down and told me after their first time seeing me since they began their infamous first semester at the big U. I was lucky enough to relive their almost-horror stories and see the depiction of their gory details from my own eyes.

I'm not sure how anyone else felt about partying going into their first semester, but I was super nervous and wasn't quite sure what to expect, as myself, was not the biggest party girl in high school; honestly I avoided anyone who went to parties because of the stereotypical attributes that I had characterized them with.

But, I was excited and reluctant all at the same time, and as I walked into the partially destroyed party house in a sketchy-ass neighborhood everyone was oddly referring to as "the bottoms", my sites were confirmed as I saw some guy ogling over this girl, who lets just say wasn't fully clothed, and I swear I saw some girls kiss. Immediately I wanted to run back to the boring and sheltered safety of my dorm, but I bucked up and followed my overly-eager friends deeper into the heart of the drunken sea of kids before us.

Now, I bet you can assume how the rest of this tale plays out: I got myself some liquor in my red plastic cup, some desperately excited frat boy swept me away in a corner, we end up making out for everyone there to see, and all I leave with is a hangover and a light dent in my self-esteem.

But, the little glimpse I gave you above is true. That is how I felt that night. And I am unsurprisingly (at least to me) happy that it happened. I now realize what college is supposed to be like: a time for self-acceptance, passion, a time to let loose, and a time to be free. Free from all that you feel trapped by, no matter what it might be,

So, when you step foot into that dirty, alcohol-smelling house for the first time, don't look back. You never know what might accompany that hangover when you wake up in the morning. It could be one hell of a night.