Fights, vomit, unsafe sex, alcohol poisoning, drunk driving, addiction, pressure, unpredictability... okay, so these are things I think of when I think of drinking parties. That's enough to keep me away from them. I understand if you want to make a different choice. I respect your right to make your own decision. That doesn't mean I have to clap you on the back for it, or kill my feelings of fear and disappointment.

Don't be offended that I can't fully believe your words... you say you won't go overboard, but I once told Adam I would never cheat on him. A taste became an addiction, and I got sucked in. That sort of thing has a way of happening to people without them realizing the depths to which they've plunged.

I try to prove that I worry not because I don't trust you, but because I care, perhaps more about you than you do about yourself. You've told me you're willing to settle for less than what you want. I'm thinking of women, of love, in particular, though it has nothing to do with this example. You want commitment, you want a relationship, but would snag most anything that would satisfy your hunger, you said. What if your hunger changes? What if your mouth begins watering for a feeling of acceptance from people who do the things you say you won't? For popularity, for attention... to, just once, be the guy who is congratulated all night for downing the most shots? Any of these hungers may seem easily sated by cracking open a bottle.

You're dipping in a foot, and my hopes conflict. My logic, as always, knows it should win. It says that you're right, I'm assuming, I'm overreacting. But do you know that that just makes me feel worse, for feeling the rest of what I do? Ashamed, of how I feel? Ashamed that I even dream of explaining my beliefs in the hopes that those listening will choose to share them with me.

So my logic hopes you find the water warm and pleasant. But some stupid, selfish part of me hopes the water is icy cold to you, and makes you go away. Scares you away, so I don't have to feel this way anymore.

It hurts me that you think your life is boring. I'm boring. School is boring. Thursdays are boring. You want out? Is this your way? What am I afraid of? Two roads diverge in the wood, and I'm afraid you'll travel down the unfavourable one, and have a hard time returning, or worse, have no desire to. I'm afraid you'll change, I'm afraid you may already have, I'm afraid I won't feel that I know you anymore. I'm afraid I'll watch you sink, choose not to swim, and smile as your lungs fill - lacking the courage to, and being told by my logic not to, turn my eyes away.

Me and drinking do not mix. You see it as good fun; I see it as self-harm. How would you expect me to react to news that you were cutting yourself? Like this, perhaps, and so I do now. I know that you're not doing it now, but one rush might be all it takes. What if you like it? I just love the way my mind wanders. Forget it, everyone will fucking misunderstand this entry. My love will think it means I love another, and the other will think I mean to preach, to guilt him, to change his mind. Whatever. Fuck having feelings, what good are they anyway when I can't even express them without being misunderstood, criticized, and told not to have them. Without being wrong. Without being told by everyone, including myself, that the best thing for everyone is if I just shut the fuck up.

My ear is bleeding. So are my eyes. I'm fucking done with this. And I'm not sorry that I swore. I'm sorry for everything. Ever. Sorry to feel. Sorry to make you feel. Sorry to worry, sorry to mention it, sorry to put you on the defensive. Sorry to care, sorry to have admitted it, sorry to have opened my heart to such a degree - because there was no point, was there. Sorry to Adam, because he'll take your side, and wonder why I give such a shit, and refuse to believe anything but his own misguided conclusion. And I'm sorry to anyone I'll ever do this to again. But mostly, I'm sorry that I don't keep my damn mouth shut until my logic makes my feelings go away.