I cannot handle boredom. It’s one of the reasons I’m on Vyvanse, a wonder drug that turns my boredom into productivity without the twitchy Adderall side effects. Boredom is also one of my drug triggers– it makes me want to use. And, most dangerous of all, boredom gives me bad ideas. And my bad ideas are generally very bad. I.e., weekend long benders, getting unwarranted tattoos or piercings, visiting ex-boyfriends, and, the subject of today’s post, hooking up with a notoriously bad-idea guy friend.
He’d been hounding me since we first met at the beginning of my 2nd year of law school. He was a transfer. He was obnoxious, kind of sexist, and had a way of pissing everyone off just by existing. Charming, right? For some stupid reason, (perhaps the product of another bored day) I was friends with him. He was overly sensitive and occasionally spread shit about me– kid could not keep his mouth shut– but I’d usually forgive him, get over it, and we’d go back to our dysfunctional friendship. We fought on a regular basis but this was never truly injurious to our stupid friendship.
Sometimes I felt bad for him. He didn’t realize that most people didn’t like him. And he tried too hard– especially to be liked, and especially by girls. Despite being somewhat attractive and mildly fun when you got to know him, his terrible girl-getting strategies meant that most girls just thought he was creepy. And he hated being called creepy. Even though he was pretty creepy at times.
Why I was friends with him is a mystery, but all of it is certainly attributable to some form of my bad judgment. At the beginning of every semester he would try to hook up with me. And I would quickly rebuff his advances. This didn’t really damage our relationship, and maybe that was one of the many red flags I should have noticed.
But at the beginning of our last semester of law school, his efforts to hook up with me took a serious turn. Usually, after I said no a few times he would stop. But this time, it was not so easy to shake him off. I think he was determined to get me to hook up with him before graduation. He redoubled his efforts and wouldn’t be turned away. He started to get angry when I scorned his advances, leaving me drunk and angry voicemails. His texts got explicit. And so we fought a lot. And I spent a lot of time and energy thinking of new ways to say “no fucking way”.
But over spring break I got bored. And this boredom proved to be deadly. No one was in town, the Werewolf and I had been taking a break from each other, and all I had to occupy myself with was cough syrup. I did manage to do some pretty crazy art– my gravatar is a product of that spring break cough syrup binge. But at the time of the deadly and injurious boredom, I was trying to resist the cough syrup and behave myself. Which resulted in immense boredom.
On this fateful day, he was being especially persistent. And, for once, I listened to that little voice in my head that said “why not.” And so we hooked up. Not something I’m proud of and it was certainly not something I told many of my friends. It was a terrible move and I knew that I would be subject to some harsh criticism and heavy judgment– and bewilderment– by disclosing my stupidity.
The nature of this bad decision was a problem. We made plans to see each other after the spring formal– aka law school prom. This was about two weeks away. Again, my reasons for agreeing to this and willfully consenting are still a mystery to me. All I can blame it on was the crushing boredom that animated my life that spring break.
In the big scheme of things, this bad decision– I had made worse– shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it became a very big deal. It created the perfect storm, a storm that would erupt with my temper at the end of my law school prom. A storm that would land me back in the hospital. And a storm that cost me some very good friends.
You could say that this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And, in a way, it was. Although it was not a great decision, true to the form of my boredom-induced decisions, it shouldn’t have been a life-ruiner. He wasn’t someone I would get attached to; it was something to be ashamed of– and that should have been it. But that wasn’t it. That straw broke the careful, shaky, and precarious balance of my sanity and drug use. And when it broke, it wasn’t pretty.
But that’s what boredom does to me. It just makes things ugly.