The Danger of Drunken “I Love You’s”

“Paul. We need to talk about this. You said you loved me again last night. You told me we would be together. You can’t keep doing this to us. I have no idea what you want, or what we’re doing.”

I mutter something like “c’mon babe, I was drunk,” then look out the window. Please just let her stop. I don’t know what to say. And the whiskey-weed-cig stench coming off my shirt and chest is more than I can handle right now.

Bethany’s eyes are brimming with pain. Her delicate hands are shaking, trying to keep their place on the steering wheel.

Her Volvo slams to a stop at the traffic light. It’s 94 degrees and sunny as fuck, about 11:00AM. A fantastic day for a hangover.

“Get the fuck out of the car! You’re walking home.”

I get the fuck out of the car and dodder through the busy intersection, my head spinning. I wish a bus would run my ass over. This crazy “relationship” is destroying my life.

A minute later, she pulls up next to me: “Get back in the fucking car now! I hate you!”

I get back in the car. We repeat the cycle once more before Bethany drops me at home. I breathe a sigh of relief as she drives off. “Never again,” I tell myself.

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?

How did we get here? How did we go from laughter, drinks and casual, awesome sex on the reg, to this?

Bethany and I saw each other again that same night. Had us some alcohol-soaked make-up sex, hated ourselves in the morning, but then fucked again anyways. We went through this drama for several more months. I could say our destruction began with a stupid, intoxicated “I love you” two months prior. But that’s not true. In reality, it started way before I met Beth. We were magical and magnetized lovers but doomed from the moment we met.

Drunken, heat-of-the-moment “I love you’s” aren’t always pick up lines or sweet talk. In my case, and many others I’ve spoken with, they were cries of pain. “I love you” becomes another way of running from our misery, just like alcohol. I used “I love you,” combined with sex, as an attempt to validate my worth. In my short time with Bethany, drunken (and high) “I love you’s” were a method of pathetic manipulation, but also an expression of my sorrow.

After eight months, our “relationship” had become nothing more than drinking, fucking, and confusing, complicated emotions. It was a destructive and disturbing experience that lasted nearly a year. I hope you won’t repeat my mistakes. This is a former asshole’s viewpoint of an alcohol-fueled, sexual bond that goes too far. You know, when the “feels” kick in. Bethany and I were two damaged souls; two midnight-ships lost at sea. But, together we became more lost than we could have ever feared. This is the danger of drunken “I love you’s.”

BETHANY

I met Bethany online eight months prior. Our first date was one of the best I’ve ever had. Top three, for sure. She had big, beautiful eyes and a sweet smile. She was intelligent and sassy, yet kind. The mind of an engineer with the body of a stripper (a hot one). A sultry, sleek, sharp brunette with a wild side. Hello, nurse.

We started “casually dating” (what a load of shit) and bonded over our love for stiff drinks. We’d get toasty and make out against the jukebox. When we’d stumble home, the sex was awesome, too. She fancied working on her knees and playing with my nipples. And I enjoyed sucking on her toes and serving her with gusto. We had a fun thing, and our feelings grew.

WHY WE LOVED GETTING DRUNK TOGETHER

I was uncomfortable with myself for most of my life. I felt damaged from as young as seven or eight. When I met Bethany, I was suffering from regular depression, anxiety, and wicked self-loathing. I’d also recently gotten a restraining order on an ex, lost an exceptional job, and moved into my friend’s basement. Why even date at such a time? Well, I lost my job, my apartment, and lived in constant fear and anxiety. Getting fucked up and having sex made me feel better. It was my method of coping. Yeah, yeah, despicable, I know.

Beth was similar. She’d dealt with her share of childhood trauma, and her family was crazy. Like me, Beth lived with guilt and shame. She was broke, and her career situation was frustrating. Drinking was carrying her through. Together we found solace in big beers, vodka sodas, and sex. It was impossible to stop once we started. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for one or two nights, and then it would be over. We were keeping it fun and straightforward.

“I LOVE YOU”

Our first “I love you” came out of nowhere, about six months in. We were on her couch, after the bar. Sparking up the bong and listening to music. We looked into each other’s eyes; I said it first, then she said it back. It felt so nice to pretend for a night. Even now, I have to say, the sex that night was worth it. Just kidding. But, this new “I love you” thing made our drink-and-fuck arrangement more acceptable. Romantic even, tortured souls and all that bullshit.

The next morning we acted like nothing happened. But things were different — a weird tension hung in the air. Some bells you can’t unring, and “I love you” is the best example. The storm began brewing. Our goodbye was all smiles, both of us too emotionally impaired to discuss the situation.

We continued to see each other once or twice a week, slightly less than before. Arguments became frequent, as did strange jealousy. Beth finally said that we had to make a choice. “I love you” had changed everything. Either try to be a real couple, or stop seeing each other. It was getting weird and complicated, so I should decide. I’d then reply with something in the order of “Yes, baby. Let’s do it. Shots to celebrate! Fuck, I love you. Kiss me.”

THE WALLS

But, in the morning my walls would come up and I’d run. I thought I could do better. “She’s damaged,” I’d think to myself. I needed perfection in a mate. This way the world would see I wasn’t just some alcohol-abusing, broke and depressed dude in a basement. Even during all the partying, boozing and banging we enjoyed, I was profoundly unhappy, worthless and empty. All I could do was keep sucking the world dry — drink everything I can, fuck everything I can, and take love from everyone I can. Nothing filled the void. I couldn’t just accept things as they were — no way. Giving a relationship to Bethany would have meant giving up, and acknowledging my place in life. I had to keep fighting myself, hating myself, no time to slow down, sweetheart!

My wishy-washy way of changing my mind the next morning and fucking with her head led to some terrible arguments. And that’s how the introduction story happened, one random summer’s morning.

Soon our nights together grew further and further apart. When we did see each other, we argued more than ever. She’d storm out of the bar, and I’d chase her down the street, begging on my knees. We’d then have sex and cook together, naked in the kitchen at 3:30am. Some nights, I’d still tell her that I loved her. But, as always, in the morning we went our separate ways.

I thought we’d end up together one day once I “sorted my shit out.” But, she was starting to resent me, and date other people more often. Her life was gradually improving; mine hadn’t. About three months later we went out for tacos one night; I said I was finally ready to give us a chance. And I said “I love you” to her when I was sober. It was monumental. She said I was a crazy, fucking asshole for saying that to her, after all that we’d gone through. The next morning, she was done.

When it ended, it tore me up inside. I had a breakdown. I’d show up at her house, crying, begging, for weeks. Endless texts, Google Voice, Skype, different phone numbers (to get around the blocking). Her leaving was a terrible blow to my already fragile self-esteem. I know what you’re thinking, and hell yes, I had it coming, and I needed the reality check. It was an enormous wake-up call.

Bethany was a talented, gorgeous woman who deserved so much more. From what I heard, she pulled her shit together and found someone who treated her well. I was happy for her. (after about six months of coming to terms with it) What still hurts after all these years is my abuse of the word “love.”

ACCEPTANCE & CLOSURE

If I had to put money on it — neither of us loved each other. We had a get drunk and fuck arrangement, which distracted us from the pain in our daily lives. We used alcohol and sex as an escape. Unfortunately, love got dragged into the mix, it’s the best distraction there is. We were in love with love, not with each other.

Love doesn’t work like alcohol, drugs or sleeping around. Unfortunately, you can’t just sober up and take a shower. (or visit urgent care for the burning sensation) Common sense to you, I’m sure. But assholes like me need to learn the hard way.

I vowed never to harm anyone with this behavior again. I became wary of new partners, scared of hurting them. Even though I’m alone often now, this path is better. I’m not harming anyone or fucking with their emotions. I had to learn to love myself, simple as that. Until we learn to love ourselves and stop running from pain, we will make mistakes. Maybe your mistakes aren’t like mine, or maybe they’re worse. We can’t change what we’ve done, but punishing ourselves gets us nowhere. We must apologize with all our heart, and then show we are sorry by living differently.

DISCLAIMER: Let me state that I’m not 100% to blame. There are parts of the story I left out to protect Bethany. I prefer only to dwell in the past for the sake of forgiving myself and learning lessons.

FINAL ADVICE

You can’t take back “I love you,” whether drunk or not. Don’t be a coward. If someone fits into your life and the sight of them makes your heart flutter. Then give it a chance.

But, if you’re only drinking and fucking to forget your pain or struggle, then please stop. If they don’t make you a better person, you must let them go. If their presence doesn’t contribute to greater harmony in your life, cut them loose. It’s for the best. Work on yourself, be still and feel your pain.

And, don’t ever tell someone you love them for the first time when you’re drunk.

Instead, go home alone, my friend. Put on Spotify’s Peaceful Piano playlist, and reflect on your life. Pour yourself some tea. Start a new book, learn to be a best friend to yourself. Text or call your parents, and go to bed early. Masturbate. Sleep. Learn to love number one - yourself.