Regret, or something like it.

Referring back to this incident, even at the time, in my inebriated state, I knew I was going to regret it. As I have already said. But there is more to it.

I've always wanted to make other people happy. I've always wanted everyone to like me. Even if I didn't like them. I hatehatehate being disliked or looked down on by anyone, and this is often conflicting for me. I'll still often do things I don't want to do and aren't necessarily good for me either, simply because it's what the other person wants. But if you make me feel needed, loved, pretty, wanted, or anything positive, you're almost definitely going to get whatever it is you want. Conversely, I feel guilty very easily so you can play that card too. I know, I should stand up for myself, but I have this slight neediness when it comes to other people... Working on it, kinda.

That night, I remember MF saying that he had hoped this would happen. My mental reaction was to raise my eyebrows, but god only knows what expression was plastered across my face. I remember him saying that he found me really hot and he had wanted to get with me but hadn't expected that he could... I remember thinking that he was just saying this because he really just wanted to get laid but at that moment I would just pretend he meant it and accept it even though I didn't believe it. I remember thinking that I was pathetic to be so desperately needy for compliments and to feel desirable that I would compromise my values and my self-worth just so I could pretend I was wanted for a while.

I remember how gentle he acted and how he looked worried and kept saying he didn't want to hurt me, and yet it was really too late anyway, because it hurt so much, but at the time I didn't care, and I knew that was ridiculous. I remember him saying that he felt bad for me because I kept calling the ExBestFriend and only getting through to his voicemail, and my thinking that he probably actually couldn't care less.

I remember rambling about how I was so very drunk and that I got drunk so fast, thinking that being such a lightweight was embarrassing, and him saying that he wasn't that drunk. I remember hating the idea of that because it was unfair, and he knew what he was doing and that showed his lack of respect for me even though I agreed to it, and because he would be able to better remember it afterwards, when I knew I would want to forget it utterly.

And throughout it all I was trying, and failing, to berate myself for this, wondering why I didn't care at the moment, even though I knew I would later, and trying to make myself so that I would stop; wondering what was wrong with me and how much I would hate myself for this later. But at the time I just didn't care.

And that is what has me so perplexed that I still cannot get my head around it...