As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one in search of a new image. During the summer I’d become friends with Stephanie, a girl who was always up for a challenge and was never afraid of making a fool of herself. I admired that quality in her because I’d spent my entire life being hyper-concerned about what others thought of me. When I told Steph about my plan to party, she was psyched to tag along.

Cutting Loose
On Saturday night, Steph and I arrived at our first party. There was a $5 charge to get in, but the guy at the door waved away our money, stamped our hand “paid” and directed us to the keg. (Apparently, guys often give females free alcohol to encourage intoxication, which leads to decreased inhibitions.)

“Here ya go,” one of my already-wasted classmates said, shoving an overflowing glass of beer into my hand.

I gave it back. “No, thanks,” I replied.

“Come on, babe,” he mumbled through slurred speech.

I quickly tried to come up with a good excuse.

“I’m a runner,” I said. “So I’ve got to take care of my body.”

“One beer’s not gonna hurt that body,” he said as he brushed my arm with his callous hand.

Yuck. I’d only been there 60 seconds and already I’d been hit on and pressured to drink.

I turned to Steph and said, “I don’t know about this.”

She shot me a disapproving sigh. “Don’t be a baby,” she huffed. “What’s the big deal? Just hold the beer! No one’s gonna force you to drink it.”

Hmmm, pretend to drink. Now, there was an idea that might work. After all, I took drama last year. Surely I could pose as a partier.

Let the Posing Begin
For the next several weeks I showed up at parties and happily accepted any drink that was offered to me. Sometimes I’d even take the charade a step further by shouting out, “Hey, where’s the keg?” I never actually drank; I just tilted the cup up to my lips and faked it. Then occasionally I’d slyly pour some of the beverage down the sink, in a toilet or on the grass so it looked like I was consuming it.

I knew I had everyone fooled when one night Tom, the class stud, approached me with a flirty grin and proclaimed, “Hey, I didn’t know you drank.” The sad thing was, I’d known Tom since kindergarten but he’d never given me a second glance until now. Clearly my “party girl” image made me more attractive to him.

“So, you like to party?” he asked with a wink.

Actually, no, I didn’t. In fact, just being in this room, which reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke, made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t tell Tom that. Besides, this is the reputation I thought I wanted: that of a bubbly girl who liked to socialize and have fun. The crazy thing was that I was that bubbly girl, only not in this setting. Whenever I was around my church friends, I was a ball of energy and laughter — because I could be real with them. But here I felt totally out of my element.

Staring down at the warm frothy beer in my hand, I reflected on some of the fun times I’d had with my youth group friends over the years at church lock-ins, progressive dinners, hay rides and weekend retreats. Ever since I’d started hanging out with Steph, I’d pretty much dumped my other friends. I felt a sharp pang of regret. I missed them. I missed having fun. Above all, I missed my closeness to God.

I wondered if I should go home, but I was torn. Finally, I felt accepted. My classmates were talking to me. Then again, after being so hammered, would they remember on Monday that we’d spoken? Who knows?

Of Fakes and Fools
The following Friday night I decided to try something different; I was going to be myself.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” I told Tom when he offered me a beer. “I’m driving Steph home later.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Tom said, already half past sober. “I’ll drive you girls home.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “You’re wasted!”

He slung his arm around my shoulder and got right up in my face with his hot, stinky beer breath. “You’re so pretty, Kristen.”

I rolled my eyes in disgust. “My name’s Christy,” I said, shrugging my shoulder so his arm would fall.

“Oh, I knew that,” Tom said sloppily. “Sorry æ let me make it up to you.”

“Get lost,” I said as I headed to the patio for some fresh air. I was sick of being surrounded by loud, drunk people, but the scene outside was no better. One plastered classmate was vomiting in the parking lot while another was relieving himself in the bushes. Grossed out, I went back inside only to find two guys in a heated fistfight. I wanted to go home, so I looked for Steph, but she was dealing with her own mess. Apparently in a drunken stupor, she’d bloodied her nose by running into the wall.

I felt like I was hanging out with a bunch of animals. But then again, who was I to judge? Sure, I was sober, but I was no better than these drunken slobs. For the past 10 weeks, I’d mingled awkwardly, gotten hit on by sloshed classmates and watched my peers make complete fools out of themselves. All the while, I sported a fake frozen smile, desperately trying to look like I belonged. But I didn’t. In fact, I’d gotten to the point where I dreaded weekends because I knew I’d have to survive another party.

That night I went home, peeled off my smelly clothes and looked in the bathroom mirror. What am I doing? I wondered. Why am I spending my time this way? Was I having fun? Nope. Was I cultivating positive friendships? Not one. Was I worried my parents might find out how I’d been spending my weekends? Definitely. Was I ashamed of myself? Completely.

Although I was sure my social status would fall if I stopped going to parties, it was clear that’s what I needed to do. I also knew I must sever my unhealthy relationship with Stephanie. When I was around her, I wasn’t being true to who I really was — as a person, as a daughter, as a friend or as a Christian. And I certainly wasn’t being true to God. I knew I hadn’t been living my life in a way that would please Jesus. Overcome by shame, emptiness and sadness, I started praying. I asked for the Lord’s forgiveness and pleaded for Him to help me straighten out my life.

That night was a turning point for me. I took a hard look at my priorities and saw how screwed up they’d become. Fortunately, I recognized early on that I was heading down a destructive path, and I changed my behavior before it was too late.

The Horror of What Could Have Been
I realize now as I reflect on my party days that things could have turned out worse for me. Had I tried drugs once or twice, I could’ve gotten hooked like many of my peers did at those parties. Had I tried drinking, I could’ve died from alcohol poisoning, drunk driving or a fatal “party fall” (all things that happened to classmates I knew). I also see now how vulnerable I was, given that I was surrounded by drunk guys every weekend; if one of them had tried to assault me, I’m not sure I could’ve gotten away.

And worst of all, I cringe when I think of how my relationship with God might have dissolved had I remained in that unhealthy lifestyle. Sad to say, but back then I felt blameless. If anything, I thought I was being a “good girl” by not drinking, doing drugs or engaging in other risky behavior. What I didn’t realize initially was that although I wasn’t physically abusing my body, I was annihilating my soul and abandoning my spiritual identity.

Once I dropped out of the party scene, my life got back on track. I hung out again with my youth group friends, I began praying regularly, and I stopped listening to the voice in my head that told me how important social status is. Instead, I started listening intently with my heart, and thankfully it led me back to God.