There was a month in my life I’ll never forget, or maybe I’d rather not remember, depending on the day. It was a whirlwind of recklessness and lust, a time when I let every inhibition fly out the window. I slept with at least 12, maybe 15, different guys in just a few weeks. Some days, it was more than one. one in the afternoon, another at night. I didn’t plan it, it just happened.

Most of them were strangers I met at parties or through friends of friends. I didn’t care about names or protection. In those moments, I wasn’t thinking about consequences; I was thinking about how alive it made me feel. Sometimes I couldn't even hold it together till we found a bed.

It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the freedom, the thrill of doing something so completely unrestrained, so unlike me, or at least the me that everyone thought they knew. I’ve never told anyone about it. Not because I regret it, well, maybe a little but because I know they wouldn’t understand. They’d look at me differently, judge me.

But for me, that month was... mine. Wild, messy, chaotic, but mine. And it’s a part of me I’ll always carry, even if no one else ever knows.