Writing: Mistakes

I was drunk again. I blacked out again. I thought it would be one of those nights that I would blissfully forget the next morning. Everything would be a blur, and my mind would have been a black hole of any knowledge or experience coming to me from 12am to 5pm.
This experience took place in a dark place of my life. I had just been jilted by someone I had really liked romantically. My best friend at the time had left me suddenly because of family issues, and I was on an island where secrets and gossip were rampant. It was a point in my life I never want to relive, and I want to forget everything that happened that month. Sadly, that will never happen, instead, I will write about it.
One night I got very drunk and blacked out, thinking all the time that I would never remember what I did. If a person does not remember what they did, it’s pretty difficult to be embarrassed about it. I have done so many embarrassing things when drunk, but it would turn into mush by 6am. After that mush, I would go out again and do it again. This night was different. Why? I was drinking the drink of the devil, soju. It does not hit the drinker immediately; it decides to slap said drinker in the face repeatedly during the night. After a person drinks it, the soju will slap you unconscious, wake that person up again, and then slap the person until 2pm the next afternoon.
My friend and I were drinking with acquaintances. Actually, they were more like strangers because they were acquaintances we had only met once before. After that, I should have known, it was going to be a night of bad decision making. We drank and drank, nothing playing any games. We just drank. Why? I do not remember why. I only remember the stupid parts. After hours of drinking, smoking, and talking, an acquaintance and I went to the store. He bought me banana milk, then he got into the taxi with me. Why? His car was conveniently located in my neighborhood. Ok, fair enough, we should take a taxi together. Sadly, I blacked out again. Frankly, I do not remember the taxi ride. I do remember his tongue in my mouth and coming to outside on the street. We were kissing, French kissing. The words, “What the hell,” came into my mind. I ran to my apartment, locked the door, and passed out again.
Funny thing though: with that same acquaintance, the next week I flirted with drunkenly again and was jilted. I think it was for my own good. He was not the type of guy I would ever like if I was sober.