I know my posts are erratic. I jump from moments of the present to moments of the past. I’ve decided that this is the right time for me to write about things that seem to be affecting my future. I don’t want it to be mistaken that I’m unhappy, because I’m not. Quite contrary, it’s because I am in such a good space that I feel it’s a good time to address some things. I feel that, in some way, writing about past experiences helps me. I haven’t yet found the key ingredient to relieve me of worry and anxiety. I need an outlet. Writing has proved to help, however.
Why do I drink? This is a question that I don’t want to answer out loud. I’ve over analysed my behaviour dozens of time. I tell myself I do this because of that and that because of that. I may be wrong, I may be right. And in no way, is what I say a justification of my actions. They aren’t. I do know it’s time to let go. I’m merely sitting here behind a computer screen, as if I were sitting in my own psychology practice. I’m hard on myself. There’s hardly a day that goes by that I don’t feel responsible or guilty for my fate.
So, why do I drink? I started drinking to fit in. I was thirteen years old and got mixed up with the wrong crowd. I’m happy to say it ended before it got too far, using drugs at such a young age – however, I did spent a good four years using drugs on a weekly or bi weekly basis starting in my last year of High School. It didn’t define me, but it did tear away the most important person in my life. She became addicted to speed and we lost contact for many years. That, regardless of the rest of this content, was probably the hardest thing I ever had to go through. Blaming myself for leaving her when she needed help, but didn’t want it. Light, however – she is now clean and back to her normal self. She is the only person on earth I can call my sister, and I feel utterly blessed to have her and her wisdom back in my life.
Why do I drink? I’ve been blogging for almost six months now. and although I’ve written this down many times in word documents, on paper, in poetry – I’m not sure I wanted the world to hear. Many people have become desensitized by cruelty and disorder, and we all have our demons. I can’t say it out loud, I don’t want to say it out loud. It instills the worst kind of fear within me, I feel it in my body and my words that come out shaken. I almost want to type it out in one sentence, and let it be gone, but that is not the point of this exercise.
In April, 2001, I was fourteen years old. My two friends and I went over to the neighbours for the night. His parents were away, so we drank. My two friends and I shared a bottle of brandy. I remember we hid it in a corner so the boys wouldn’t drink it. I kept going back for more, sneakily. I always want more. It’s like I need to be 100% sure that that feeling will be sustained. I’m always wanting more, whether it’s drugs or alcohol. I blacked out. My body was still so young, and I’d drank a lot. I blacked out, and I was paralytic drunk. My next memory was being placed and held up on my knees by one of the boys while he shoved his penis in my mouth. I kept falling over, and he kept picking me back up. It tasted like rubber in my mouth. I remember the clothes I was wearing – light blue jeans, a green Adidas hoodie and Etnies. My next memory is of me laying on the ground, unable to get up. His face in my face and the pain along with my ability to do nothing. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t move. My next memory is of me waking up in a bed. My mother was furious that I didn’t come home, and it was after 1 in the morning. I was carried home by my two friends. I woke up to blood stained underwear and not a single ability to comprehend the severity of what had just happened. To this very day, I have never been unable to take care of myself again. The part which makes me more sick is that the people at the party didn’t know of the circumstances, and watched from the living room window. When I told my mother about it a few months later, she indicated that it was partly my fault for being drunk at the time. Truth, yes – but it’s stuck with me in a negative way to this day.
What did this do to me? My first sexual experience resembles distrust, pain, hate and sickness. Prior to that experience, I had only kissed a boy before. I was ruined at a young age and it affected the way that I view sex and men. I had been rejected by my father my entire life, and had been physically and emotionally abused by my brother. I had no male figure to lead me in a light which shows them favourably. This experience cut me off emotionally when it comes to sex. It scarred my ability to be intimate or even show affection – even a hug is hard for me to do. I began sleeping around, feeling no emotion whatsoever and doing it only when I was drunk. I still find it difficult to have intercourse when I’m sober. It’s a big thing that gives me immense anxiety. I didn’t want to know their names, I didn’t feel anything for them but at the same time, all I wanted was their affection and acceptance.
Why do I drink? My head is a mess. I have anxiety to the point where I can’t sleep, I can’t function optimally and get panic attacks fairly regularly. Alcohol has always been that getaway that lets me escape my own mind for a few hours. I get black out drunk to a point where it’s like I don’t even own my own body anymore, it’s as if I don’t exist. It was a lot worse, it is getting better. Alcohol gives me the confidence to be the person I should be.
Having said all of this, I know that it’s my past. I know that I cannot change it, I just don’t know how to accept it. I am very proud of the progress I’ve made over the last few month. I’ve stopped sleeping around, and even while I was doing it – I did not want to do it. A girl who sleeps around is desperately looking for love and affection.
It’s now written and it’s out there and whether it gets read or not, is not really important. I’m releasing my demons. It’s out in the universe and it’s time that I stop letting it define me.