Monday, April 16, 2012



Pick Your Poison

She had her first drink at twelve years old. It was eight-year-old scotch from her boyfriend's mother's liquor cabinet. They were playing a drinking game and by the end of it, she was thoroughly drunk. He walked her home and she managed to stumble to her bed in the middle of the day and fell into the deep sleep only the seriously drunk or the seriously ill can manage. After a couple of hours she woke up, and every drop that went in, came back out. She felt so bad that she wasn't even able to get out of bed to clean herself up. She simply went back to sleep, covered in vomit that smelled like pure liquor. When she was finally able to move around she knew she had to change the sheets before her parents came home. No one ever found out.

No one ever talked to her about alcohol and the dangers of the drink. As with sex, she became adept at consuming it. She didn't drink often. But, as her father was an alcoholic, the fact that she drank at all.......

When she was fifteen years old, she was dating a guy who liked to drink. One night they went out with a group and there was plenty of alcohol to go around. And they drank. She found out something that night. Being drunk did not necessarily impair your thoughts. She told herself to walk straight, but she stumbled and fell. She told herself not to slur her words, but she opened her mouth and drooled. All the while she was aware of these actions but was powerless to change them. Her thoughts and her actions had become disconnected. They went back to his place, still drinking. By this point they were all completely toasted and there was really no reason to keep drinking, but they did anyway. It was January and cold out. But she was on fire and without inhibition. She stripped down to her underwear and ran around outside screaming and laughing as if it was the most joyous thing she had ever done. Then, she puked in the bushes. Sexy, right? Her boyfriend took her inside where she allowed him to ravage her body. Afterwards, they all piled back into the car and took her home. She somehow managed to get into the house and into her room without being stopped. She took off her clothes and passed out. She was hung over for two days. Her mom thought she had the flu and that was as convenient a lie as any so she went with it.

After that night, alcohol never held the same appeal again. She remembered every detail of her binge. She realized with horror that her behavior and the behavior of the people she was with, was more than just careless. It was dangerous. Drinking so much, riding in a car without wearing seatbelts with a driver who drank just as much, having unprotected sex, letting him cum inside of her.......She was ashamed. Ashamed of her actions, yes. But also ashamed because while she remembered the bad decisions, she also remembered how free and uninhibited she felt. How unafraid she was. And she hated that her mind craved for that freedom. Her father was an alcoholic. She knew this, but never really knew what it meant. For her it was like knowing your granny had diabetes. But life had just given her a reality check and she learned another hard lesson. Her father was an alcoholic because he too, craved that freedom. He was just too lost to know that the only thing at the bottom of that bottle was another set of shackles. The freedom was a shiny lie. Would she crave that lie or suffer the truth? Pick your poison little girl. She chose truth. And truth comes with its own set of consequences. She now had a responsibility to know what alcoholism was and how she was at risk. She now knew the truth of her father's condition and saw the truth of the memories she held, how she had conveniently forgotten those details that were part of his condition. The being stood up, the smell of mint poorly covering that darker smell underneath, the slurred words, and the anger directed at him by her mom. The anger that she never really understood until she chose the truth. And she now had to face the truth of the feelings she had held in. Guilt, shame, regret, hate, pity.......towards her father. She knew he was sick. But she also knew that he chose that sickness. He picked his poison, And now she picked hers. She picked Truth.

No comments:

Post a Comment