The good old days (part 1)

I had to stop driving my car for awhile... my tires got dizzy.

                                                        -Steven Wright

I remember my mother once said to me, “why does everything have to be so hard for you?”.  And I said, “I don’t know, I guess it’s how I learn.” It’s odd because I really hadn’t yet begun my wild drinking and getting high days, so how did I know that?  But it turned out to be true. 

 

Here are just a few stories from the days I was a ‘party girl’ (as I thought of myself); I didn’t get drunk until I was 17, and I sobered up at the age of 31.  I had had plenty of tastes of alcohol before that first time getting drunk, as kids were allowed sips of drinks when we were camping and at other occasions. There it was my mom who was prophetic. I recall not liking the taste of her wine and she said to me “you’re going to like it one day.”  And I did.

 

When I got my driver’s license all bets were off. It was freedom, the heck with rules, time for fun and adventure. I spent a lot of time with kids who were younger than me, taking them places in my car, all while smoking and drinking. We partied at an abandoned ‘haunted house’ in the country where a lot of kids hung out. I went from being a good girl in high school to a wild child, and it was on purpose. I deliberately set out to try as many substances as I could. In the late 70’s there was a local forest preserve where people could hang out, party, and buy or sell just about anything. One day I went through there and bought two blotter hits of acid. I took one, and after a while said to a friend that I didn’t feel anything --  so I took the second one. Next thing I remember I was at the park smoking pot, then I was in outer space. Walking across the grass was a long journey through a shimmering deep blue and white land, with spacemen (other people) waiting at the end. I sat on the asphalt and laughed while they made grotesque faces at me. 

I came down to earth a bit when I was sitting in my car and one of the town’s police officers, who knew me, came driving up. The kids standing around scattered, but not before one left a little container of his marijuana under the seat. The officer found it and wouldn’t believe that it wasn’t mine. He took me to the police station – I rode in the front seat, dazed by all the lights and gadgets. At the police station he showed me the jail cell, the fingerprinting, and he took my mugshot, and gave me the polaroid (which I still have to this day).  He gave me a lecture on how pot can lead to harder drugs, then very dramatically dumped the stuff out into the wastebasket. He made a comment about how this wasn’t funny. I don’t remember too much after that, I know my mother came to get me, whom he’d called, even though I was 18, and she blamed it all on my friends. I knew I was supposed to feel upset, but I just couldn’t.

Some months later, I got into a car accident and totaled my dad’s old car, a beautiful red Plymouth Duster. I was drunk of course, and don’t remember much except that I was taken to the hospital to be checked out. A police officer asked me a few questions, wanted to know if I’d been drinking. I answered honestly; I had been drinking gin and had a few beers. And that was that. I wasn’t charged with drunk driving, although I did have a court date for the accident, which I missed, having no transportation. My license was suspended due to too many moving violations and I didn’t get it back for over twenty years. At that time I was living with a boyfriend, in an apartment building within walking distance of my old high school, selling drugs. 

After six months or so - most of which I don’t remember - we decided to run away to Wisconsin (just an hour or so away), to start a new, wholesome life. My boyfriend and his friend got a car and rebuilt the engine. But there was a problem – we didn’t have license plates. I really don’t recall why we couldn’t’ get them, but we had the brilliant idea to get the plates off the Duster.  We drove to the place where it was impounded late one night, but the guys were too afraid to try to break in. So, armed with a flashlight and a screwdriver, I crawled under the fence, found my poor car, and got the plates off. Not long after my boyfriend and I took off for Wisconsin and that new engine really flew down those back roads. And that is another story.

I had many other adventures in cars, for the short time I had my license, and many close calls. I allowed a boy without a license to drive and took the blame when he got into an accident. I drove drunk many times, wandering around until somehow I ended up in the driveway, I drove while high on acid, and it was like the steering wheel wasn’t real. It really was a blessing in disguise that I lost my license and didn’t try to get it back for years. Living in the city there were plenty of buses and trains, and I did a lot of walking or riding my bicycle. When I did finally try to clear up my record, that accident with the Duster had long since passed the statute of limitations. However, I found out that there was an old ticket for running a red light – but I didn’t remember that. I suspected it may have been my boyfriend with the rebuilt car. This was 1979, so of course before computers and cameras.

During my years living in the city, I was at a punk bar having a good time, I suppose. It was early morning when some man offered me a ride home, and I said sure. He drove extremely fast on Lake Shore drive, and even in my numbed-out state I was a bit alarmed, as he was getting awfully close to the cement barrier. Then he exited and parked at the lakefront. Oh, I forgot to mention, he was talking to someone in the back seat who wasn’t there. As the sun was coming up, he got out of the car and walked toward the lake. I sat there not knowing what to do, if he was coming back, or if I even wanted him to. 

Eventually a patrol car came by, and stopped to see what was going on, as there was no one else around. I explained to them the situation, including how the man had an imaginary friend, so the cops volunteered to take me home.  As I sat in the back seat, I noticed beer cans rolling around on the floor; they asked me if I wanted one, and I said no, I have some gin at home.

Now that I think back, one of the oddest things is why I once again was drinking gin. I was a whiskey girl at heart.

And On....

Several years have gone by and I am feeling the need to tell more stories. I suppose I can let this blog be my memoir of sorts. 

I am now 66, and not long ago I celebrated 35 years of being clean and sober. I have drinking dreams sometimes, good reminders that I am an alcoholic. I'm in relatively good health; I've been doing well in some ways, got to take a great trip to New Orleans, but the last few years have been very difficult at times.

in 2022 my mother died -- on my 64th birthday. It really seemed like some kind of cosmic joke. Yes, she was 86, but it seemed like her health declined quickly. She was on hospice care for only a short time, and she died with her beloved cat cuddled next to her, in a facility near the Sandia mountains, which she loved. I wasn't there, as she was in New Mexico, but I had gone to visit her a few months before and was glad I'd seen her, in spite of some strained communication.

Two days after she died I took my kayak out on my favorite river.  It rained, I got soaked, then this gorgeous double rainbow gradually appeared.  It felt like a beautiful message from Mom; when my parents first moved to Albuquerque she'd sent me photos of rainbows, saying that they were seeing them frequently.  Shortly after my father died she looked at the mountains and saw a rainbow -- she felt it was a message from Dad.

Several months later, my sister and I flew out to visit our other sister in New Mexico, the first time the three of us had been together in years. We took Mom's ashes up into those mountains, knowing she wanted to have them spread near her husband's, like we did 22 years ago. We drove and drove but could not find the right location, then finally found a lovely spot in a cluster of pine trees where we said goodbye. 

But for me, the most emotional part of the trip was going to see the tree she had had planted in the Veteran's park in our father's name.  Twenty years ago it had been a little sapling, and there it was in all its red leafed glory.

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🌺

They say when the student is ready, the teacher appears. 

This has happened to me over and over again in my life. I have not always used the traditional AA sponsor, but have had professional mentors, therapists, friends, and all sorts of different kinds of help, some I can't easily explain. But I can say that change happens on the inside. 

I'll give an example. When I was learning to be a counselor (undergrad level) I was unsure if iI should reveal to clients that I was in recovery, or other personal things. What my supervisor said to me was 'check your motivations'.  Wow. That kind of wisdom is absolutely golden. So I learned to share when I thought it might help, at least in my professional life. 

To me, it's a matter of being open. I've been doing various types of meditation for years, not really formal, but lt includes guides recordings, reading spiritual texts or books, and listening to talks from spiritual teachers. I had an intense experience at a spiritual retreat years ago (sober) that has stayed with me.  Lately I found a woman who describes many of the inner changes and processes that I've gone through, and adds yet more layers of understanding.  Through her help I was able to let go of something I was very angry and conflicted about.

Another change has been in the area of being a single, non married (or even divorced) woman.  Maybe it's not as much of a stigma nowadays but for so many years it was very painful, feeling like there was something wrong with me for not being able to 'hang onto a man'.  I am aware that some of my singleness is or was from being a victim of rape, more than once, but there has also been sense that I need to be independent, that has only grown stronger as I've gotten older. I discovered this wonderful social scientist who writes about 'singleism' and people who are 'single at heart':  https://belladepaulo.com.  I think that's me.

I have joined an online group of people who feel the same, and it's been really life changing for me to drop that feeling that I'm missing out, or defective in some way.  This is the way I am and it's so freeing. 

Next:  Memories of crazy days