The good old days (part 2)

*Trigger Warning* 

 

Just some a few brief vignettes of other things I did or that happened during my drinking and drugging days:

 

I liked to climb things. Once I climbed up a crane, for no reason that I can think of. Another time I climbed up to a second story window of an apartment building and fell; someone I was with had lost their keys, so I volunteered to climb up and get in the window, and I guess they all thought it was a good idea.  I got up there but then lost my grip and fell backwards, hitting my head on the cement. I lay there looking up at the others, who were asking if I was okay, and I was fine. They say God protects drunks and fools, but I do wonder if it may have contributed to my memory problems. 

Other things I did when under the influence; tried to choke people (never hurt anyone) pushed my best friend into a pool, scream and swear at people (always someone important to me, usually a boyfriend), cry, and run for no reason. I took whatever drugs I could or were given to me but was proud I never used a needle. I was promiscuous.  I had blackouts, once coming to -- to find I was sitting in my kitchen talking to a strange woman – in the middle of a conversation.

Another time I came to on New Year’s wondering where my boyfriend was. My sister and her husband were still there, and when I tried to call him, angry that he’d left, they said I’d kicked him out and ripped the phone cord out of the wall.

 

Once, I was with my sister, her boyfriend and my brother, we took some acid and went by Lake Michigan; in the harbor we saw a big dead fish.  My brother and I totally tripped out on that fish, and it became a running joke between us -- ‘big dead fish’. Guess you had to be there. 

 

I had befriended coworkers at a new job, a big hospital and health center. Once I was invited to a barbeque, got really drunk, and I was dancing and crying at the same time, thinking about the baby I’d lost.

 

I used to wander around in a rough area neighborhood, back in the days when pot was illegal, asking strangers if they knew where I could buy some. I almost always found some, though not the good stuff. 

 

 I was a victim of rape, at least three times. The first was a stranger; I’d been friendly to him because I was lonely hungover, and new to living in the city. Next day he was waiting in my hallway for me with a knife. Because I cooperated and pretended to be friendly, he left after many hours, and I wasn’t hurt -- physically.

Some years later, after my brother died, I went on a date, went back to the guy’s apartment, and he hid my glasses so I couldn’t leave. I eventually found them and got out when he fell asleep, which took a while because he’d been doing cocaine. He lived in the same building as me, and the next day he was in the alley screaming that I was a ‘fucking bitch’.  I was terrified after that; I moved out as soon as I could. I had to break the lease which led to my wages being garnished. I think I was working at a university then. I had many jobs, would go to school or take classes periodically and then move on to something else. 

 

When I was in college in the 80's, I had plenty of friends to drink and get high with, but once I was raped by a group of men. The one who didn’t participate, a friend, told me about it, but mercifully I don’t remember, because I was in a blackout. He said it looked like I was enjoying it.

The thing is, I put myself in all those situations. I just wanted to have fun, drink, get high, and get attention. In the first instance I was lonely and hungover - just wanted a friend. I didn’t think about what could happen. The others, I was just trying to have a good time partying.  I carried a lot of guilt and shame for years. This gradually diminished, especially after one of my AA sponsors explained some things to me:  she said you can take responsibility for your actions but don’t blame yourself for what was done to you. It was a process. It was also confusing because I often wanted attention from men – nothing wrong with that – but I there were many, many times when I experienced unwanted attention or worse.  I know many women can relate to this. 

But I will say, therapy helped me to process some of this, and it was most helpful to be told ‘it’s okay to be angry’. When I was growing up, I remember being told to ‘go to your room and don’t slam the door’ – expressing anger was not allowed.  

 

I’ve had some flashbacks, but that has diminished. I saw myself as a victim for many years, full of self-pity and wondering what was wrong with me. I still wonder at times, but I know I’m not the only one. I have learned how to connect with people – adults as well as kids – through knowing pain, and healing (and a sense of humor).  Maybe it’s not the best or only way to relate to others, but it’s human.

  

no mud, no lotus

I found something I didn't know I'd lost

Trigger warning: rape

Last night I found an old letter. It was from an old boyfriend with whom I believe I had the "real thing". Love. In the letter he confirmed the feelings he had for me - for the first time, at least to my limited recollection. We had broken up and he wanted me back. That in itself is not that remarkable but...

We had met at the hospital where both of us worked as housekeepers. For him, it was a summer job before going off to college. For me, it was a job close to home; I was working to save money so I could move to the city and get my own apartment. Each of our plans were already in the works when we fell in love. And we fell hard. The short time we had together was like one of those Nicholas Sparks novels - magical, but destined not to last.

After the summer we kept up a long distance relationship, writing letters and seeing each other when we could. At times he came up to the city, other times I went downstate to visit him in his dorm. Needless to say, it became too difficult, with each of us trying to adjust to new circumstances.

One day I was returning home from the train station, and a man approached me and we talked in a friendy way as I walked home. Being very naive and young, and lonely - and very hung over - I thought little about letting him come in for a few minutes. The next day when I came home, he was waiting for me in the hallway with a knife. He forced his way into my apartment as I unlocked the door, he raped me, and he stayed for hours until I could convince him to leave (I had no phone yet) - by agreeing to see him again. Foolishly, I did not go to the police then. I had a male friend come over the next day, and he chased the man down the street when he arrived. The next day my apartment was broken into, my little bit of jewelry stolen, my cats gone out the open back door. I did go to the police then. My rapist was eventually caught on another charge.

My enjoyment as an independent young woman in the city was short lived. I moved to a hotel temporarily, then found a roommate. Thus began many years of living in fear and -- while I no longer blame myself for being a victim -- behavior that attracted dangerous circumstances to me and vice versa. Drinking and using drugs to the point of oblivion became my primary occupation, though I did have a day job.

My boyfriend? He was as kind and anyone could be. On his campus, he joined an anti-rape group. He tried his best to be there for me, but it was too much, because my behavior (what little I can recall of it) was pushing him away. At the same time, I was insecure and needy, wanting him to be there more than he was able to. He decided it was best for me if we broke up, so I would not be in a position to be hurt by the separations. I did not believe that was his motive at the time, but I think differently now.

After running into each other at a concert some time later, I must have sent him a letter. I received a long letter back --that I just re-read last night and it might as well have been the first time, due to memory problems.  In it, he said he never stopped thinking and worrying about me. In it, he said he wanted to get back together. He said he knew he had been too selfish but he wanted to try to do better, and that probably he would fail at times. His other letters had been full of chatty information about school, along with little jokes and cartoons he had drawn. This one was different. Serious and sincere. And how did I respond? I have no idea. For all I know I never did reply. In my journals at that time I stated I did not want to commit to anyone, that I wanted attention from men, and I wanted to party.

This man was a few years younger than me. I had already had two serious boyfriends. I had been pregnant and lost the baby. I had dropped out of college. However I was his first, his first serious girlfriend - his first. Looking back I knew that he was my first also - first love. Maybe the only one. And now having read his letter, I really GET it. For a short time I had love. Not friends with benefits, not someone who was using me, but the real thing.

And so Steve, if by chance you ever read this, thank you. It was no one's fault that the timing was wrong. And it was not your fault, or any one's, that I have this disease of alcoholism, which caused me to pour booze on top of pain, which created more pain, which would then need more booze...

That cycle has been broken these past 20 years, thank God. And now another little piece of my past has gently fallen into place. I was loved, I did love, for however short a time. It did happen for me - and it could happen for me again. Thanks to you, I believe this now.