The first two years in the music department in college formed the greatest memories I'll ever carry with me. It was an exciting time for me because I was finally surrounded by those who were just as weird. I could sing my little Sondheim heart out in the hallways and get high-fives instead of awkward stares.
My very first year we traveled to New York and I got to sing in Carnegie Hall a second time within four years with the added bonus of being an adult and doing whatever the hell I wanted to. Bunk with my new cute boyfriend? Absolutely! Run around aimlessly, without a chaperon, tripping over gutters in high heels to go see Patti Lupone and Michael Cerveris own Sweeney Todd? Yup.
Oh, and let's not forget about the parties. I like to relate college parties to a clown car because I seriously don't know how we fit so many people into my friend's apartment. It became a ritual, really. One weekend, my friend and I thought we should have a quiet ladies night with Oberon and spinach dip. That turned into a rowdy "b'grl prty" with copious amounts of bodies and alcohol.
It all seemed like fun, until I became THAT girl. You know, the one who drinks too much too quick, becomes extremely comfortable with her sexuality, gets sick and needs her best friend to hold her hair back, and then passes out under the kitchen table. I didn't care though, because those nights, I was leaving my reality at the door. I didn't care what happened or who it happened with.
After Greg and I got married, I cooled it on the liquor parties for a while. I had a full-time job and didn't have the luxury to be hungover. When I got promoted and had the opportunity to attend a conference in Las Vegas, I was rather giddy. That trip resulted in my choice to kick liquor to the curb. Yea, I don't want to talk about it...
Didn't stop me from drinking though. I decided to adopt beer and wine into my life and haven't thrown up since, let alone experience a serious hangover. However, this gave me an excuse to drown out the depression more efficiently. Have a rough day at work? Crack a beer. Had a flashback? Crack a beer. Mad at Greg? Crack a beer. Stressed? Crack a beer. Hungry? Crack a beer.
I loved that I could control the nightmares, control HIM, when I drank. As soon as the visions would crawl their way into my consciousness, alcohol was there to save me from the torture.
"Tell me that you love it when I fuck you," Shut up...drink...
"No one will believe you, " Shut up!...drink some more..
"But I love you," SHUT THE EFF UP...one more...and I'm out.
I started to get back into liquor at this point, because the faster I could wash away the pain, the better. The last month before I chose to be sober, I needed to drink more each time to drown out his voice. All it took was a hit to my head on some crown molding inside a bar for me to wake up and realize I would never heal if I didn't face the memories of his manipulation. We all know that story.
Without alcohol, I can honestly say that right now, I am miserable. I can't sleep and when I do, it is interrupted by nightmare induced panic-attacks. Yet, it is the necessary relinquishment of alcohol from my life enabling me to battle these memories head-on.
Alcohol abuse is one of many unhealthy ways I attempted to gain control over my past, but it was only ever temporary, and the pain would return in time. I am aware I have blogged about my alcohol abuse problems, but I wanted to explore each coping mechanism I utilized in order to portray why it is so common among victims of sexual assault.
In the next few days I will cover my struggles with eating, cutting, and reckless sexual behavior.
I need to provide a window into why I felt the necessity to do these things, so that others who similarly struggle, don't feel burdened or alone.
More power to you in leaving the crutches behind. A painful journey, so keep your eye on the destination. You're in my prayers. For real.
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