DRINKING, DRIVING, AND SURVIVING
When I tell you that it's incredible that I'm still alive, you can believe it.
We lived in a remote part of the Texas Panhandle. I started drinking when I was around age 17...mostly to put me in a fog during the weeknights because of my troubled home life but also because I enjoyed partying with friends on the weekend. Reading, church, and school activities weren't enough for me. I loved everything about drinking, from the wooziness you felt just as the effects of alcohol were starting to wash over you to the time before too much drinking would make you nauseous. When you got to the part where you were throwing up, it wasn't fun anymore. It took a lot of practice to know how to pace yourself to not end up with your head hanging over the toilet.
As a child, I lived in a very strict household where Christianity was used as an excuse to control every move we tried to make. We weren't allowed to swim with the opposite sex, nor were we allowed to go to dances. On the rare occasions when I had a date, my curfew was very early. I wasn't pretty or popular, so I wasn't asked out much. No one in my class at my high school ever asked me out, and I don't really blame them. Confidence is attractive to others; a total lack of self-esteem is not.
I had a female friend a year older than me who also liked to party. She was allowed to come and go as she pleased...and she had a car to drive us around. She wanted to drink, too, but I don't remember her ever drinking so much that she was inebriated. My parents allowed me to go out on the town with this friend because she was, after all, a female. Even after she graduated and was going to college several hundred miles away, we would manage to get together when she was home. This occasionally continued when I moved to Amarillo.
When I drank, I felt a certain freedom of spirit and freedom from reality. I was always proud that I never got so carried away that I was having sex with boys at parties. I remained a virgin until I was 21.
The summer between graduating from high school and my freshman year in college, my parents took their usual three weeks of vacation. Since I was working and taking classes in college, they allowed me to stay home.
I had a big party at their house with lots of people showing up with beer. I never knew I had so many friends! I was delusional about having lots of friends. The party quickly got out of control, with two boys throwing punches at each other in my parent's bedroom. One of the punches landed on the wall, causing a big hole that had not been there before the party. I remember a very kind neighborhood boy named Kelly coming to my rescue and throwing everyone out of the house. To this day, we remain friends. He's had a successful professional and family life. I wouldn't have expected anything less from him. I don't think I've ever thanked him for rescuing me, but I promise I will.
It was very stressful trying to figure out how to explain this to my parents without causing all sorts of hell to reign over me. Finally, I told them I had an asthma attack in the middle of the night and fell into the wall. I can't remember explaining what I was doing in my parent's bedroom, but they bought it. I later learned from my mother that a neighbor had told her about the party. Thankfully, she never told my father. Whew.
The college course I had that summer was Economics. I remember being primarily hungover in that class. I trained myself to keep my eyes open. Sometimes, I could dream with wide open eyes; at least, I thought they were open! The one thing I learned in that course was 'The Law of Diminishing Returns.' I really 'learned' it when I experienced it. Yeah, the last drink is better than the first one.
As if this weren't enough, several months later, I was having a party out in the boonies after work with my married boss, one of his friends, and my friend who was home from college. I was driving my mother's old Beetle. My boss was driving a new Pontiac Grand Prix. We decided to have our own Grand Prix on the dirt roads winding throughout the boonies. Drinking possessed me to believe I could actually win such a race. I lost. The Volkswagon Beetle rolled over several times. We weren't wearing seatbelts. My boss dropped us off at the Emergency Room. We were lucky in that we only sustained bruises. Our parents were called. My father was furious and asked if I had been drinking whiskey. I kept denying it, but when he asked 'one last time,' I admitted that I had been drinking beer. So technically, I didn't lie. He called the Sheriff's department to see if they'd arrest me. They declined since the incident occurred on private property (ranch land). Later, he used a hammer to separate the parts of the car that had caved in. He also hand-painted the car lime green. I continued to drive that car for two years. The windows never entirely closed. When it snowed, it could get quite chilly in the car. I suppose the humiliation of driving that dented tin can of a car painted a bright lime green was my punishment. In retrospect, I'm grateful that they supplied a vehicle for me. I wouldn't have been able to work and go to school without one. I was paid $1.50 an hour, barely covering my car's rent and gas. I had to borrow money for tuition and sometimes went without eating when the money ran out.
I got a job for the summer at a mental hospital in Amarillo. I rented an apartment, became fascinated by the patients I met in the hospital, and quickly changed my major from journalism to psychology. During my two years in Amarillo, I worked the evening shift full-time and took a full load at college. After work, I partied like there was no tomorrow. I managed to make good grades and was never fired from my job, even though I often had a hangover. Who knows what I could have accomplished had I not spent four years in an alcoholic fog?
While living in Amarillo, I had two car accidents. After one evening of drinking, I was leaving someone's house when I hit a parked car. I left the scene without telling anyone. I doubt there was much damage, but I knew that had I confessed to it, there might be unwanted time with the police.
My last accident while drinking occurred when my friend from my hometown was visiting. We had spent the day drinking two bottles of Cold Duck. That evening, we decided to go to a club for more partying. I was driving...drunk. Out of nowhere, at an intersection, a car T-boned us. We quickly started chewing gum to get rid of alcohol breath. The policeman put us in the backseat of his police car and the man who hit us in the front seat. He immediately started yelling at the man, asking how much he'd been drinking and telling him he would be arrested as soon as he gave us information for insurance purposes. We never uttered a peep. We never made it to the club and headed back home. We felt like we were the luckiest people alive that night.
It wasn't long after the last incident that I quit getting drunk. It just wasn't fun anymore. I only saw my friend one more time in Dallas after I had moved there. I had a funny feeling at the time that she was bad luck. It was later that I realized the blame rested on me.
To this day, I rarely have more than one drink when I do drink. I often go weeks without even having a drink at all. It holds no interest to me these days. I no longer need to escape anything.
I'm not proud of any of this. I feel very fortunate that no one was hurt during my escapades. But...I do understand people who have a problem with alcohol and why poor decisions are made when they're drinking. We all have them. How we deal with them matters. Living in the present is much better than using alcohol to deal with the demons I never knew I had until I look back on this period of my life. I found a much better way...and it's working.
We lived in a remote part of the Texas Panhandle. I started drinking when I was around age 17...mostly to put me in a fog during the weeknights because of my troubled home life but also because I enjoyed partying with friends on the weekend. Reading, church, and school activities weren't enough for me. I loved everything about drinking, from the wooziness you felt just as the effects of alcohol were starting to wash over you to the time before too much drinking would make you nauseous. When you got to the part where you were throwing up, it wasn't fun anymore. It took a lot of practice to know how to pace yourself to not end up with your head hanging over the toilet.
As a child, I lived in a very strict household where Christianity was used as an excuse to control every move we tried to make. We weren't allowed to swim with the opposite sex, nor were we allowed to go to dances. On the rare occasions when I had a date, my curfew was very early. I wasn't pretty or popular, so I wasn't asked out much. No one in my class at my high school ever asked me out, and I don't really blame them. Confidence is attractive to others; a total lack of self-esteem is not.
I had a female friend a year older than me who also liked to party. She was allowed to come and go as she pleased...and she had a car to drive us around. She wanted to drink, too, but I don't remember her ever drinking so much that she was inebriated. My parents allowed me to go out on the town with this friend because she was, after all, a female. Even after she graduated and was going to college several hundred miles away, we would manage to get together when she was home. This occasionally continued when I moved to Amarillo.
When I drank, I felt a certain freedom of spirit and freedom from reality. I was always proud that I never got so carried away that I was having sex with boys at parties. I remained a virgin until I was 21.
The summer between graduating from high school and my freshman year in college, my parents took their usual three weeks of vacation. Since I was working and taking classes in college, they allowed me to stay home.
I had a big party at their house with lots of people showing up with beer. I never knew I had so many friends! I was delusional about having lots of friends. The party quickly got out of control, with two boys throwing punches at each other in my parent's bedroom. One of the punches landed on the wall, causing a big hole that had not been there before the party. I remember a very kind neighborhood boy named Kelly coming to my rescue and throwing everyone out of the house. To this day, we remain friends. He's had a successful professional and family life. I wouldn't have expected anything less from him. I don't think I've ever thanked him for rescuing me, but I promise I will.
It was very stressful trying to figure out how to explain this to my parents without causing all sorts of hell to reign over me. Finally, I told them I had an asthma attack in the middle of the night and fell into the wall. I can't remember explaining what I was doing in my parent's bedroom, but they bought it. I later learned from my mother that a neighbor had told her about the party. Thankfully, she never told my father. Whew.
The college course I had that summer was Economics. I remember being primarily hungover in that class. I trained myself to keep my eyes open. Sometimes, I could dream with wide open eyes; at least, I thought they were open! The one thing I learned in that course was 'The Law of Diminishing Returns.' I really 'learned' it when I experienced it. Yeah, the last drink is better than the first one.
As if this weren't enough, several months later, I was having a party out in the boonies after work with my married boss, one of his friends, and my friend who was home from college. I was driving my mother's old Beetle. My boss was driving a new Pontiac Grand Prix. We decided to have our own Grand Prix on the dirt roads winding throughout the boonies. Drinking possessed me to believe I could actually win such a race. I lost. The Volkswagon Beetle rolled over several times. We weren't wearing seatbelts. My boss dropped us off at the Emergency Room. We were lucky in that we only sustained bruises. Our parents were called. My father was furious and asked if I had been drinking whiskey. I kept denying it, but when he asked 'one last time,' I admitted that I had been drinking beer. So technically, I didn't lie. He called the Sheriff's department to see if they'd arrest me. They declined since the incident occurred on private property (ranch land). Later, he used a hammer to separate the parts of the car that had caved in. He also hand-painted the car lime green. I continued to drive that car for two years. The windows never entirely closed. When it snowed, it could get quite chilly in the car. I suppose the humiliation of driving that dented tin can of a car painted a bright lime green was my punishment. In retrospect, I'm grateful that they supplied a vehicle for me. I wouldn't have been able to work and go to school without one. I was paid $1.50 an hour, barely covering my car's rent and gas. I had to borrow money for tuition and sometimes went without eating when the money ran out.
I got a job for the summer at a mental hospital in Amarillo. I rented an apartment, became fascinated by the patients I met in the hospital, and quickly changed my major from journalism to psychology. During my two years in Amarillo, I worked the evening shift full-time and took a full load at college. After work, I partied like there was no tomorrow. I managed to make good grades and was never fired from my job, even though I often had a hangover. Who knows what I could have accomplished had I not spent four years in an alcoholic fog?
While living in Amarillo, I had two car accidents. After one evening of drinking, I was leaving someone's house when I hit a parked car. I left the scene without telling anyone. I doubt there was much damage, but I knew that had I confessed to it, there might be unwanted time with the police.
My last accident while drinking occurred when my friend from my hometown was visiting. We had spent the day drinking two bottles of Cold Duck. That evening, we decided to go to a club for more partying. I was driving...drunk. Out of nowhere, at an intersection, a car T-boned us. We quickly started chewing gum to get rid of alcohol breath. The policeman put us in the backseat of his police car and the man who hit us in the front seat. He immediately started yelling at the man, asking how much he'd been drinking and telling him he would be arrested as soon as he gave us information for insurance purposes. We never uttered a peep. We never made it to the club and headed back home. We felt like we were the luckiest people alive that night.
It wasn't long after the last incident that I quit getting drunk. It just wasn't fun anymore. I only saw my friend one more time in Dallas after I had moved there. I had a funny feeling at the time that she was bad luck. It was later that I realized the blame rested on me.
To this day, I rarely have more than one drink when I do drink. I often go weeks without even having a drink at all. It holds no interest to me these days. I no longer need to escape anything.
I'm not proud of any of this. I feel very fortunate that no one was hurt during my escapades. But...I do understand people who have a problem with alcohol and why poor decisions are made when they're drinking. We all have them. How we deal with them matters. Living in the present is much better than using alcohol to deal with the demons I never knew I had until I look back on this period of my life. I found a much better way...and it's working.
another very interesting story. thanks for sharing your life's journey's with us .....
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you made it to become the person that you are.
ReplyDeleteWhat a nice thing to say, Lisa! Thank you very much!
DeleteYou're willingness to bare your soul is amazing. You're stories are raw and unvarnished. Love your courage Lady!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Lynda. When my daughter occasionally reads one of my stories, she's usually mortified. If my mother read them at all, some of them would be painful to her. But, I feel compelled to always speak my truth. Sometimes though, I must admit, I'm worried that it's a little over the top. I do hope somehow others will avoid the mistakes I made.
Delete