I hate to inform you all that the honeymoon period of my being off meds has ended in the past couple of days. At first I was fascinated by feeling normalcy to the fullest, but the flip side is that I can now feel pain to the fullest as well.
The past two days I have been obsessing over an incident that took place 10 years ago which has affected my life and reputation in an unspeakable manner. I came upon the subject when I asked myself "why did you start drinking?" There are things you can own up to, and then there are things so painful that you deny them altogether, at any cost and by any means. Alcohol numbed the pain, then antidepressants, but now there is nothing now but the facts at hand.
I will liken this to a rather dangerous stunt I pulled when I was 11. I put nail polish remover in a plastic bottle and shook it to evaporate it. Then I put the bottle on its side and lit the end, hoping it would take off like a rocket. A six inch spike of blue flame shot out and caught my hand, turning it light red as the bottle spun n a circle. I considered myself lucky, as there was only mild pain. Over the next three days it developed into the worst burn I had ever had that took weeks to heal. Such is the case with secrets.
Ten years ago I was sexually humiliated.
Throughout high school I had nurtured a crush on a girl who always gave me the illusion of availability and an emotional connection. I got to college, and kept up with her over im, as this was before social media. We talked every night, and I confessed that I was dealing with a lot of depression and anxiety and was not adjusting well away from home. She kept probing for the exact cause, and I, being too naive not to see any manipulative intent, confessed something of a sexual nature to her. In good taste I will leave out details, but I felt like I had finally become close to someone.
Fast forward 3 months. I'm seeing another high school friend on break, and she comes up in conversation. He looks me in the eye and says "never, ever, ever confide anything in her again"
And suddenly things started falling into place- the very specific jokes my roommates would make to get a rise out of me, the evidence that my computer had been tampered with while I was in class, the very strange way acquaintances treated me. I could not believe it- I literally could not believe it and continue living. So I denied. It did not happen, people did not know, but the silent rage and anxiety that people were talking about me needed an outlet. So I developed a persona that could handle the humiliation on my own terms.
By day I was studious, had two majors, never took less than 18 credit hours, dressed well for class and spent the majority of my time in the library.
By night I was a violent alcoholic. I did any drug put in front of me and made a sport out of horrifying my friends. Notable incidents included:
Taking a pair of scissors and carving the word "fuck" into my chest. There is still a scar to this day.
Carving a swastika into my forehead, which luckily I could cover up in the winter with a toboggan.
Inciting my friends to beat me as hard as they could with bamboo sticks, leaving bloody welts.
Being kicked out of a real life "fight club" when I kept fighting after repeated hits to the head.
Going on a vandalism spree on campus leaving obscenities, penises and swastikas on sidewalks and buildings with chalk.
Shattering bottles with my fists, leaving bloody knuckles.
Playing chicken with the train, whose conductor called the police leading to my second arrest.
I wanted to take my pain and humiliation back out on them- if they were going to destroy me behind my back I would make them watch me destroy myself before their eyes.
Things kept getting worse- at one point I had 3 blackouts in 3 nights. I got a reputation for drinking suicidially- little did they know how close that was to the truth.
Things resolved suddenly for the better which I will get to in another post- but for some reason that period of my life has been on my mind too much these past few days. I don't even know where it came from, but being alcohol and med free has allowed me to experience the full anguish of the past. I tried getting drunk to dull the pain- but no interest thanks to baclofen. I'll pick this up at some other point, but I feel emotionally exhausted writing all that.
The past two days I have been obsessing over an incident that took place 10 years ago which has affected my life and reputation in an unspeakable manner. I came upon the subject when I asked myself "why did you start drinking?" There are things you can own up to, and then there are things so painful that you deny them altogether, at any cost and by any means. Alcohol numbed the pain, then antidepressants, but now there is nothing now but the facts at hand.
I will liken this to a rather dangerous stunt I pulled when I was 11. I put nail polish remover in a plastic bottle and shook it to evaporate it. Then I put the bottle on its side and lit the end, hoping it would take off like a rocket. A six inch spike of blue flame shot out and caught my hand, turning it light red as the bottle spun n a circle. I considered myself lucky, as there was only mild pain. Over the next three days it developed into the worst burn I had ever had that took weeks to heal. Such is the case with secrets.
Ten years ago I was sexually humiliated.
Throughout high school I had nurtured a crush on a girl who always gave me the illusion of availability and an emotional connection. I got to college, and kept up with her over im, as this was before social media. We talked every night, and I confessed that I was dealing with a lot of depression and anxiety and was not adjusting well away from home. She kept probing for the exact cause, and I, being too naive not to see any manipulative intent, confessed something of a sexual nature to her. In good taste I will leave out details, but I felt like I had finally become close to someone.
Fast forward 3 months. I'm seeing another high school friend on break, and she comes up in conversation. He looks me in the eye and says "never, ever, ever confide anything in her again"
And suddenly things started falling into place- the very specific jokes my roommates would make to get a rise out of me, the evidence that my computer had been tampered with while I was in class, the very strange way acquaintances treated me. I could not believe it- I literally could not believe it and continue living. So I denied. It did not happen, people did not know, but the silent rage and anxiety that people were talking about me needed an outlet. So I developed a persona that could handle the humiliation on my own terms.
By day I was studious, had two majors, never took less than 18 credit hours, dressed well for class and spent the majority of my time in the library.
By night I was a violent alcoholic. I did any drug put in front of me and made a sport out of horrifying my friends. Notable incidents included:
Taking a pair of scissors and carving the word "fuck" into my chest. There is still a scar to this day.
Carving a swastika into my forehead, which luckily I could cover up in the winter with a toboggan.
Inciting my friends to beat me as hard as they could with bamboo sticks, leaving bloody welts.
Being kicked out of a real life "fight club" when I kept fighting after repeated hits to the head.
Going on a vandalism spree on campus leaving obscenities, penises and swastikas on sidewalks and buildings with chalk.
Shattering bottles with my fists, leaving bloody knuckles.
Playing chicken with the train, whose conductor called the police leading to my second arrest.
I wanted to take my pain and humiliation back out on them- if they were going to destroy me behind my back I would make them watch me destroy myself before their eyes.
Things kept getting worse- at one point I had 3 blackouts in 3 nights. I got a reputation for drinking suicidially- little did they know how close that was to the truth.
Things resolved suddenly for the better which I will get to in another post- but for some reason that period of my life has been on my mind too much these past few days. I don't even know where it came from, but being alcohol and med free has allowed me to experience the full anguish of the past. I tried getting drunk to dull the pain- but no interest thanks to baclofen. I'll pick this up at some other point, but I feel emotionally exhausted writing all that.
what an incredible post. An incredible journey. I remember you from awhile back and Im really glad you're here and sharing. 
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