Okay, I've been around here and there in the posts for the past few days. Guess I should get a few things out in the open.
I've been drinking since I was around 14, eight years after my father began sexually abusing me. My drink of choice in high school was Everclear or 'shine. Yep, I could get it--in a Mason jar and everything. The sexual abuse continued until after I began attending college, if you can believe I would let it go on for so long. I tried everything in college unless it involved a needle. I thank that phobia for a few graces.
After school, I mucked around in retail, still numbing out. When my first husband met me, I was having scotch and sometimes soda crackers for supper. I was a lying, dosing, drinking mess. But I really loved him so I confronted the abuse and the abuser, with the help of some dear friends and life-saving books. Until I was 26, I never told anyone about the abuse. My husband was diagnosed with crohn's, so being the co-dependent I was (am?), I stopped drinking because he couldn't drink. Just like that. But kept doing "recreational" drugs. He wouldn't deal with the disease on his own, I took care of it for him, marriage deteriorated, and we finally divorced after trying to escape our problems by moving across the state. I started drinking again, slowly, but steadily.
When I met my second husband in a bar, we drank and talked all night for weeks. Married him finally, still drinking with him. Used to be only with him, now it's back to just me when he's not around during the week. Used to be only a few, now it's until they're gone.
About five years ago, my mother finally found out about my father's abuse. Not from me, from my sister-in-law, who I had told a few years before in order for her to protect her girls. I went to therapy then. I had had some twisted idea that protecting my mother from knowing somehow made me brave and honorable. It was rough, but we all got through it, and I forgave my father. Still, I'm drinking. Didn't get to that part in therapy. I have tried to be as honest as I possibly can be from the moment I knew I needed to stop lying about everything. I just couldn't tell my mom. I have tried to turn all that negative crap into positive effort. I succeed much of the time. Not all the time.
I am a so-so writer, a good teacher, a Buddhist (although as a Mel Gibson character once said, "Not a good one"), and funny as it sounds to say in that list, I have dreadlocks. I have come to learn that they are not as much a hairstyle as a lifestyle, just like writing, teaching, etc.
That's my story. There's a part of me that still feels like I have been absolutely on my own since I was six, and so it's hard to admit I need help or to ask for help. That kid just wants to tell the world to "Fuck off, I can do it by myself," sometimes. I'm sorry, guys. I've never met a more amazing bunch of people. Too many triggers tonight. I'll have to start over tomorrow.
I've been drinking since I was around 14, eight years after my father began sexually abusing me. My drink of choice in high school was Everclear or 'shine. Yep, I could get it--in a Mason jar and everything. The sexual abuse continued until after I began attending college, if you can believe I would let it go on for so long. I tried everything in college unless it involved a needle. I thank that phobia for a few graces.
After school, I mucked around in retail, still numbing out. When my first husband met me, I was having scotch and sometimes soda crackers for supper. I was a lying, dosing, drinking mess. But I really loved him so I confronted the abuse and the abuser, with the help of some dear friends and life-saving books. Until I was 26, I never told anyone about the abuse. My husband was diagnosed with crohn's, so being the co-dependent I was (am?), I stopped drinking because he couldn't drink. Just like that. But kept doing "recreational" drugs. He wouldn't deal with the disease on his own, I took care of it for him, marriage deteriorated, and we finally divorced after trying to escape our problems by moving across the state. I started drinking again, slowly, but steadily.
When I met my second husband in a bar, we drank and talked all night for weeks. Married him finally, still drinking with him. Used to be only with him, now it's back to just me when he's not around during the week. Used to be only a few, now it's until they're gone.
About five years ago, my mother finally found out about my father's abuse. Not from me, from my sister-in-law, who I had told a few years before in order for her to protect her girls. I went to therapy then. I had had some twisted idea that protecting my mother from knowing somehow made me brave and honorable. It was rough, but we all got through it, and I forgave my father. Still, I'm drinking. Didn't get to that part in therapy. I have tried to be as honest as I possibly can be from the moment I knew I needed to stop lying about everything. I just couldn't tell my mom. I have tried to turn all that negative crap into positive effort. I succeed much of the time. Not all the time.
I am a so-so writer, a good teacher, a Buddhist (although as a Mel Gibson character once said, "Not a good one"), and funny as it sounds to say in that list, I have dreadlocks. I have come to learn that they are not as much a hairstyle as a lifestyle, just like writing, teaching, etc.
That's my story. There's a part of me that still feels like I have been absolutely on my own since I was six, and so it's hard to admit I need help or to ask for help. That kid just wants to tell the world to "Fuck off, I can do it by myself," sometimes. I'm sorry, guys. I've never met a more amazing bunch of people. Too many triggers tonight. I'll have to start over tomorrow.
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