3:09 pm
Hmm. Nothing all that profound about today. Just another day in “paradise.” Correction: just another SOBER day in paradise, which begins with me waking up not hung over! I swear, it never fucking gets old. EVER. I am grateful every morning for not having a hangover. EVERY morning. And, the longer I’m sober, the more accessible the memory of my last drunk (or one of my later hangovers) becomes; I seem to be able to remember it more clearly, breathe in every moment of that wretched feeling as if it were yesterday.
Today, though, I want to talk about hauntings. Of things past, things done. I have many, and of all the days of my life, all the events–these drunken shenanigans only make up a very small percent. A miniscule amount. Yet. YET. Man, do they take up SO MUCH space in my brain.
And, I can’t seem to let them go. Forget about them. Relegate them to the back burner, so that all the awesome memories of amazing things I’ve done in my life can take the front, can actually be remembered and serve as springboards in the present moment. That’s the sad irony of all this navel-gazing, I suppose, or maybe it’s simply the nature of the beast: we ruminate on all the stupid, shitty, god-awful things we did drunk, and they make up our mental landscape, affecting who we are NOW and how we behave HERE. I am, for some reason, focused on the miniscule 1 percent, which obscures just how bright and amazing the other 99 percent is. Hmm.
I have a red boa draped over my desk, as decoration and distraction. Or…is it to remind myself of what I did, to keep it within reach so that I NEVER FORGET JUST HOW BAD I WAS? It was two years ago, the last Halloween I “celebrated,” and let me tell you what happened. I was to fly to LA to meet a long-time friend for the weekend. It was supposed to be relaxed, fun, an escape. Too bad I started off the trip with a HUGE night drinking alone in my apartment–per fucking usual. When dawn came and the wine was gone, I was screaming drunk; and the utter dread and sickness of withdrawal–coming down SUCKS–was threatening to set in. NO, somewhere deep inside said. I am not done yet. I am not ready to stop. And, I didn’t.
To avoid the “night ending”–losing the buzz, dealing with what was surely going to be a suicidal hangover–I drank more. I opened another bottle and proceeded to down the whole thing, both while I was getting ready and en route to the airport in the cab. Once there, my mood picked up, I got my second wind, and though I was THIS close to being drunky-drunk, everything seemed clearer. I got to my terminal and downed a few beers–beer couldn’t hurt, right? It would hydrate me, I lied.
The plane took off and I had an “amazing” seat-mate, some married asshole who was flirting with me and drinking with me (wine for breakfast anyone?). We had the most “marvelous” conversation, and by the time our flight touched down about an hour later, I had definitely gone from drunker to drunkest. Of course, I was STILL hanging on, desperate for the party not to end, so I convinced this guy to have one more drink with me–another bar, another airport.
Then (finally?), I blacked out. DUH. Piecing together the texts and my shoddy memory of how this scenario was resolved, I concluded the following: I must have been stumbling around LAX for at least two hours blacked out; my friend had texted numerous times that he was waiting for me and would be leaving VERY soon if my ass didn’t show itself; I remember my friend heaving me into the passenger seat of his car and driving home; I was slouched next to him, and it was only then that I registered that my jeans were soaked from top to bottom–my entire pants were drenched in urine. I had pissed myself, and I had been walking around LAX like this for two fucking hours, and people must have noticed, including my friend. OH, GOD. Oh god oh god oh god.
Cue the remorse that haunts me to this day, that prods at my soul, begging to come in; that ends up saturating my gut with its daily drip-drip-dripping.
I slept at his place until about 5 that afternoon–the whole day, gone–while he went out and did some errands. What must he have been thinking? Fortunately, he is one of the forgivers. While he was quite upset (for a long time after that weekend, I imagine), we made the best of the night. I will never forget his stare, wary, as we swayed together in our costumes at some bar in LA and I drank again–this time, three small glasses of wine just to take the edge off and make me feel somewhat normal again. That’s where the boa comes in: I went as the Mexican goddess of death, or Santa Muerte, and the boa was to give it a festive, flowery feel.
Now? That fucking boa above my desk HAUNTS me. While I definitely felt like death that night (I was still mightily hung over, shaking even), I was riding on utter gratitude for my friend–and, that “lovey dovey” feeling that you get when you are coming off the booze, grateful to be alive, thankful beyond recognition to have made it through yet another hangover. Now? I look up and see that boa, and it makes my entire inner body shudder slightly every time I do.
So, why not take it down? I can’t. That day still haunts me. And, I’m actually OK with that. I think I actually NEED the constant reminder of both how bad it got–I feel somewhat ill just remembering it again in such detail–and how far I’ve come. I’ve long since made amends with my friend, who never held it against me anyway. I’ve been getting sober for over 16 months, and I’ve been sober for a continuous 221 days. I was sober last Halloween. I was sober last Christmas, and New Year’s, and Valentine’s Day, and Easter, and my birthday, and the Fourth of July, and Labor Day. I will be sober this Halloween, too.
Yet, I have ghosts. That incident haunts me, one of a seeming-eternity of nights (and days) blacked out and left for dead. And, the least scary thing about it was my costume. Santa Muerte is a “personification of death…associated with healing, protection, and safe delivery to the afterlife.” Is it not worth noting that it was I who chose to dress up as a goddess of death? Or, that this very same goddess also embodies the afterlife? Maybe Santa Muerte was simply looking out for me that night, and all the others, too, waiting for the old me to finally die so that she could transport the new me to a better place?
Drunky Drunk Girl 
The night that ended at Monument tube station. Me down between the train and the platform blood all over me my wife screaming for help and a huge South African rugby player pulling of out just before the train left. Now that night was a winner.
Wow, thank you for sharing such a tough memory. I am really sorry that you had to go through that, and that it still haunts you. I have been there myself and it ain’t pretty. Luckily my shame is fading a bit, but like Paul said, it has to happen in its own time. Your writing is wonderful, btw. xx- Jen
Thank you, Jen! xx
Blackout? What’s a blackout? I REMEMBER EVERY SORDID FKN THING I DID. I was never lucky enough to black out.
I have a wedding to go to in a few weeks. The lady I punched in the face almost 2 years ago (my last drunk) will be there. For some strange reason I haven’t run into her since it happened. This episode haunts me when I least expect it (regularly) and I just can’t shake it. Back in my younger years, fighting was something to be proud of within the crowd I hung with. It’s really not something to be proud of when one is 50 years old and sucker-punching someone just because I decided I didn’t like her for some obscure reason.
I think I’m haunted by this particular memory so that I can remember had bad I can really be.How much I DON’T want to go back there. Sure, I think about how “great” a beer would be. Then I remember the punch that was heard around the world (my small town) and the total mortification sets in and I know I’ll do something much worse somewhere down the line if I drink that one beer. That one beer that turns into one hundred…..
Keep the boa. : )
Yup, blackouts suck, but NO, I honestly don’t know if I could live with myself if, in fact, I DID remember everything I said, screamed, did, and tried to do (or not to do) while drunky-drunk. Here’s to healing our memories and spirits and moving on… (And, I hate to say it, but methinks the boa is going in a box soon…)
Wowee. Your description of the whole airport thing made me want to scoop you up and take you home. So glad your friend looked after you and that you’re not in that place anymore!! I agree it’s important not to forget those kind of things but I’m not sure if I could stand to be reminded of such a painful memory every day. I would put the boa in a box so I could be reminded of it if I needed to be, but not have to look at it everyday. But that’s just me.
Yup, that thing is coming down (sorry for the late comment!). And, unfort, that night was one of “the best” of the bad nights–lots worse has happened. Ugh. Somehow, getting it out there in detail helps…
I have tried to comment on this twice and lost it, here goes again..
How well written this was. I was right there with you, back in that awful place we used to call ‘having a good time’
I could feel the excitement and adrenaline of the wine flowing and the feeling of never wanting the party to stop. What party? Sad old party for one? And to think that was my favourite way to drink, don’t need anyone else. I am that much fun! I always started the holiday the night before. Was that just an excuse to hair of the dog? Why travel with a hangover when you can just get pissed again! What a nightmare, how did we ever think we might NOT have a problem.
You are not that girl anymore, you don’t need to remind yourself of what happened in the past when you were a different person, addicted to a drug. If you thought someone else was hanging on to something just so they could use it to transport them back to a time of guilt and shame that they have worked hard to put in the past. Would you encourage them to go on beating themselves up with that stick (insert boa!)?
You have got to forgive yourself. Your journaling here is a permanent reminder of why you are where you are today, should you need to revisit it. But you blog also has comments of encouragement, support and forgiveness, which we don’t always feel when we are home along with our thoughts and the boa!
C xx
Thank you for this–a few weeks later! Yeah, based on your comment, I think I’m going to get a new decoration to put above my desk and burn that stupid boa! No need to torture myself anymore… Hugs!
Oh that you are not going to torture yourself with that ever again has absolutely made my day!! I am so happy when my recovery friends inch forward 🙂
C xx
Why am I just seeing this, and holy flashbacks for me DDG…. I spent my last day visiting my sister in NYC bar hopping (I was told by numerous people (ok my husband and bro in law)) to not drink.. I was so hammered in the cab on the way to LGA he hit the breaks, and I slid with everything I owned off the seat, dumped purse.. Omg.. When we arrived I had no cash just a credit card and his machine thingy was not working., he stole my cell phone whilst talking to my husband I had no PIN number for debit card was crying uncontrollably.. Omg they were not going to let me on the plane… Proud mommy moment..
Ugh! Believe me, my Halloween experience is one of *the best* of the bad times–there have been much worse, and much more consequential. But, I appreciate that you KNOW what this shit is like, and how…well, going back and remembering it really reinforces why I’m not drinking anymore. Here’s to healing those scars… xx