Now 15, my daughter is starting her sophomore year of high school. Which I am really having a hard time wrapping my mind around. Not just because she is almost halfway through her teens, and I still feel (ok, sometimes!) like I just completed them, but because I remember all the things I used to do starting in sophomore year. And it scares the hell out of me.
Her high school has a summer reading list, and this year I found two books I thought would interest her - one about teenage drinking, and one about teen suicide. I wound up checking both out from the library, and she picked (of course) the melodramatic “Thirteen Reasons Why,” about a girl who had offed herself. Since I had the other book as well, I decided to read it myself.
It is called “Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood.”
Can I just start by saying that I cannot recommend this book enough? I am only 100-odd pages from the end of this 350 page book, and I started it yesterday. It is haunting, it is scary, it is real. I remember so much of my wasted (no pun intended) youth mirroring many of the events of the author’s life. Alcohol was the way for girls to “loosen up” and be “social.” And it was inevitable that eventually you would begin to become a bit too loose, and social to a fault. That you would begin to feel “less than” instead of super cool when you drank. That you would do and say things that you regretted but could never wipe away.
Obviously, if you have read any of “TBOTE,” you already know that the bulk of my issues centered on drugs rather than alcohol, but oh I had my moments... Funny thing was, once I started using the alcohol always took a backseat. Of course, this was after the college year (yes, I only managed almost a full year at college) I spent at keg parties, and International drink nights, and buckets of beer during happy hour on Friday afternoons, and drinking a complete bottle of apple schnapps by myself before the Valentine’s bash - while writing down a toast for each and every shot. Back then, I prided myself on my “tolerance,” and the fact that I could usually drink anyone under the table. Not the thing that most good girls would normally be proud of, but I waved that fact around like a banner. In fact, my 18th birthday is carefully documented in my diary from the afternoon happy hour at which I downed untold amounts of Jack Daniels, tequila and Southern Comfort (all with beer chasers, mind you) - then continued the celebration at a frat house with friends by drinking copious amounts of champagne and eventually passing out.
The thought of those days actually makes me shudder. How young and stupid I was. How lucky. How ironic, though, that the thing that eventually curbed my drinking would also be the thing that brought me to my knees...
In any case, all those years of “partying hard” eventually took their toll. I quit drinking altogether when I first got involved in Cocaine Anonymous, then after two years decided I wanted to be able to drink socially again. I was scared shitless, since in the program you are basically told “if you are addicted to one thing, you are addicted to everything.” I truly felt deep down that I wasn’t addicted to alcohol - but I still made my friends promise to watch me when I sipped my first beer in two years to make sure I didn’t wind up going out to score or anything.
I didn’t, and I didn’t get wasted, either. What I realized was that I could drink responsibly. At 30 years old, I no longer had the desire to drink until I couldn’t drink anymore. I could have a few drinks at a party, or a wedding, or just while out with friends, and be fine. I could keep beer or wine or vodka in my house, and I wouldn’t chug the bottles and then go out looking for more. I wouldn’t always drink, mind you, in fact, I was usually the designated driver, so often I just let others imbibe. And it didn’t bother me at all. I turned into the “mom” drinker - I remember as a kid noticing that the younger crowd always drank beer, and the moms and aunts drank mixed drinks or wine. For whatever reason, about five or six years ago, I found I could no longer stomach beer. I had definitely become the mom drinker.
When I started waitressing and the younger crowd would go out, I would occasionally join them. But I never drank too much, in fact, sometimes I would just drink water. Even when there were times I would tell myself and others “This weekend, I am going to have FUN! I am not driving anywhere, so I can drink all I want!” I would usually end up stopping after a cool buzz, and switching to water. I just didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, of being sick, of not being me.
Which is why what happened Monday night still makes me queasy in the pit of my stomach.
I went out with some friends to a Cubs rooftop game. All you could eat and drink for a pretty sweet price. I informed my friend Gina that I was ready to have a good time, and forget about any issues about dealing with teenagers. She was with my 100%, but since she had school in the morning, decided to only drink root beer. I started drinking my little cups of chardonnay at 6:00. I ate, I drank, I was merry. I could feel the warmth of the wine, and was getting tipsy. I was chatty, and feeling good. I was socializing with anyone who would socialize with me, and in the Chicago Cubs atmosphere, that is usually pretty much everyone. It was a good night. I spoke to my daughter and my brother on the phone around 8:45, and definitely wasn’t drunk at that time. In the 7th inning, at around 9:30-ish, the cutoff time for serving alcohol approached. I told Gina I was going to get my last glasses of wine for the evening. By my count, (and hers, she told me later) I had finished 8 glasses and was going to get numbers 9 & 10. I know this sounds like a lot, but let’s keep in mind this was over almost 4 hours - and they were 5 oz wine glasses. Definitely enough to get me intoxicated, but not enough to cause what happened next.
I went down a flight to get my wine, and found any empty bar with just one guy standing at the edge. I ordered my wine, then chatted with him. Now comes the stupidest thing I have ever done - I asked him to watch my drinks while I went to the bathroom. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I was feeling happy and buzzed and everyone was my friend.
Apparently not.
When I came back, I took my drinks, drank one of them, and that is the last thing I remember. Initially, my friends just thought I was incredibly drunk, as did pretty much everyone there. Only those who really knew me would realize that something was seriously wrong. I began vomiting uncontrollably and I vaguely remember being on a bathroom floor, unable to move. Completely unable. It was the scariest feeling I have ever felt. My mind wasn’t functioning properly, and my body was completely incapacitated. That is truly the only thing I remember after that last glass of wine - the feeling that I couldn’t move and was probably dying.
Thank God for Gina, who called my mom who called my brother to come and “rescue” me. I don’t remember anything about him being there, but according to Gina, he was wonderful. Of this, I have no doubt, because Bob has always been my hero. From what I was told, he managed to get me downstairs and into the car, and drove me back to his place to sleep. And my mother told me the next day that Bob kept checking on me all night to make sure I was ok. Apparently an ambulance had even been called, because I was that bad.
In the morning when I woke up, I felt fine. A little groggy, but not hungover. Definitely not wine-hungover, which I understand is the worst kind to have. What I did feel was dread and confusion. Bob filled me in on most of the evening, and together we figured out that I must have been drugged. Even he said that the last time he saw me drunk had been almost ten years ago at his 30th birthday party, and that I didn’t blackout like I had the night before. Additionally, he had spoken to me barely an hour before my mom had called him to help me. And how could I have remembered exactly how much I drank if I was so obliterated that I blacked out? There were too many things that just didn’t make sense. Gina had been my angel, and she even said she had never seen me like that - and that it was like one minute I was talking and the next a complete change came over me. I pretty much owe her my life - literally. It scares the hell out of me thinking about what could have happened.
But it was a lesson learned - and in a way it reminded me of who I never want to be. Despite the fact that what happened was not my fault, there were plenty of people who probably just saw me as a stupid drunk girl making a scene. And the fact is, I am a 40-something mother of a teenager to whom I am trying to teach the dangers of partying and leaving drinks unattended and drugs... I know it was stupid leaving my drink, and believe me it will never happen again. I quite enjoy being the girl who doesn’t drink much and may be silly at times but is never “plastered.” I hate not being in control and I hate the person who did this for taking my control away. I thank God for Gina and my brother for being my saviors, and I pray that my daughter never winds up in a situation like that.
It’s a scary crazy world out there - so watch your back.
