Unless you have read my About page, many of you are unaware that I have been seeing a psychologist for quite some time now. I do not hold it against you that you all do not know this about me, it hasn’t been something that I have been entirely forthcoming about. It has been a difficult road these last ten months but I have finally left the bumpy, gravel road and hit smooth, even pavement.
I went to seek help because of a traumatic event that occurred in my life in February which I finally opened up about and discussed in A Delusionary Love Story: The Conclusion. After this event happened I had no intention of seeing anyone or talking to anyone about it. My plan for getting over it was going on with my life as though it never happened. Entirely unhealthy to the max, but I was ignorant to the magnitude of the event and how it would effect my life.
Exactly one month after my life altering experience I turned on one of my best friends like a rapid dog. I cannot explain what triggered my violent outburst. Maybe because it was dark outside and because of my new found fear of the dark my anxiety was heightened (no one knew of this fear because of how ashamed of it I was.) Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by the people I had tried to turn to after the event took place and none of them did anything to help me besides hand me drugs or maybe it was because I knew deep down that none of those same people believed me. I do not know to this day. All I do know is that was the last time I drank liquor and I refuse to touch it again in my life.
I was out at a show with the father of my child (in fact, I believe this was the night he was conceived) and he tried desperately all night to talk me into taking shots with him. Time and time again I refused, completely content with sticking to my cheap, cheap, cheap PBR. It is incredibly cheap beer and my cousin refers to it as “white trash beer” when he orders it but I love it all the same. Probably because it is so cheap. $10 for a 12-pack! who can beat that? As the night pressed on I continued to drink my beer, feeling only a slight buzz but still able to keep my wits. Until Mr. Flip-flop’s friend came up and ordered three jager-bombs; one for himself, Mr. Flip-flop, and one for myself. I initially refused this shot. I knew once I got started on liquor it would be next to impossible to stop me from ordering more shots and would completely interfere with the beer buzz I had going and F. me. up! Unfortunately, I’m a sucker for manners. Flip-flop’s friend was getting offended that I was refusing the shot after he spent the money on it and because I respected him I did not want to hurt his feelings so I caved in. Sure enough, that was not the last shot he bought for us. Surprising myself, though, I limited myself to those two shots. I was incredibly proud of myself but it wasn’t long before the liquor entered my blood system and began to take its toll on me. I thought for sure it would only be a matter of time before I got myself kicked out of this venue. Something that I had started getting in the habit of after February, arguing with security and getting myself thrown out of places. WAY TO GO, me! To my benefit, there were mosh pits at this show, so shoving people and throwing yourself around was not out of the norm.
“You can’t throw me into the mosh! I’ve suffered numerous back injuries and have already had my jaw wired shut twice!” Mr. Flip-flop would shout at me over the music.
“Great, you’re used to pain! GET IN THERE!” I would reply as my inner hulk would unleash itself and I’d throw him into the mosh pit as I jumped around and head-banged in time with the music, pushing him back into the wave of flailing bodies anytime he got near me to get out.
I do not remember much after this. I know we left and started to head back to my friends house where we had met up earlier and I had left my car at.
I remember when we got to her house she was having a small gathering with a few friends and they were playing a board game.
I remember being obnoxious and interfering with their game so they finally gave up and stopped playing.
I remember feeling extremely drunk.
I remember wanting to go home and I couldn’t find my keys.
I remember panicking because I couldn’t find my keys. “I have to go home. I have to go home. I HAVE TO GO HOME NOW!!!!”
I remember being terrified for unknown reasons. I felt like an injured animal stuck in a corner with a predator slowly creeping up on me meaning to cause harm.
I remember taking a walk around the block in hopes of calming down and clearing my head. It didn’t work.
I remember going back in the house to look for my purse again and my friend said, “why don’t you just fucking leave already?” and responding back, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I’M TRYING TO DO?”
I remember going back outside and looking into her house through her open front door and seeing her sitting on the couch as she said one thing, I said another. The next thing I know she is flying off the couch, over the coffee table, and nearly made it to the end of the porch as her husband grabbed her by the waist to restrain her. Meanwhile, I flew across the yard and made it to the stairs of her porch before I felt a tug at my waist and found myself spinning away from the house. Mr. Flip-flop had grabbed and restrained me.
I remember flailing my body not unlike earlier that evening except I had more air so I could kick my feet longer. I vaguely remember head-butting him with the back of my head. The only certainty I had that I did head-butt him was a painful knot that appeared the next day.
I remember being released from his grip and running to my car and continuously kicking and punching my car. At this point I only saw red, I only wanted red and the only thing I could think of was, “MORE. PAIN. MORE. PAIN. MORE. PAIN.”
Finally, like a light switch, I could remember where I put my purse and where my keys were. I hid them in Mr. Flip-flop’s truck for safe keeping so I would not have to take it inside the show with me. I was instantly relieved and no longer seeing red and although still thoroughly drunk I can remember more from the moment I realized where my purse was and on.
Everyone tried their best to keep me from leaving because of my inebriated state but as I said earlier, my anxiety was on high alert and I just wanted to get to the safety of my own home. Mr. Flip-flop attempted to block the road ahead of me with his truck, which in hindsight could have possibly been more dangerous than my entire ride home, but I just went around him. He followed me for a while and only added to my anxiety and made my already bad driving even worse.
I am ashamed to say that, that night I hoped a tree or building or road railing or light pole would find its way in my path. I did not want to survive that drive home. That was my lowest moment. Miraculously, I made it home unscathed. At the time, I wasn’t relieved. I was angry that even drunk I couldn’t properly find myself in a horrible accident. There is a small dent in my wall to remind me of the pain I felt that night. I finally fell asleep and the next day I tried to break up with the guy I wasn’t technically dating. “I do not want to see you anymore. I need to be by myself and get myself healthy. I am in a very bad place right now and just need to be alone. Do not contact me again.” He refused to adhere to my wishes. In fact he found out from my friends where I lived and showed up on my door step proclaiming that he loved me. (It would take another four months to get through his head that I was not going to be in a relationship with him.) While he was at my house and we were talking I asked him if we did anything sexual the night before. Yes.
My low feeling dropped even lower. From then on, I remember for months having an uncontrollable anger. A few weeks after my flip-out I discovered I was pregnant and after deciding to keep the baby I knew I had to do something. My anger was getting worse, the heightened emotions from my pregnancy was not helping any and my thoughts of suicide were only getting worse. I entered the deepest depression I would ever, in my life, experience.
I finally spoke with a teacher who referred me to some psychologists she knew well and trusted. That week I contacted one of them and began to see her shortly after. I was not going to bring my child into this world and risk him being in any danger because I could not control my emotions. I was absolutely terrified that I would have another rapid dog night and not care about hurting anyone and in fact WANT to hurt someone. I was terrified that Someone could be my son. I had to protect him from myself while making sure I could wake up to tomorrow.
I started seeing her every other week since June. My first meeting was full of tears, doubt, loss of religion, self-hatred, and self-disgust. As I left today, I walked out with smiles, love for my son as well as myself, rediscovering my relationship with God, confidence, and strength. As of today I have been graduated to an “as-needed” basis. No more appointments. Although I will miss seeing my psychologist and in some ways feel like I have said goodbye to a dear, old friend I am also relieved. I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. I have finally overcome the darkest moment of my life. I have lost people I thought were friends only to realize I was gaining clarity in my life; I experienced tremendous violation only to be able to share what I went through to help others and to also appreciate the arrival of my son more than if I hadn’t.
If it wasn’t for him I cannot say I would have stopped drinking irresponsibly. I would probably still be on drugs and I never would have reached out for help from a total stranger. My son saved my life and I don’t ever know how I will thank him.
I have graduated to the next step of my life and no longer dread it. Instead, I look forward to it.
I am finally free.