Life is funny and growing up is weird. Figuring out who you are is even harder especially when you are battling depression, anxiety and rage.
People say you can handle anything life throws at you, but it sure doesn’t feel like that sometimes. For me it felt like I was trudging through quick sand and trying not to sink. But Sink I did.
My Dad’s relapses were becoming more frequent. The anger that came with it took me to bad places. It happened quickly, but it felt a lot longer back then. But of course it did, when you are young everything seems longer.
My best friend had moved away and I met a girl who would show me a world I would get lost in. One, many don’t come out of, but I was lucky. Do I wish I didn’t go down such a dark path? Of course, but I’ve come to realize it’s made me who I am today.
I was already drinking, but the drinking became more and more frequent. Party all night, get up, and do it all again. The more my Dad drank, the more I drank too. The way my brain thought was “I’m going to show him what it’s like. Watch your daughter fuck up because I fucking hate you.”
That was my solution. Not be better then him, or to do something better with my life. It was watch me crash and burn.
One night, my new friend Melanie and I went to a party. She wanted to take ecstasy and wanted me to do it with her. She had already tried it before and told me how great it was and how great it made you feel. My brain didn’t even question it. I was in, I wanted to try it. A drug that brings euphoria and happiness? What could be better?
And she was right, I loved it. I loved drinking, smoking, and taking ecstasy.
We drank all the time. I sometimes look back and wonder how I am still alive today. I drove drunk. Drank in cars passing a bottle of vodka back and forth between me and the driver. Ending up at parties, in towns I don’t even remember. Never knowing who the people at most of these parties were. I just went with the flow.
I sunk to a low I didn’t even know was possible for me.
My Dad had ended up in rehab again. I also knew where my Dad hid his credit cards. So one day, I took it. I remember holding it in my hand and knowing it was wrong. I even thought of putting it back. But I didn’t.
I was able to trick stores that offered cash back with “I forgot my PIN number” and took cash out. Just so that I could buy pills, alcohol and crummy hotel rooms where we could party. I bought gas, clothes, and whatever I felt like he “owed” me. Ha!
I partied so hard, and it got exhausting and scary fast.
Coming down from taking ecstasy is AWFUL and the more you take it, the worse it gets. For me I’ll never forget when I wanted it to just all be over.
It was after a night of partying and all I wanted to do was sleep. It was late, I was laying in bed but every time I closed my eyes all I could see were the most terrifying images zooming at my face. They were coming from all different angles, like they were trying to swallow me whole. I was terrified. I was exhausted. I needed it to stop.
My Mom was asleep upstairs. I crawled like a baby crying out to my mom to help me. Sobbing “I just want to sleep!” I didn’t care, I knew she would know I was on something but I couldn’t have cared less at that moment.
She had Tylenol PM and game me them and brought me back to my bed. When she went to leave, I begged her not to leave me. I was so scared that I was going to die. I felt like if she left, I’d never come back.
The next morning my Mom said we needed to talk. She knew that I was on something, that my Dad was coming home and also wanted to talk to me.
I had already put his credit card back knowing his rehab stay was almost over. I knew he’d know. That was the point wasn’t it? It didn’t matter.
When we talked it was just me and my Dad. He said “You have two options:
1.) I call the police on you for stealing my credit card.
2.) You go to an outpatient rehab center.”
What he didn’t know at the time, was that I was already ready to go to a program. I wanted rehab. I knew I could not live how I was living one more day. I was worn down, broken, exhausted, angry and more. I couldn’t take it anymore. I hated myself.
My Dad found that the place I went to when I was sixteen for my mental breakdown also had an out patient drug program. I had to go every single day, and it was a forty-five minute commute from CT to NY and I had to be there by 7:30 am! But I knew I needed to do it.
It’s the place that saved my life, and also the relationship between me and my Dad. That, was a bonus I never saw coming.