Looking back, I realized I had the house to myself A LOT, even before my parent’s divorce. It was easy to sneak out, and I threw a few parties when the parents were gone.
I asked my best friend Kendra if she thought the same way. She basically lived at our house and officially moved in when her Mom and siblings moved to New Jersey. Kendra said she felt the same way, we did have free rein.
We had parties. Most went smoothly; no one ever
When my parents divorced, it got a lot easier to party. When Dad was away, we partied at Dad’s. When Mom went away, we partied at Mom’s house. It was almost too easy, except for two times. The first is mild. The second one, I really fucked up.
The first party that we got caught for is still one that’s discussed between my brother and I. He said that night long ago that I could have a party, but no more than ten people… I still honestly believe there weren’t more than ten.
BUT, someone who had a truck made tire marks down the yard. And I mean HUGE DEEP tire marks. And Austin saw them when he came home.
It wasn’t on purpose. It was dark, and we had a long-ass driveway. I honestly think they were trying to back down the driveway and missed the pavement with not being able to see fully. Either way, my brother came home and flipped out. As an adult, I can fully understand why. BUT, he didn’t call my mom (it was her house,) He called my DAD!
To me, calling my Dad was the worst thing he could have done.
I was drunk, and I flipped out. I’m truly surprised I can remember any of this.
Austin was down in the basement, talking to my friends, and I went into attack mode after hanging up on my Dad. I started to scream at him. I grabbed the closest chair, picked it up over my head, and went to fling it at Austin.
At this point, I now had three or four people trying to hold me back. But I was drunk and feisty. I kicked my way out and grabbed an old metal globe and chucked it towards my brother’s head. Don’t worry, he deflected both
But I had been in fury mode. Alcohol can do that, it impairs your judgment, your actions.
I had hung up on my Dad.
Tried to fight my brother.
Party over.
After all that, I said “Well, anyone want to let me crash at their house tonight?”
There was NO way I was going to stay at my house. I knew I was in major trouble, but I was not going to be staying at my home that night, no, sir.
Of course, I got grounded. But I was always grounded. I was still pulling stupid crap. Eventually, my parents realized grounding me was pointless. I always found ways around it.
Austin: I am very sorry. Yet again, you had to deal with so much, and I hate that I acted the way I did. I made things more difficult for you then they had to be. I was ALWAYS making things more complicated than they had to be. I truly am sorry.
Now onto party #2. I fucked up. I fucked up hard.
My Mom was selling the house we had all lived in before the divorce since it was too big. I was always bopping around from home to home when it pleased me or when Dad happened to be drinking.
Mom had just bought a house in what we call “The Hills.” She was having it re-modeled before moving in, and she happened to be away, so I thought what a perfect place to throw a party and get drunk.
What was supposed to be a semi smaller party turned into something huge, and fast! I couldn’t control it. Someone invited the “Put-Lakers” (a “rival” to our town), and when those kids rolled through to a party, nothing ever good happened. I tried to kick people out, but it was more then I could contain.
When you went outside, you could hear the music from down the street. How the cops weren’t called is beyond me. Every level of that house had people playing beer pong, people making out in bathrooms, people yelling, etc. It was a disaster. I was drunk and didn’t care.
Thank goodness I asked Brett to stop by. (This was before we started to date.) Not much time passed after he got there that a brawl broke out in a room that was supposed to become my bedroom. It was being painted purple. Deep purple.
Brett helped break it up. But now there was purple paint everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, cans of paint were spilled and tracked through the house, all over the new beige carpets. Holes punched into the walls. I let the place get messed up. I failed as a daughter and at being a decent human being.
Most everyone left, but some stayed and slept the night. I was screwed, and I knew it.
I told everyone: NO photos on social media, which at the time was solely MySpace. There could be NO evidence!
The sad thing is, I knew I fucked up. But I didn’t care, not then at least.
The guy who had been working on the house came a few days later and saw what happened. I thought we were done for, but they thought people broke into the house.
I could have spoken up. But I didn’t, I let them believe what they wanted to.
BUT the truth always comes out somehow.
I was hanging out with a friend maybe about a month or so later when all of a sudden, I got a call from my Dad saying that I needed to come to his house immediately.
“Crap, what did I do?” Kept running through my head.
When I got to my Dad’s house, my Mom was also there. This was odd because,
They sat me down and, no joke, just like in a cop show, started laying out photos in front of me one by one. Pictures from the party. And in the background, you can clearly see it’s the house my Mom just bought.
My stupid friend Regina posted photos to MySpace!
I deserved to get caught. I know that now. My Mom had been so scared of the “break-in” she even asked my Dad to teach her how to shoot a shotgun! Just in case someone decided to break in again. Shit, she even slept there overnight, and I let her! As much as I hated her at the time, she didn’t deserve that.
My friends had to make “I’m sorry” cards for my Mom, and they were sorry. They knew before I did, that I messed up more than ever.
I was SUPER grounded. No friends for months. Home to work, work to home. “Don’t even think of going anywhere else!.”
I panicked. My parents were so mad and hurt and sad!
Later that night, I had a full-on breakdown. So much so, I scared my parents. I scared them so bad that they called my therapist because they didn’t know what to do. I think I just eventually broke. Scared from being caught, scared from my Dad’s drinking, scared that life was shifting so much, I
I had literally, with my hands, ripped my pants in half from anger. Screaming, crying, pulling my hair!
All this ended up with me being put into a place called Four Winds, a psychiatric hospital. Everything I had been holding inside of me between Mom and her boyfriend, the divorce, being put in the middle, the drinking. All of it, I just snapped.
Not many people know I ended up in there, I was and still am embarrassed by it. But clearly something inside of me was broken; had been for a while. It was only a matter of time before I broke down, but that story is for another day.
I feel awful for hurting my family. We already had Dad to deal with, and now I was royally blowing it. But I was hurting, and I was only sixteen. Maybe seventeen. My mind was already so messed up I really don’t think I knew what I was doing. I just wanted to escape.
Escape, oh the many ways I wanted to escape. And did.
I want to show this side of me because mental health issues need to be less criticized. Maybe, just maybe someone will read this and feel something. Perhaps this can wake people up to what we ignore in daily life, even when we know deep down it’s there. It’s hard to fight a battle you don’t understand you’re fighting.
