Wednesday, March 23, 2011

off she goes....

....and that's exactly what i did...and it was good at first, my hurt.

i disappeared into it. i needed it to justify the escape. the moment when the liquid rolled smoothly across my lips, thats the moment i hurt for. within seconds relief. numb slowly washed over my body. like when you dip a fabric into water....the moisture quickly absorbs creeping up through it, defying gravity. thirsty. i relaxed, alcohol seduced me, it lifted me slowly up and gently carried me far far away. nothing hurt there. i was sure anyone who saw me would think...look at her; such a brave tormented soul, so strong and so real. she is surviving. there's something remarkably beautiful about the beginning of alcoholism. the way it loves you entirely. the way it devours you completely. there's nothing beautiful about the end of it though. but at 18 i was only just taking flight. my wings just unfolding...i was gonna fucking soar.

alcohol was my new safety. my new hiding place. the fuzzy corners pulled up like a warm blanket, every sip i would ease myself further from life. when i came out of the drunk it obviously hurt. the stark reality hurt. the soberness and brightness hurt. hangover's became constant. a best friend who never let me down, always waiting, always there. the very first time i tasted it i had wanted more, the thirst came from inside me.
although i'm not exactly sure where over the next few years i would loose my ability to choose. when i wanted it and when i needed it. over the next few years if i started i wasn't able to stop. i lost the control of choice. progressively, it takes time. you don't die all at once silly. that would be far too serious. you die in little pieces.

with booze comes men. it didn't take me long to tally up a few notches on theold  bed post. my friend E counted but i could barely remember the day of the week let alone how many men had been through my pants. sex was a means to an end. men bought drinks, smokes. they drove. they showed you off. they had cash. they were easy to manipulate because they wanted one thing. you slept with them to get rid of them after you'd gotten what you wanted. didn't everyone do this? i wanted to drink far more than i wanted anything else. the dressing up. the socializing. the dancing, the laughter. it was just part of the game. it seemed men had more power so i played their game. getting their attention, getting their room key. how fun. getting alcohol. serious business.

most of my partying was done in banff with my friend E. canmore wasn't a cool place to party unless you were sitting in the stolen family minivan down by the power station drinking and smoking with some equally angst ridden high school girlfriend. M. she had pink hair, thats how mad she was. her and i did that once or twice. or the dyke. the bush parties where you fell into rivers and bonfires. the cops half heartedly chased you.   waking up in mud, pissed pants, twigs in your hair.

in banff we'd party more civilized. we'd do our hair and makeup. we'd wear sexy shoes. E would stay at her boyfriend's place. i'd have to find a guy to find a bed. my most frequent choice was D.  he was a bouncer. yes a fat head but he was a hunk. green eyes and the muscles on his arms. 3am i'd beg to crash. he'd always let me in. i don't remember the sex apart from that he could never come. probaly because he had a girlfriend. sometimes she would come over early in the morning and ring the buzzer in the back alley at the bottom of the stairs. the stairs that lead up to his place. the stairs i'd fallen up so many times before. i'm sure my DNA is still on those fucking stairs. D lived in a loft above a mainstreet business. one morning his gf was on her way up. he yanked me out of bed, mumbled 'sorry'...opened the steel bedroom door which led out onto the roof and shoved me out into the blinding early morning sun. half dressed, head swollen from booze, mascara smudged. the door opened again. thank god...and out flew my shoes. fucker. so there under the huge judgmental sky i sat clumsily in the corner of that roof with the little silver chimneys, on small white rocks hoping no one could see me. and if they did see me maybe they would think i was just hanging out, smoking, waiting for my prince.

the first time i felt shame however wasn't a luxury stay in banff but a sleazy pub night in canmore. an old bald creepy looking bartender feeding me shot after shot after shot. flirt and drank for free? earlier i had put on lipstick on and kissed over a shot glass down onto the napkin to make a print of my lips. my napkin along with many other's was put up onto his bar for a keepsake. peanuts shells trampled on all over the floor. dumb ski signs hung on the walls and above the doors. 3am with only stragglers left he followed me into the womens washrooms and forced me to my knee's. held my head. i threw up into my mouth. afterwards i snorted the cocaine he gave me because i was so ashamed. my drinks hadn't been free after all.

i finished my high school through correspondence. S wrote me letters every 2-3wks from nepal. i still have them tied up in a bundle, the paper soft and blue. i missed him so badly.
it was at this point i decided that travelling would save me. the geographical cure. a new perspective. what was the very opposite side of the world to canmore? australia. i think my mother gave in and let me spend a chunk of her baby bonus 'savings' for me to travel with instead of put towards education because she knew it was all or nothing with me. i was in my self destruct 'phase' and from what she'd already seen she knew i was an already steadily ticking time bomb. i also think she felt guilty because of the whole dad thing which of course i used to my advantage. 1000$ towards my ticket, i saved the rest. my 1st passport. i almost failed my medical exam because i had keynotes in my urine. inadequate diet/nourishment from throwing up. trying to be skinny for S. but hey... to hell with him and to hell with everything else.  i would just leave everything behind.
i would recreate myself. see the world. explore. find whatever it was that was missing...because something was definitely missing. so....whoosh off she goes....

1 comment:

  1. Wow Heather! I'll have to take more time to read these. But I think I recall most of this story. You are amazing! Loved how poetic you were with your description of alcohol.