August 30, 2013
When I was 11 years old, it was Easter Sunday, and an uncle got me drunk off my ass. He wasn’t my blood relative, just the husband of one of my aunts on my mother’s side. They had gotten a divorce a few years back but he still came to all the holiday celebrations. Later in life when I was in high school, I’d end up at his apartment sometimes getting high. He was always pretty cool, definitely a hippie. So on that Easter Sunday, he was slipping me some champagne and an occasional glass of straight vodka. I’d slip into the hall with him and he’d top off my drinks. My mom was telling me to stop drinking. I’d say, “but it’s only my second one.” That was regarding the champagne. The vodka I tried to pass off as water.
I don’t remember how much I drank or how long this went on but the next thing I remember was waking up on the floor by a couch in a pool of my vomit, and beginning to vomit more. I must have gone to crash there, or I was really drunk and maybe my mom brought me there to lie down.
Anyway, then people grab my arms and hold them around their necks and kind of drag me off to the bathroom. One was my uncle, the ex-husband, the other guy I didn’t know. I was like “who the hell is this guy??” My mother said, this is your aunt’s new boyfriend. The aunt who divorced the other guy. I was like, “oh hey nice to meet you” but I was so drunk I don’t know if the words came out all right.
Speed up to age 15 when I had a diferent uncle die. The day before the wake, a few friends of mine and I planned to get a case of beer. Three friends were supposed to come over my house and we were just going to hang around in my room and get drunk. We planned it all out. I was home alone for a little while so I called a cab company to deliver the beer. When the guy got there, he was like, “um, I’m gonna need to see some I.D.” I said, “I don’t have one, but you’d better hurry up and give me that beer before my dad gets home.” That threw him off I think because he was like, “oh, yeah, ok.” He gave me the beer and I gave him the money including a decent tip.
I took one of my dad’s coolers from the basement and I put the beers in there, filled it with ice, and stuck the cooler in the back of my closet. Later when my friends came over, we all each had only one beer. They didn’t stay long but while they were there I couldn’t figure out why they barely drank, because not one of them finished their beer.
The next morning I was thinking to myself, I better get rid of this beer. I had put the three unfinished bottles standing up in the cooler, they were nearly full. I started with those and drank them down right away because they were kind of flat by the next morning and I wanted to drink the good shit. Then I started drinking the rest. I was drinking one right after the other. Meanwhile, my family was preparing for my uncle’s wake.
Again, I don’t know how long I was drinking for but I do remember fragments of the wake. I remember sitting there very quietly, kind of brooding, but really fucked up drunk, and imagining in my head that I probably appeared fine because maybe people thought I was in mourning. Some people spoke to me and I guessed I was speaking fine, but I was probably very clearly drunk. I had to take a piss at some point so I went downstairs at the funeral home. At the bottom of the stairs, printed on the wall was the word “RESTROOMS” and on the opposite of that wall were the men’s and ladies’ rooms. Well I saw RESTROOMS so I started pushing on the wall, thinking it was a doorway to lead to the bathrooms. Yeah, very fucked up. A woman was like, “uhh the bathrooms are right there,” and pointed behind me. I laughed hysterically for a minute, “bwahahahahahahahaaaaa I thought the wall was just a big door!”
I don’t remember anything after that until I got home and I was puking my guts out and saying to my parents, “I’m not an alcoholic.” Then I told them about the beer in my closet and I said, “you can have the rest of the beer, Dad.” He was like “well thanks but there’s only one beer left.” Basically I drank almost 22 beers. I finished one beer the day before. One beer was left over. Three beers had a few sips out of them, so they were just about full beers. So I was puking and saying to my parents, “don’t worry I’m not an alcoholic,” even though they didn’t raise the issue.
Yeah so those are just two examples of heavy drinking when I was a kid. There are many more stories. I’ve always thought they were funny. I’ve always thought the drug stories were funny. Like the time when I was 14 and my friend and I smoked some pot laced with opium. We were driving the winding, rural roads with no streetlights, heading to a party. We were speeding and I remember my door flew open for some reason and I half fell out of it, my middrift and up hanging out, I was facing the road. I was laughing, it was awesome, the pavement looked so cool. We made it to the party and we were sitting in a big chair, the two of us squeezed in, just staring up at the ceiling. A girl came over with blue glitter and sprinkled it over our faces saying, “it’s opium, it’s opium, it’s opium.” We went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror to wipe it off, but it was like rivers of sparkling blue just flowed out of our eyes. Every time I got high after that, I hallucinated bigtime. I’ll have to describe those sometime. I had flashbacks for about 7 years, I think it’s only been a couple years since I haven’t had one.
Anyway, these stories were always pretty funny to me. My friends and I would laugh and joke about this shit. But now, given that I got out of detox earlier this year, and I struggle to not drink and drug, I think my sense of humor is changing.
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