Hic, hiccup! 11-11-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

In October's entry titled, Boologging Begins, I shared how scary it felt to blog, because I knew I would eventually share personal stories and feel exposed. For those of you who are familiar with The Matrix, I have opted to take..."the red pill." I will figuratively enter "the rabbit hole" and relinquish the safety of the matrix. I will be vulnerable and human...for a few paragraphs anyway!

After living in our small city for over 18 years, my husband and I attended our first Missouri State basketball game. We saw cheerleading bling, spotlights, and mega-advertising. Much more than occurs at my husband's private Christian university games. Memories of Illinois State University come to mind, attending my friend's swim meets. I also attended gymnastics meets to watch my high-achieving older brother perform all-around feats of strength and agility.

The year is 1973. I am a FREE-spirited, strong-willed [adult child of an alcoholic] freshman at ISU. I am a 2.5-hour drive from my parents and anyone who will tell me what to do with my weekends. My brother is an engaged junior and lives off-campus, so he is busy and far enough away to help me feel basically free. Woot woot! The photo below is the rambunctious Haynie Hall floor on which I lived my Freshman year. 

I was a vagabond between two floors because of my "W.U." roomie's hometown boyfriend who weekend-monopolized our dorm room

My floor is invited to a beginning-of-the school-year celebration with our brother floor in Wilkins Hall. I know very few people, and music is playing crazy loud. At first it feels uncomfortable as everyone is a bit uneasy. We plant ourselves along the sides of the room, like it is our mission to hold up the walls. Alcohol begins to flow freely and I taste one of my first beers. Yuck! It tastes rather nasty at first, but then begins to slide down the throat easily. I drink only one beer that evening, and it strongly affects me.

Hm mm. My lips feel a little like I’ve had dental Novocain. I slur when I talk and feel silly, like I want to dance and don a fashionable lampshade on my head. My normal, measured composure feels amazingly carefree. Where are my inhibitions? I laugh…a lot and babble a lot; and have tons of FUN, until…I better RUN to the nearest toilet. Hi ho, hi, ho...a heaving I go. I don’t remember feeling that awful before. The toilet is my nasty friend for a while. I pull myself up from the ground, and my "friends" and I trudge to our dorm rooms for restful sleep.

Fast-forward to the next morning: My head is killing me! I feel lousy! Oh, my… maybe some food will help.

I stumble to dress, eat late-morning nourishment, and press on to my part-time job and studies. I repeat this FREEING weekend activity quite a few times my freshman year. I LIKE how FREE I feel when I drink and it helps me fit in with the crowd.

If you were able to peruse November's post titled The "Voice"... can you believe it? Like Father; like daughter. I now realize it is one of the predicted outcomes for a child growing up in an alcoholic home. I inherited my Dad's addictive nature, and I craved the allure of anything to numb my insecurities and make me feel powerful. I needed alcohol's loosened voice. I needed liquor for striving-to-be-outgoing, tongue-tied me...to avoid discomfort. I wanted to fit in somewhere, and the drinking crowd seemed most available.

Inebriated, I was quite gregarious. The saying, The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree rang true for me… I was becoming comfortable with denial. Sober denial was passed from my grandparents to my parent's generation, and alcoholism was passed from my Dad to me. I was a coward who needed alcohol to loosen up. I longed for deep, safe connection and recognition, and alcohol seemed to be an appropriate counterfeit. Complex, vulnerable relationship was beyond my comprehension, and forget any possiblity to understand the art of negotiation.

I remember my normally quiet, melancholy Mom’s negotiation tactics with a store clerk. I purchased a cool watch with interchangeable bands and faces. It was amazing because I could make it match any outfit. It prematurely died, and well-meaning Mom attempted to exchange it. Back then return policies were less accommodating than today's Walmart. The clerk said: You can’t return this watch...you don't have the receipt.

Mom’s veins popped and her voice tightened as she uncontrollably whinnied: My daughter saved her allowance plus used her birthday money to buy this watch. You’ve taken advantage of her with this cheap item. Surely you can at least exchange it!!! It broke too quickly!

Rather than calmly asking to speak to the manager, Mom attempted cartwheels and flips to make the helpless clerk feel sorry for us. We left with no new watch. My dire need to observe the art of calm confrontation and negotiation was hijacked by her outburst. I ascertained that: disagreement equaled acrobatic, emotional eruptions to manipulate.

Back to dorm life and morning-after hangovers. By sophomore year I have changed dorm floors, to a more comfortable floor. Denial D finally reached the grievous-to-me conclusion that weekend fun would have to take a back seat to my body's severe negative reaction to alcohol…it dehydrates my already dehydrated body creating migraine-like headaches.

I was grieved, because alcohol could have been my social crutch. I was relationally crippled and needed numbing. I wanted denial. How would this 2o-year-old be able to handle the awkward, stressful, adult world…sober? Migraines stole my FREEDOM!

Oh, my. Back to the safe Matrix, which I have, most definitely, exited. I have descended the long tunnel and plunged "naked" into the cesspool. The crane is lifting me, for healthful decompression time. I must stop being vulnerable, for now anyway.

In the next few posts, I hope to "chug-a-lug," along a more comfortable blogging "track"...  I plan to circle back to my 20s when I feel safe...

Gift #5 for which I am grateful:  Being FREED to learn my “voice.”

My next blog will be Wednesday, November 14th.  Deo Volente...  Click here to view a quick clip of "The Matrix" Blue Pill versus Red Pill