just wasn’t thinking

when I was a teenager, I had little desire to drink alcohol. likely largely because I knew my parents would absolutely kill me. but I also felt that it was a stupid risk to take for a teenager with a future, and it just generally seemed stupid. I looked forward to drinking when I was older, and I was curious about what it actually felt like to be drunk. just curious. like I’m curious about what it would feel like to parachute out of a plain.

once in college and surrounded by conservative christians, I realized I could do with waiting until 21 to drink. and I did. and I realized that I could also do without getting drunk. didn’t seem to be much of a point. hangovers, throwing up, not remembering things – all things I could certainly do without. I do like to drink. I do like the spinny, tipsy feeling.

when I had a couple strong drinks over the summer at an outdoor bar, I didn’t enjoy the spinning and tipping among all the people, the crowd, the humidity, the unfamiliar place. and as I started to come down, I got seriously depressed and had suicidal thoughts. not something I wanted to repeat anytime soon.

with that memory six months faded, and andrew in my life, I felt curious again. after all, getting drunk doesn’t have to mean all over those other crappy things. those are just getting TOO drunk. but I didn’t really think about any of that the night I got drunk with andrew. I was naive, and acting like an idiot on top of that. I had no idea that I was drinking way too much.

and the flashback later was miserable. it stayed with me.

duh. I should know. it’s not andrew’s fault – though he did push me further than he should have. I would have had a hard time holding myself together even sober. I should have known that the alcohol would send me spinning into a flashback. I knew that it made me suicidal before.

now I know.

in the DSM, the diagnostic book for mental disorders, there is this criteria for PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder):

“Acting or feeling as if the traumatic event were recurring (includes a sense of reliving the experience, illusions, hallucinations, and dissociative flashback episodes, including those that occur on awakening and when intoxicated).”

DUH!

getting intoxicated is probably not the best idea for me. getting intoxicated in bed with a boy is probably an absolutely terrible idea.

that flashback was much more than a flashback. it was like having a nightmare – but knowing that I’m already awake, so I can’t escape. it was like a hallucination – I could see my dad standing there, next to the bed. I was clinging on to andrew, and yet I was still completely alone and terrified; I knew that andrew couldn’t see the man standing next to the bed. only me. as for the flashback part, I felt like a child again. and the intoxication made things ten times worse. I was probably verging on a panic attack, and I was too drunk to calm myself (or let andrew calm me). the room spun when I opened my eyes, intensifying the horror. I had absolutely no control over my emotions – there was no hope in getting me to stop crying.

well, lesson learned. alcohol is a dangerous thing, and I’ve always known that. alcohol doesn’t mix well with mental disorders, though so many people try, and I’ve pretty much known that for a while. but now I know quite explicitly: excessive alcohol, me, and PTSD do not belong together.