Wednesday, February 5, 2014

we aren't going to the beach?


I was fifteen when I started drinking pretty heavily. I can't even remember how I got my hands on that much alcohol. This was also the year when I found out that the recurring nightmare from my childhood was not just a bad dream, but a reality. I can't say with certainty that two are aligned, but I can assume. I would hide multiple bottles of vodka in my closet in a cardboard box.

The day before I turned sixteen I stole my sister’s car and my friends and I went for a joyride. We got into a five car accident. It wasn't my fault, so the police let us leave (hours later) I parked my sister's car back where it was supposed to be. I remember thinking that maybe they would think it got hit where it was parked. It was at the bottom of a driveway where no cars could pass.

I remember leaving and going to my friend's house that night, I believe to celebrate my birthday, and my parents coming there to "collect" me. I was grounded for four months and I think my sister hated me for at least a year for that one.

I was 16 and a junior in high school now and still finding trouble at every turn. It was almost spring break when my life turned upside down. I had been dating (that's what we will call it) an older guy and he wanted to come pick me up. I was grounded, as per usual, but I really wanted to go, so I went. I just walked downstairs and right out the front door. He was waiting for me outside and away we went. I'm not sure how long I was gone, but I had quite a bit to drink. I walked in the door to see my mom on the couch waiting for me, my dad was out of town.

We are leaving. Get in the car.


When I woke up we were in Panama City, but it wasn't to go to the beach.
She was checking me into rehab.

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