Peace & Alcohol

“Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable.”

– G.K. Chesterton

I drank alcohol for the first time when I was twenty-one, days after my birthday.

Except that isn't quite right.

There was the accidental drinking of the margarita when I was a child because I thought it was a slushee. And, of course, there was the blood of Christ which barely qualified. Then there was the time my father insisted I try some of his wine because he was convinced I would be curious about alcohol before I hit the legal drinking age. I wasn't. I had seen him sloshed so many times, it was a wonder I ever drank anything. All I'd ever seen of alcohol was that it made people stupid. Control was something I craved, so, the thought of drinking alcohol terrified me.

So, I was twenty-one. My birthday had been spent alone in my room, but that Friday I went to Calhoun's Rooftop, located at the University of Houston. It was a bar and grill. Also, the fanciest place I could go on foot. The place was in its infancy back then, but my friends wanted to treat me to a burger and my first real drink. I agreed. I am still not sure why.

I was eighteen when I admitted I was crazy.

Don't get me wrong, the signs where there long before that. It turns out it is easy to spend years in denial. Teenagers were supposed to cry every night and sleep sporadically and hate themselves and feel overwhelmed and never cry when something actually upset them only randomly over innocuous things and bottle up their feelings and never be a bother to their families. That was normal. Just, not talked about.

...Right?

That was much more difficult to argue after I had my first panic attack.

There have been others since then. I spent my entire failed semester in Clinical Psychology in a perpetual panic attack. But that first one meant something. It was a monster forcing me to confront deeper inner demons.

I made an appointment for therapy the next day. I started after winter break, told my family about a year later, and remained for a while. There were slip ups. A lot of crying as my emotions bubbled close to the surface.

I told myself I didn't need medication. Another denial.

My first drinks were awful.

My friend and beloved future roommate forgot her ID, so my margarita on the rocks became little more than water while we waited for her to race back from the dorm. Still, I finished half of the concoction and downed a Fireball. My choice in drinks has changed since then. I prefer my margaritas frozen and better whiskey, but I mostly remember what happened afterwards.

I felt at peace. The voices telling me I was worthless had stopped. I was a child again, able to function and filled with joy.

I went to my dorm. I did my homework. I wondered if this what normal people felt like. It seemed nice.

I wanted to feel normal. The real normal.

It is a cruel twist of fate that my first instance with alcohol lead to me losing it. It did not react well with any of my medications. Drinking would be left to special occasions when I could afford to skip my dosage for a day.

Alcohol is dangerous. Acohol is unhealthy. But, even out of the ugliest things, something beautiful can happen. So, thank you alcohol, for giving me a push.