(This photo was taken from www.postsecret.com)
My Junior year of High school, my brother flew me up to Seattle to see his new apartment, meet his new girlfriend, and get a chance to bond and reconnect with my siblings (and their partners). I was really excited my brother had reached out to me and I had visions of late night talks about our family dynamics and how, maybe, he was going to take me in and we'd be our own happy little family, since, my family at home wasn't very happy at all and hadn't been for quite some time.
It was my first time flying alone and I was totally excited and totally scared. I feel like the baby in the family and sometimes (all the time) I expect and hope to be treated as such. Like the little sister who needs extra hugs and guidance when asked. I got off the plane and was greeted-ish by my brother, sister, and her boyfriend "S". They teased me about how heavy my suitcase was when I took it off the baggage-claim belt. I took it personally, even though it wasn't meant as a character-judgment.
Something was mentioned about my mom. Something negative. And my sister or my brother or someone got really upset at the fact that she always had to come up in every conversation and how it was a sign of whoever brought her up's dysfunction and negativity. We all bring her up all the time so I guess that makes us all dysfunctional. We drove to his place and we climbed the steep hills, slid backward a little every time we pressed on the gas at a green light, and coasted down streets...fast. I think I must have made a noise or a face or said something because my sister snapped about how that was something my mom did. Panicked in situations that had to be and, in actuality, weren't that bad. Specifically, she made a big scene when we had to drive in the city on really steep hills. She said I was just like my mom. I hate being compared to my mom and so does my sister.
Instead of going to my brother's apartment to get ready for bed, like I assumed we would do because it was late and I was tired from the admittedly short flight, we went to the grocery store. No one said "we're going to the grocery store," but we stopped in front of one, everyone got out, so I got out. My brother started picking up booze and putting them in a basket, walking briskly with a stern face like he tends to do. My sister was arguing with her boyfriend about something, on the verge of tears it looked like (she's emotional too, like me.) She picked out some cheeses and snacks and asked me what I liked. I was happy she asked me my opinion. I think I told her but she said it was a bad pick and put it down. I felt shitty about myself. I didn't understand why we were shopping at 11 at night when I just wanted to go home and sleep or maybe get talked to and reached out to about all the drinking my mom had started up again and how much of her anger was taken out on me. How my needs were always put last and I felt invisible and my dad always looked the other way.
My sister picked out some Kahlua and said I would really like it. It was like coffee chocolatey goodness. She makes up cute names like I do. I smiled and was excited that she was thinking of me. She was always good about nurturing in little ways like that. I think I kept my distance the whole time we were shopping and followed them around like a little, sad, stupid puppy. Because I felt like one. I had been insulted, compared to my mom, someone I hated and who my sister shared that hatred for, and lumped into some grand overwhelming plan to get wasted the night I got in from CA.
We got to my brother's apartment, a place I'd never been before ( I don't deal well with fast change and a lack of planning), and we brought the groceries in. My sister made some sort of insulting comment about how I better lighten up and be more pleasant or my brother's friends and girlfriend would think I was being bitchy. I went and locked myself in the bathroom and cried. I listened to the people walking in the front door, being friendly and loud and happy. I wanted to bond. So I came out of the bathroom, my sister made irritated and insulted comments to her boyfriend, "S," about how I was playing victim or something and that she didn't "get" me.
My brother made drinks and asked what I wanted. I said nothing. I hated the idea of drinking and how people acted when they drank. It freaked me out. He made me two kinds of drinks. One coffee flavored with chocolate syrup in it and once pomegranate and vodka drink. I drank maybe 1/4 of each. His girlfriend seemed really nice, warm, tried really hard to make me feel included. I think I somehow insulted her anyway by being so quiet. My sister said so, anyway. We played Guitar Hero or Rock Band, I don't know which. Mostly they played and I enjoyed watching. My brother's girlfriend sang her heart out and seemed so confident and beautiful and commented on how much she loved my brother and he'd get this happy comfy look I loved but rarely ever saw. The night went on and people got more tipsy, then drunk. We played music on the speakers and someone asked for a request. Hearing stories from my sister about when she would have parties and drink with her friends, I remembered she said she looooved Michael Jackson and did silly dances while tipsy so I shouted out, "My sister wants Michael Jackson!" I embarrassed my sister and she snapped at me. She said that was a long time ago, shut up. She reminded me more and more of my mom when she drank. Angry and emotional and hating me, specifically, but acting more and more attached and emotional and hurt by her boyfriend. He constantly had to console her about some thing she was crying about.
Then she was crying in the kitchen. My brother's girlfriend was comforting her like a big sister. Like the big sister I wanted. There she was, sobbing away on this stranger's shoulder. I heard something about me I thought? But I'm not sure. Then my brother was scolding her about her drinking or something and his girlfriend came to my sister's defense. I spent the night in a corner and eventually everyone left. My brother and his girlfriend left, too. Even though it was his apartment. He said he was going over to spend the night at his girlfriend's place and that cereal was in the kitchen cabinet above the sink. My sister and her boyfriend got the bedroom and I got the couch in the living room. My sister stormed off to bed and I heard her talking with her boyfriend. They got changed for bed in the bathroom. Lights on, lights off, lights on again. Then her boyfriend came out and said "G'night. Sleep well." and then shut off the lights and shut the bedroom door. I was glad he said goodnight but sad my sister seemed so mad at me for feeling sad and left out. Or maybe she thought it was something else. I laid awake on the couch for a while- heard my sister sobbing and talking then her boyfriend talking. Then they had sex, or I think they had sex. I waited until they finished. I tried putting on music but it made me cry. So I sent a long email to my boyfriend about how mortified I was and how scared and alone I felt. He sympathized and comforted me when I got home.
Later during that trip, or maybe even after, my sister told me she was trying to teach me that I didn't need to be afraid of alcohol, because if I grew up afraid, I'd end up like my mom or worse and paranoid. Before she left, we went sight seeing to a lot of places I didn't really feel up to seeing. I trailed behind, felt sad, and got scolded over and over again. They didn't really want me there. My brother had asked me in advance what I wanted to do and the one thing I REALLY wanted to do was visit this Thai restaurant we used to when I was a kid. I remembered happy times together, stealing dinner mints and eating Banana Coconut soup with my sister for dessert. We ordered a lot of food and it wasn't as nostalgic as I hoped but it was as close as I had gotten during the whole trip. I ate slowly and my brother rushed us. My sister is petite, 5 feet tall, with huge double D's and a flat stomach and no glasses. I've always been jealous and felt like she rubbed her beauty and thinness in my face. I felt fat as it was. I think I commented on how stuffed I was, like, "Oh man it's so yummy!" kind of stuffed, but my brother said, "Well then stop eating." And tears ran down my cheeks. I think my sister kind of understands how I feel when my brother says things like that and she sort of stood up for me but he got angry and said his girlfriend was making dinner for a group of friends and us and that we shouldn't have even come all the way out to get stupid Thai food.
We drove out to our old neighborhood, my brother, sister, her boyfriend and I, and they reminisced about all the friends and stories they had and the school they went to- the parties my mom would throw. I don't have any memories like that. I was never a part of any of that. They didn't have any stories they liked about being with me and growing up. I was just me, by myself, at home with two parents who seemed like they'd be happier without me.
At dinner, the one my brother's girlfriend set up, a few guys in their 30's showed up (like my brother). They had some beers and some wine with the salmon she had made and talked and laughed for hours. I had some fun-ish. But then sex entered the conversation and they talked about some noise complaint my brother had gotten about his apartment sounding like a herd of zebras was stampeding at three in the morning and one of the guys said something like, "Has "R" (my brother) made you whinny like a zebra yet?" It sounds stupid for me to be upset by that but I felt like my two least favorite things: sex and alcohol, kept smacking me in the face. Or like people just WANTED me to feel uncomfortable and broken. His girlfriend luckily said that was inappropriate- that his sisters were here. Then she got drunk. They played some game and the phrase "tossed salad" came up and that made me uncomfortable. She was supposed to help me prom dress shop with my sister that visit and I was feeling nervous about being around anyone, by that point. My brother had us walk home or take a ride home because he wanted to drink some more with his buddies. My sister and her boyfriend had sex. I didn't fall asleep.
The next morning, I was excited to go dress shopping with my sister and my brother's girlfriend. But mostly, my sister. I remember clothes shopping with her when I was younger was the best and she made it so fun. She slept in, didn't come with, and I didn't find a dress I really liked. She and her boyfriend took a flight home that day and we never talked anything out. She went home mad at me.
About a year later, my sister had a few friends and her boyfriend over while my parents were home and asleep. We got chips and booze and did the whole "drinking thing" again. I had I think 1 1/2 glasses of pink wine stuff or I don't remember but it was fruity and it was my first time "tipsy." It was exciting and I felt free. I remember saying I had to pee a lot, and peeing a lot, and having an hour long talk with her boyfriend about relationships and being an open person. He really helped me but I have no idea what he said now. We danced a lot and then halfway through the night, things went bad.
My sister was crying, sitting in a corner with her shirt half up, (small and flat) tummy out. She poked her stomach and cried about how fat and ugly and undeserving and unlovable she was. How she just wanted to die or go away. It went on like this forever. I cried with her. Told her I was so sad to hear she felt that way, how beautiful she was and how I'd always been jealous, how shocked I was to hear she feels the same things I feel. How we'd get through it together and be better sister's from then on.
Her boyfriend saw the state she was in. She was hysterical, upset...depressed. She just kept screaming, "No body wants me." He slapped her. I remember being shocked inside but not seeming shocked at all.
The next morning I went into my mom's room to say good morning and she called it. She said, "You're hung over." I smile when I can't lie even though I know I kind of should lie. I smiled and struggled for an answer. I eventually said yes and told her about how the night brought me "clarity" and things felt so simple. I remember drunk-texting my boyfriend about how much I loved him, how insecure I was and how I needed to be better and stronger and more trusting if we were going to work, and that I appreciated him putting up with and loving a crazy person. He handled it really well but expressed concern for my new relationship with alcohol, considering my mom's. My mom handled her underage daughter's first alcohol-experience really well! She was totally cool about it, said I couldn't tell my dad, and some other things I really appreciated- since it meant I wasn't in trouble.
After my dad found out, he'd offer me wine with dinner. Wine with lunch. New things to taste-test. I always only had a sip, and would hate it, though sometimes I had mimosas with my sunny side up eggs. My mom got so furious and threw a fit. She said that he was "wining and dining" his new wife. That he was encouraging me to be "some kind of alcoholic" and that we didn't want an alcoholic in our family. I didn't understand. She was an alcoholic. Shouldn't this be acceptable behavior to her and unacceptable to my dad? Things were backwards.
Later in high school, after I moved out, I had two girlfriends over while everyone was away. We had cheap vodka and cranberry juice and munchies. I think I had two cups worth of juice and one shots worth of vodka and that was it. I was tipsy and feeling fun and dancey. One of my girlfriends was a bigger girl with an Irish background and swore she knew she could hold her liquor. She was proud of it I guess? She drank probably half of the bottle. She seemed more relaxed than me, that's for sure. We went upstairs and danced and talked girl-talk and before I knew it, I accidentally locked myself in a sliding-door bathroom, my other (very responsible, level headed) friend came and found me, a bottle of Pam to bust me out, and comforted me since I felt embarrassed, and told me how my other (Irish) friend just threw up. All over my brand new bed- new bed covers, new mattress, newly painted room..... I flipped shit. (I'm a neat freak) The smell was about all it took for me to have some sort of painful revisit to my childhood. See, when people drink, their vomit smells like cigarette smoke and something else that flips my stomach. I though that was just what my mom's vomit smelled like, but when my large, large breasted friend (who now reminded me of my mom and all her not so great glory) blew all her smelly chunks all over my freshly made room- I knew it was just the alcohol.
I avoided her like the plague. My (responsible) friend cleared off my bed, scrubbed and sprayed the mattress with fabric cleaner (while tipsy....how fantastic is that of her?!) and comforted both me and my (Irish) friend. At this point, my large, large breasted friend was on the bathroom floor, throwing up on herself, moaning about her breakup with her (awful) ex boyfriend and saying, "Fuck my life. I drank half a bottle of vodka. I hate my life." She sounded so sad. So lonely and tortured. So pitiful. And at the same time, her (large) boobs were poppin' out, nipples ablaze, puke all over. My mom was sitting in my boyfriend's bathroom. That's what it was. Well, she wasn't my mom but she might as well have been. I fell asleep in another room and my responsible friend watched over my Irish friend to make sure she was okay. When I woke up, I took my responsible friend home and realized what a mess we had made. Juice on the walls, vomit and a nosebleed trailing through the halls (I think my Irish friend banged her head?) and I was pissed off. Mainly at her making me relive my childhood- but it disguised itself as anger over her leaving me with a huge mess that wasn't mine to clean. I woke her hungover ass up and made her scrub and blowdry my carpets. I made her feel guilty for what she did. It was the wrong thing for me to do but when my mom would drink or hide drinks around the house and I'd catch her or see her the day after when she sobered up- I'd shame the shit out of her. I'd "tell on her," call her an alcoholic, leave the evidence in plain sight, or insult her and call her things like "fat" and "unlovable" while she was totally drunk and close to blacking out. Sometimes I'd even tell her I wished she'd die. I still feel guilty.
From that point on, she and I (my Irish friend) haven't really talked and I feel kind of scarred for life, even though none of that was really her fault- she was just being a teenager going through tough times- and I didn't help much.
I've struggled and will continue to struggle to learn what "a healthy relationship with alcohol" means and I hope to one day figure out what that balance is. But for now, I'm afraid of alcohol when it comes to seeing people I know and or love drinking and how they behave drunk. I think what upsets me about people while drunk is that they always say things they're too afraid or too smart to say while sober.
Like my mom always used to say:
"No one will ever love you. I hate you and I wish you were dead."
