The how and why I chose to say goodbye to alcohol

**Content Warning** This post describes my personal experience with alcohol. This includes mentions of r@pe, DV, and other forms of @buse. I choose to censor these words to avoid flags on my page, and because seeing the words written in entirety sometimes activates some not-so-great feelings. Proceed with caution. There are references for support at the bottom of the page.

 

 

I grew up in a dry house that extended to my very Italian paternal grandparents. My Mom’s side was a little different considering I don’t have many memories of my grandpa without a glass of whisky in his hand. Aside from that, alcohol just wasn’t part of our lives.

 

My first introductions to alcohol were at a friend’s house. Calling her a friend is a huge stretch… she was literally my middle school bully. She invited me to a sleepover where she stole what was left in the blender of her parent’s frozen daiquiris and then yelled at me for not drinking them fast enough to “get drunk”.

 

Another time was with an actual friend who we both had maybe one shot of vodka and then spent the entire evening being silly and pretending to be ‘wasted’ and rolling down the stairs while her mom was at work.

 

In high school I wasn’t invited to parties, and if I was- I wasn’t allowed to go anyway. On the rare occasion I was able to convince my parents to let me ‘live a little’, I would in fact, live a whole fucking lot. I was incredibly organized though. I made sure I had a safe place to be for at least 24H, and I was with people I trusted implicitly. The fear of my Mother’s wrath outweighed any physical, emotional, and legal repercussion I could imagine getting myself into, so I planned accordingly. Although after years of therapy, I’ve learned that this hyper-vigilance is actually trauma response. Go figure..

 

I was less than a month into college before I was date r*ped. I wasn’t at a party, either. I was at work. I got a job hosting at a local restaurant, and that evening it was someone’s birthday. Trying to play by the rules, I reminded my manager that I was underage, and was still handed a glass of champagne to toast the birthday person. Fast-forward to the following morning- I’m waking up in a hotel room with $7 on the table for a cab, and vomiting in the bathroom overlooking the Delaware River.

 

I don’t share this for any reason other than it is a historical fact of my life. I don’t need sympathies, or comments about bravery. It’s part of my truth, and an all too common story for Women. I don’t feel any particular way about it now other than “I didn’t deserve that, and I don’t want it to happen to anyone else.” I do remember many of the details, but that’s not what this story is about.

 

That experience really shook me up, understandably. I didn’t tell many people, if anyone. I was afraid I’d be pulled out of school, or somehow get in trouble myself. I don’t even remember quitting that job… But moving forward, I learned that it didn’t matter how much or little I drank, I ended up in the same situation- sick and ashamed.

 

I got through college with a handful of other similar situations where I began the night with an empty stomach, and a shot glass full of vodka. I drank to be socially accepted, and to quiet the responses my nervous system was sending my body. A perfect example of self-abandonment.

 

I went through waves of drinking- I guess we’d call it bingeing. If I had a project, or something I cared about enough to be in control of, I would stay sober. I had little rules at the club like, “I’ll only drink if I’m in a VIP room”, and then leveraged how long the room was based on what drink I’d have. Bellini = 30 min Long Island = 1+ hours.

 

I found myself drinking more when I was unhappy with myself, anxious, or bored. A big part of that I learned, is because  when you’re used to your life being chaotic, you’ll start to sabotage it yourself when things are calm… I just interpreted calm as ‘boring’.

 

The night I flew out to LA for The Show I was hammered. I was so nervous about leaving, and the people who knew where I was going were thoughtful enough to throw me a going away celebration. I arrived in LA hungover and reeking of alcohol. I took a shower as soon as I possibly could, and had a tough conversation with myself that I wouldn’t drink for the rest of the experience or else I wouldn’t do what I came out there to do- win.

 

I didn’t drink again until I met my abuser, and why would I? My life was going really well. I was not bored, I was working on a project, I was stimulated. I felt financially safe. I was happy for the most part. My abuser was the type of person who insisted you drink with them so they didn’t drink alone. So every meal began with a cocktail, and every day was a countdown to 5:00. If I didn’t have a drink, it was an insult to them.

 

When I got to Colorado and my mental health began to decline, I began drinking heavily at the club. We’re talking so heavily, that I can no longer tolerate the smell of tequila without gagging. It was a way to avoid responding to the constant texts from my abuser: “are you making money?” and a way to beat myself up for the continual self-abandonment I was engaging in by staying in the relationship.

 

Not that it makes anything better, but I will say this: I never drank at home, I never drank alone, and I never drank and drove.

 

I stopped drinking again after I had a particularly bad night at one of my closest friends’ out-of-state wedding. There’s a part of me that knows my abuser was setting me up for embarrassment that night- handing me drink after drink, and insisting I take advantage of the ‘open bar’. I don’t remember much except that I was abandoned at the wedding venue, and had to walk a mile and a half back to the airbnb in a ballgown. I got screamed at by them the entire next day, and was threatened to be left behind where I’d need to find my own way to the airport which was 4 hours away. After talking with my friend multiple times about this over the years; they confirmed that yes I was drunk, but no, I was not embarrassing- and no one thought poorly of me. If anything, they were concerned for my safety with my abuser, and rightfully so. I *was* gaslit by my abuser into believing things were far more worse than they were so they could name me the problem, and then they could have more control over me.

 

After that experience, I stopped ordering drinks at restaurants regardless of the judgement from my abuser. In response, their drinking became more involved, and became weaponized against me. If I wasn’t complying with something, they’d simply reach for a bottle of whisky and pour it in a glass. However much they filled the glass determined how ‘out of the way’ I needed to become.

 

When my abuser abandoned me for the final time, I didn’t drink. I dove head first into therapy instead. There was a brief period I was still in denial that I could make the relationship work if I “tried harder”. But the reality was that I was not the problem. My issues with alcohol were exacerbated symptoms of a larger problem: I was in an abusive relationship, and I had poor coping skills. I needed to be on my A-game to process everything that was going to happen next, and being alcohol free was the only way to do it.

 

During the process, and immediately after my divorce, I didn’t drink. I was in too delicate of a financial situation, and I was entirely fueled by spite. It wasn’t until I was back to financial stability, that I made a trip out west to film some content when I had my last and probably worst experience with alcohol.

 

I told the person I was visiting that I didn’t drink. They didn’t like that. The behavior felt familiar to my abuser. They coerced me into drinking sake- Japanese rice wine- and after their continued disrespect to my boundary, I gave into the pressure. Flash forward an hour or so later, and I drink something that I didn’t see poured…

 

“What is this?” I asked.

“Vodka soda” they said.

 

I woke up alone, covered in my own vomit, with a note that said “have a safe flight back”. I try not to think about it too much, but if you believe in parallel universes, or alternate realities, I’m pretty sure I aspirated and died in that one. That was the day I chose to stop drinking forever. No matter how small of an amount, I always ended up in the same place. A pattern I noticed and needed to change. The only thing I can control is myself, and my boundaries are there to protect me. If someone cannot respect my boundaries, then they have to go. Plain and simple.

 

I learned that there is no situation or circumstance where I could enjoy alcohol in moderation. I also learned that there is no situation or circumstance in which alcohol has benefited me. Being sober allows me to have more control of myself, my actions, and offers me a better opportunity to observe my surroundings. All of those things allow me to be a version of myself that I am proud of, and further allow me to enjoy my life while taking on larger projects, goals and responsibilities. It makes me a better person, friend, and stripper, too.

 

I celebrate my sobriety on September 5th. This year made two years. I don’t miss alcohol, and I don’t miss how it made me feel about myself, either.

xo,c 

If you, or someone you know is struggling with alcohol, help is available. https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline