My Addiction Story: Part 3
I can’t put
my finger on why, but I think my red wine incident stuck with me longer than
the others. My first year of college included some nights of drinking, but I
did not seek significant supply, and I usually took it upon myself to withhold
and help everyone else with their hangovers instead of nursing what would be my
own. I must have felt motivated by my fresh start in life. I had things to do.
I had a new life to live, away from the pain of my own family, away from the
hurtful memories I escaped by crossing a few state lines and pretending they
never happened.
Something
changed when I was 19. I had been involved in a campus ministry, and my
self-identification as a “liberal” Christian was wearing thin. During the day,
I worked with international students from all different countries, backgrounds,
and religions. When it came time for me to step into leadership and run my own
Bible study group, I knew I had to back out. I only believed bits and pieces of
the Bible. I couldn’t comprehend the notion that the beautiful souls I had met
who just happened to grow up with different beliefs wouldn’t have the same
afterlife as me. I couldn’t make sense of the Bible’s truth being translated
over and over and over again. I just didn’t feel right.
I chose to
separate myself from this strong support group, yes, but I did not choose the
way this decision affected my relationships and my emotional state. I went into
a deep depression. I tried dating with unclear boundaries, and I received
nonconsensual sexual penetration from a male partner. In other words, I was
raped. I decided to immediately make that person my boyfriend, to cover up this
pain from others and from myself. I felt so guilty for letting this happen to
me, so I lived in a fantasy of false happiness, desperately trying to prove to
my family and my ex-friends in the Christian community that I could still make
sound decisions and live a happy, healthy life without calling Jesus Christ my
Savior and excluding others from eternal life. That’s how I saw it at the time.
I dated this
person for one month, until we saw the movie 2012 and I realized in the movie
theatre that if it were the end of the world, I would NOT want to be spending
my days with him. I ended things. My first break-up, my first sexual
experience, my first life-changing lie. I would not speak about this incident
again until 10 years later. What a decade 19-29 would turn out to be.
I ran away
fast from my feelings. I ran away daily from my depression. I ran away
consistently from loved ones who reached out to me. Ignoring their calls and
texts, assuring them from time to time that I was doing great; meanwhile, my
world was crumbling – both internally and externally. I dropped almost every
class that semester. I drank alone. This time orange juice and Malibu.
Regularly. More cheap wine. Whatever I could use to escape from my pain, my
loneliness, my heartache, and my desire for something more. I was still a
spiritual person, but as soon as I lost the safety of my Christian label – and my
innocence – I failed to keep up with my worldly responsibilities, and I started
to lose my sense of self-worth. My family questioned my morals. I questioned my
motivation. I hid my misery from my roommates in my own tiny apartment. I acted
like I didn’t need anyone, when really I needed everyone.
I almost
lost my scholarship. I did lose some friendships. I brought on my first
shameful financial situation, which I kept a secret until the very last minute.
And next, I met another guy.
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