Why Being a Control Freak and Alcohol do Not Mix

                   *how I enjoy drinking now - picture taken after I graduated December 2018-*

                                                      *trigger warning: car crash, alcohol*

My very first sip of alcohol was with a friend in the woods overlooking a reservoir. It was the summer before my freshman year of college. They mixed a bottle of Sprite with some vodka.

At the reservoir, they told me that they would swoop me up so fast if I did not already have a boyfriend. They then began to tell me all the places nearby in the woods where they had hooked up with people.

I felt so slimy- I did not want to hear about their sexcapades, especially after they semi-confessed their feelings for me. But they were my friend. They were always a good friend to me.

I remember taking small sips of the Sprite-vodka concoction. I was terrified of being drunk. I did not want to lose control. However, very quickly, I felt my limbs warm. My whole body tingled. I could not stifle bubbles of laughter.

My friend and I sipped and laughed the afternoon away until it was time to go home. (We waited an hour to leave after we stopped drinking.)

My friend carried me on their back through the woods. I think we fell once.

They drove me home.

Except, they forgot a turn.

The song, “Yong, Wild & Free,” played in the background as we passed my turn.

“Wait, this is the turn. You are missing it. We’ll have to turn around,” I said.

“Oh shit,” they said, as they began to turn… late.

They rapidly turned left towards the street. The tires screeched.

It was so fast- I could not believe it. I still cannot believe it.

I cannot remember if I screamed.

We crashed in someone’s yard into a tree.

We violently lurched forward and back and forward and back again.

All the airbags deployed.

The tires popped.

The windshield shattered.

For a moment I thought I was dead.

Thank God, I opened my eyes took a breath.

Instinctually, I got out of the car.

“Get back in the car,” they said. My ears were ringing. My chest hurt. The warmth from the alcohol was long gone. In shock, I got back in the car.

As I stepped back in the car, I was nauseated by the stench of the wreckage.

I swore that I would remember that smell forever- except, as much as I try to recall it now, I cannot remember it; my brain blocked it out.

My friend somehow drove me all the way back to my house, which was a couple streets away. They stopped once to throw empty bottles of booze out of the car.

I was shocked and mortified.

I said nothing.

When they turned onto my street, I meekly said goodbye.

My neck ached. When I got home, I looked in the mirror and was horrified. My neck was red and bruised. It almost looked like I had several bad hickeys.

Before I could focus on the hickey-like marks on my neck, I felt overwhelmed by guilt and dread. I felt awful that my friend had wrecked their car possibly because of me. I felt awful that I was stupid enough to get in the situation I was in.

We should not have drank.

I should have drove- especially after what they told me on the way to the reservoir.

(On the way to the reservoir, they said to me,

“You know, I think I’m a much better driver drunk. A couple nights ago, I drove my friends and I home blackout drunk, and I mean blackout. I do not remember any of it. Anyway, my friends in the car told me that they felt safer when I was blackout than when I was sober. But do not worry, I am not drunk right now. I would never drive drunk with you.”)

And yet, there we were.

I did not speak to this friend again after the accident. All reasoning behind our friend-break-up surrounds the accident and its subsequent aftermath.

I berated myself and sometimes still berate myself for drinking that afternoon. I could have walked home rather than getting in the car. After all, I never drank in high school; why did I start then? Why didn’t I just wait until I got to college?

Because of this trauma, I did not drink until the end of my freshman year of college. I did not want to drink until I felt 100% safe. After all, at that point in time, I associated drinking and/or driving with dying.

 It took a particularly good friend and teammate to get me past my trauma-based fear of alcohol.

This exceptionally good friend of mine introduced me to champagne, Twisted Teas, and later, vodka. Slowly, over the course of a year, I felt more and more comfortable with drinking. It was all the sudden okay for me to feel a little out of control.

(However, because of my eating disorder, I was terrified of the calories in alcohol. I made a rule for myself that I would not eat before I drank and would try my best to keep to low calorie drinks. -At that point in time, three shots of vodka would keep me drunk between two and six hours.)

During my sophomore year of college, when I was finally able to drink without fear or anxiety, I only ever drank when I went out to parties. And as I became more comfortable with going out, I became increasingly comfortable with making out with people at parties. A night out, in my mind, was not a success unless I made out with someone at a party.

Looking back, drinking, and making out was a balancing act between the idea of control and the lack thereof. When drinking, I felt the euphoria of feeling somewhat out of control. When making out with people, I also felt euphoric, but because I felt very much in control.

This mentality paralleled how I perceived my life in general at the time. (I was most affected by my eating disorder during my sophomore year of college.) Everything I did at the time centered around food, exercise, and an absolute need for control. However, deep down, I yearned for freedom from rules and freedom from needing to be in absolute control. Because of this conflicting ideology, I was in a constant argument in my head with what was most important in the moment, control, or freedom. This inner turmoil led to a wild sophomore year of college for me. And although I do no regret anything, I do acknowledge that I lost a bit of myself and acted selfishly at times.

Through therapy, and support from friends and family, I no longer feel chained by my need for control. Today, I feel so far removed from my sophomore year mentality because in my recovery process, I have chosen freedom.

I drink alcohol most nights now, especially during Quarantine. And I am honestly proud of myself for being able to drink and for being able to do it healthily and without fear.

I do not think drinking is necessarily healthy or “good” for anyone. I am simply telling my story and explaining how accepting alcohol (in a healthy manner) help set me free from the confines of my control issues, my eating disorder, and my trauma.

I also want to emphasize that it is okay to lose control occasionally as long as you do not lose yourself. (I would know because I have been there.)

Be kind to yourself.

Stay Safe out there.

With love,

Emily