I Felt Only Fury and Despair.
September rolled around and I was still sober. My emotions were raw and agonizing. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel emotions for years. Now they’d clawed their way to the surface. They brutalized me one intense sensation at a time.
I was still so sad about Mocha dying, I could barely function. I burst into tears every few hours. A week later, I had my 24th birthday.
I felt ancient and angry. When I wasn’t crying, I was seething. My anger was this whole additional being that took over my ability to function rationally.
My rage was focused on men. I wanted to kill Larry for terrorizing Mocha. I wanted to kill Kurt for calling me a coke whore. I wanted to kill Gregg for his lies. I wanted to kill my rapist from 1987 and the guy who’d thrown me in a closet at a party in 1980 and every guy who’d had sex with me when I just wanted love. I didn’t see that I’d played any part in anything that happened to me.
I was furious with the world. And I wanted to kill myself, in spite of my decision not to try that again.
After just a few weeks sober, my emotions were completely out of my control. I felt only fury and despair; I experienced nothing else.
About two weeks after Mocha died, my friend Marti got married. And I was still sober.
Finally: there was cause for celebration! Marti was one of my favorite people in the world, and I was excited to witness her big day. I couldn’t wait to see my college friends again; it had been more than two years since I’d graduated as a biker chick and run off to Florida.
I wanted to show my friends the new me – the independent, sober me – but I was a little scared, too. Since the age of 14, I’d never stayed sober at a wedding.
I drove to Ohio, blasting Meat Loaf through the boombox in the passenger seat of my little VW Bug, offering me courage.
The ceremony was perfect. I was so happy for Marti and Donny and the beautiful future they had ahead. The reception allowed me to finally see all my college buddies. Ecstatic to be there, I hugged my friends and enjoyed the party … for about ten minutes.
That’s how long it took before I focused on the alcohol.
She was drinking; he was drinking. They were all drinking. I was not drinking.
Then they were getting drunk and dancing. They were waving drinks over their heads and screaming, just like we’d done in college. It looked like so much fun! I tried; I waved my Diet Coke and swung my hips aimlessly, like an imposter.
Tears stung through my smile. Nobody noticed; I ran into the bathroom alone. It felt like the whole world was spinning to the right and I was spinning to the left. I felt completely out of whack, like I was missing an appendage.
I didn’t fit.
Suddenly I didn’t belong with the people I’d thought for years were “my” people. Someone invited me to spend the night at her house, but I just wanted to go home. I didn’t belong in Ohio anymore.
I cried all the way back to Pittsburgh, feeling friendless, my entire identity having evaporated.
I stayed sober for six days after the wedding, crushingly sad, bitterly lonely, white-knuckling it and wondering when I’d be happy. I tried absolutely nothing new.
Then I walked to the bar and got plastered.