I Was a Teenage Drunk to Escape My Life

But where was my support team? Why was I all alone?

“Hey, dump out enough pop so we can split the whiskey!” Rich told us. We were in a parking lot outside a community hall. It was dark and there were lots of cars. Underage drinkers and party people were everywhere.

We had a 26 of whiskey and three plastic one liters of coke. Lori and I did what Rich suggested. We dumped out enough pop to be able to split the 26 three ways, so we each had a mixed drink in a bottle.

I was 16, and this was my second experience with alcohol. I wisely drank the whole thing in less than half an hour, and then the fun part ended.

There was a dance going on. I went inside to use the washroom. The plaster wall ended up getting smashed while I was in there with another guy from my class, and I could never remember how. Things were a tad blurry.

I left with other kids, who were going to a bush party. On the way there I had to get them to stop so I could puke in a ditch. And once we arrived, I spent the whole time dry heaving in the bushes until morning came and the sun rose.

I loved that experience so much that I did it again, and again and again.

Someone always had booze. There would be a house party, or a bonfire in the boonies. Even though I wasn’t popular, I managed to get there and drink until I was numb and mindless.

I puked every weekend. I couldn’t hold my liquor at all, probably because I was about 138 pounds and guzzled drinks at high speed.

Cops broke the parties up sometimes. We all got in cars and trucks and someone would drive us drunk out of there. They always just let us go.

I was near alcohol poisoning and death many times. But somehow, I survived. Other kids watched out for me. Not everyone was so lucky, we did lose others.

There were car accidents and kids that never came home. Some stomach pumpings and hospitalizations, and a couple teens who passed out never to wake again. A four wheeler accident left two in traction for a month.

I lucked out and coasted right through all of the worst things that could have happened. The only consequences for me were coming home muddy, scratched up and smelling like a homeless alcoholic.

My parents didn’t give me any rules. They didn’t much seem to care about my late night life, or anything I did as long as it didn’t inconvenience them. The only thing I had to do to keep mom and dad off my back was go to school every day, which I did. I passed grade 12 with honors. But I never bothered with secondary school. I had too much partying to do.

Why Did I Drink So Hard?

It’s simple. My life was shit. We were dirt poor. I lived in a hoarder house where we could never find the kitchen table. No one cooked supper, and the food choices were limited to things like potatoes and eggs from the farm. Sometimes were were lucky and got canned soup.

There was sexual and physical abuse buried in my past, too.

I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t cool or popular, and I got picked on a lot.

My parents were underachievers with no goals or ambitions. And they didn’t seem to care if I had any either. While other parents were getting their children ready to go to college and university, mine ignored me almost entirely.

My dad worked and drank and raged. My mom appeased him. There were few good times to be had in our house.

The School Didn’t Support Me Either

There was a chance that our guidance counselor or a teacher could have made a difference. Except they never bothered. It was their job to do things like suggest secondary education for a kid like me who did well in school. They could have noticed the drinking problem too. They could have actually been mentors, not just pulling a paycheck.

Not a single adult in my life gave me a moment of their time. I was unimportant to everyone. While other kids planned their future with the help of teachers and staff, no one even looked my way. And my marks were good. I was an A student. This was more proof to me that my life was a total waste of time.

I needed that help.

I didn’t think that college was for poor kids like me. I thought I wasn’t good enough to go. I was just a loser, and the proof was in the fact that no one even asked me if I had plans for after high school. While they were busy planning out the lives of all the pretty people, I doubled down on hating myself.

I escaped my life by drinking until my brain wasn’t functioning. I’m grateful that at that time, other more damaging drugs weren’t available to me. I was a prime candidate for some hard stuff. But we just didn’t have it. So I pounded the beers and the booze. I spent every dime I had on more. There was always a bootlegger selling us whiskey and vodka and cases of beer.

I Was Let Down By Everyone In Charge

Adults failed me. Society failed me. The only reason I’m still here is luck and the fact that I started climbing out of the Pits of Despair on my own ladder. And that was a long climb. But somehow, I found the rungs and started out.

I slowed down on drinking by the time I was 20. I still binged, just not quite as hard. But I kept up the drinking until my first son was born. Time to grow up. Time to start smoking. Ahh, my new vice.

It’s Up to Us to Help Those in Trouble When We Can

When we are on solid ground and we see someone sinking, we need to throw them a line. When someone is hurting, it isn’t hard to see. If a child or teenager has nobody, the one who notices is their only hope.

When I think back to that time in my life, I wonder why no one bothered to talk to me about it. Were they so wrapped up in themselves that they couldn’t see someone who was on the edge, about to drop off forever?

It would have made a huge difference if I would have had encouragement in high school. I thought my whole life was pointless, so why continue with education? But all the help went to the pretty children from good families who could afford shiny clothes. Dirt poor kids got thrown under the school bus.

My first job after high school was shoveling dirt by hand. Things didn’t get better than that for over a decade. There’s a stigma to working with your hands. People who have white collar jobs see things from a different point of view than a plumber, electrician, sanitary technician or pipefitter. They have tools to plan their lives differently. I could have used those tools too.

Imagine if an adult had convinced me my straight A marks were a good reason to get a scholarship and become something?

Are You Doing The Best You Can?

Is there anyone in your sphere of influence that needs a hand up? Are you around a troubled individual that is only held to life by a few threads?

Do you have anyone living or working with you who just needs to know someone cares? It isn’t only teachers that can influence lives. Bosses, coworkers, aunts, uncles, neighbors.

Parents.

Think about it.

What does growing up with hoarders do to you? I wrote about the shame and aftermath of that here:

It’s important to forgive and move on. I found a way to forgive my parents for my childhood: