mandi

Seventh grade was my happy year. For
once I found someone who looked at me
differently. “Flower power”, as I called her
took time out to teach me lessons in life in
which I still apply today. She like my older
sister, instead of my English teacher. The
older sister I’ve always wanted, but never
could have. But, the good times pass, as
they always do and eighth grade came
along with multiple problems. My depression
was back, that went hand in hand with an
eating disorder and the introduction of
alcohol. So I drank. The stress came, I
drank. The depression came, I drank. I
overate, I drank until I puked up. Things
happened, I drank. See a pattern forming?
Then high school came around; a whole
new life. But the depression, anxiety,
eating disorder and drinking still continued.
“Mainly, the drinking was what brought me
up, screwed me over and sent me tumbling
back towards the ground again. Worrying
about my friends and their problems made
me drink. Stress made me drink. But most
of all, I began to enjoy it. It was just that
feeling you get when that first gulp of whisky
pierces into your blood stream and shoots
through the vessels into all corners of your
body. I lived for that sensation; that feeling
of drunkenness. So, every night I would
drink. Maybe sleep in my vomit, puke up
while conscious, or wake up to find puke
somewhere else in my room.
But every morning I woke up, hungover,
took a shower, grabbed a necessary cup
of coffee, and began my day. Possibly
with some alcohol mixed in with the coffee,
or the alcohol by itself in the morning.
Either way was fine with me. I lived for
alcohol. It was the friend that was always
there for me. It did its job; no questions
asked, no answers given.”

(My Diary- “Something to be Thankful
For” 11-28-02).
I had finally found the answer to all of my
loneliness and problems- it was all in a bottle.
Alcohol loved me the way I’ve never been
loved before. At this point in my life, I
should have realized there was something
wrong with me. But by the time my friends
found out, it was already too late. Almost
ten months of damage had been done. By
the time my guidance counselor found out
it was almost a year since I first picked up.
When guidance finally told my parents it
was completely out of my control. I was a
daily drinker. Drank until I passed out at
night. Had some alcohol after my morning
shower. Drank during the day as well. My
school work suffered because studying
interfered with my drinking. My life revolved
around alcohol. Whenever and wherever
possible, there I was, bottle in hand.

I couldn’t tell anyone about my problems.
You see, I always had to be the strong one,
the one who got everyone else through their
problems and could tackle mine on my own.
“You rely on me for small affairs, when you
don’t notice that all my life I’ve been alone
for far greater problems that you’ve imagined.
You underestimate me. And then once I comfort
you, I can go back to being trampled on again.
All my life I’ve been nothing but a cigarette. You
take out your stress on me. Take me from my
life when it’s convenient for you. Rip me apart.
Get high and happy for a while. Then when I die
out, you need another me. Soon, I get stomped
out... Yes, indeed I have always been a
cigarette…”

(My diary- “Now get ready to leave it” 9-30-01).
Nevertheless, friends, parents, teachers, guidance- they
all knew I had a problem. (Although only my science
teacher, “cereal”, knew what was really going on
with me.) So at school, I was referred to the
substance abuse counselor. She was again, like an
older sister to me. “I’m beginning to feel more and
more comfortable with “glitter.” I don’t view her
as a superior like I think of other faculty member
and teachers. She’s more like a friend, someone
you can talk to. And yet, she’s got this power,
to make everything just sort of, fade away.
She’s got control, which makes life seem so
much more simple and safe.”

(My Diary- “April Can Fool You” 4-1-02).
My fifteenth birthday came and went. I wasn’t
really planning on doing much for my birthday.
Just the same old, “it’s my birthday and I’m
lonely and my life sucks” routine. But then
some of my closest friends surprised me at
my house that afternoon. I thought I was
loved yet again. We all had a great time at
the mall, movies, etc. I remember thinking,
“this is a night I will always remember.” I
thought I had found love- love in friendship.
“They really do care.”

Well, I can now say it will be a night I
will always remember, but not for that reason.
When I got home, tired from the day, I found
that my parents hadn’t been good at putting
my room back together after they searched it.
After a fight with my mother, I remember
crying myself to sleep thinking, “it’s my fifteenth
birthday and I can’t even get drunk. They stole
MY alcohol.” After that event, I was convinced
that my parents didn’t love me and my friends
couldn’t help me. I decided to turn to school
and my teachers once again for love, for that home.
But even all of the support that they gave me at
the school couldn’t help my drinking. May seventh
of two thousand and two was what I called
“May Day.” (Just a few days after an evaluation
for my drinking, may I add.) That was the day
one of my teachers caught alcohol on my breath
(third period) and I nearly got suspended. By this
time, my parents were furious. They had hit rock
bottom with me and didn’t know what to do
anymore. “It was all fuzzy, like a dream. I wish
it was a dream. Just a dream. Nothing more.
No May day, no nothing. Just a dream.”

(My diary- “May Day” 5-7-02).
Somehow, I managed to stop drinking on June 13th
of the previous year and to stay sober throughout
the summer. Deep down inside I knew my drinking
career hadn’t come to a complete stop. This is
because I was staying sober for other people,
and not for myself. I had always done things for
everyone else in my life, instead of myself.
Even my best friend commented about this.
“It’s not like you must have this or you need
that. You wish for people to love and listen to you.
But that’s not conceited. You never ask for
anything. Jeez…you’re probably the least
conceited person I know!”

(Nikki*, 1-6-02). As it turns out, my prediction
had been correct. October 15th I couldn’t
stand the temptation any longer and proceeded
to feel the sensation of alcohol in my system
again. Around this time, I began to realize that I
had a problem. “I don’t know what’s going on
with me. My mind is so clouded and disoriented
that I can’t even put two and two together- literally.
If I have some, I know I’ll be able to function.
(If I have the right amount.) But then I need to
keep repeating this to achieve the desired result.
Sooner or later the dosage will have to increase
as well. Those are the signs of a problem. And
I can’t go through this again. I can’t do this to
myself.”

(My diary- “Wish upon a Star” 11-1-02).
On November 5th, a scary thing happened to
me which stopped me from drinking for a while.
I remember that I was crying hysterically about
one of my friends who had been put in the
hospital because she was a “threat to self.”
One thing she was put in the hospital for was
for cutting. I don’t remember much more about
that night, but in the morning, parts of it came
back to me. I dragged myself out of bed and
took a shower to get ready for school, like
normal. After I got out of the shower I felt for
the bottle under my bed to dispose of while I
was thinking about it at the moment. So I’m
still under the influence and reaching under my
bed when my hand touches a familiar object
that doesn’t belong there. And I’m sitting
there wondering why, why is it there? Isn’t
it supposed to be somewhere else in my room.
Why is it under here? Then there was a
flashback in my brain from the previous night.
I looked at my leg to find multiple fresh cuts
there (that ironically, I hadn’t noticed in the
shower). That is why my pocketknife was
under my bed.

My life seemed to be a silent killer.
“The deliverer has the weight of the world on
her shoulders and its finally beginning to beat
down on her with such an unbearable pain…
sometimes it just feels like the world’s almost
over. Life is just suffocating me. Like I’m
being pulled deeper and deeper into the
ocean; farther and farther under. And I
can’t breathe and the surface is getting
further and further away as this unbearable
force pulls me closer and closer to eternal
suffocation.”

(My diary- “The World on my Shoulders” 11-25-02).
At this point, I decided that a change in
my lifestyle was needed. But I didn’t know
where to start. Somehow, I got the idea to
stay sober. Of course I was miserable for
the first couple of weeks, but that eventually
passed. And I was okay for a little bit.
But then my old emotions returned and I
crashed and burned on December 10th.
This time, it took a huge toll on my emotional
roller coaster. When I attempted to sober
up, I seriously thought I was going crazy.
“I just want someone to catch me when I
fall. Please, I’m falling now. My life has
pushed me off the edge of a cliff. And
I’m screaming and my thoughts are
racing and I can’t breathe and slowly
and painfully the life is being sucked
out of me. I need a superhero. Someone
to save me.”

(My diary- “Catch Me When I Fall” 12-11-02).
I knew I had to sober up in order to live.
There was no other choice for me. It
was what I was forced to do in order to
survive. About a week later, I spazzed
out in front of my English teacher. After
hunting me down, my guidance counselor
locked me in a room and explained that
I had to go to the hospital no matter what.
I was given two options; go with them
without a fight, or they call 911 and have
me taken out of there in an ambulance. I
chose the first option. So I was put on
anti-anxiety/ anti-depression medication.
But that still didn’t solve my drinking.
The medication didn’t do anything for me
except work as an around the clock
sleeping pill. It caused me to gain weight,
which made my bulimia go completely out
of control. So one night, I had the “brilliant”
idea of mixing my prescription medication,
laxatives, and alcohol. I got extremely sick
and the next morning, passed out on the
bathroom floor before taking my shower.
(However, after I passed out, I was okay;
later in the day I was completely fine.)
Sometime during that chaos, I managed
to get to a computer in school (while I
was supposed to be doing work) and
reach out for help via the internet. It was
my one last hope; I was down to one last
prayer. I posted on a recovery message
board for alcoholics and decided that if
they didn’t give me hope, then December
24th, Christmas Eve, would be the last night
of my life. But I survived Christmas Eve.

Talking with people who understood me
made life seem so much more simpler.
“But through all that chaos, suddenly, a
light bulb appears. And you can see
clearly, everything just finally makes sense.
All the pain and suffering finally has
meaning. The would isn’t out to screw
you over. I’m so lucky I found that
moment when everything seemed to
work out. In the darkest hour of my life,
it all made sense. My whole life finally
had meaning. And I’m forever changed.”

(My diary- “A Moment Like This” 12-19-02).
I came to a realization one night. I finally
knew why I was chosen to go through
all of this. Through my experiences, I was
destined to help others by becoming a
psychologist. I finally had something to
hold on to for the future. That night, I
didn’t do too much about my issues,
but my thinking began to change. The
people I had met online urged me to go
to an AA meeting in my area. Secretly,
I had been thinking about it myself, but
I was too afraid to go. Weren’t alcoholics
the old, fat guys who sat around drinking
coffee all the time? But I went. I
remember standing in that doorway, all
alone looking into the room filled with
people; some two, three, or four times
my age. They were all socializing before
the meeting began, and I felt as if I had
made the wrong choice to come. Then
a woman came up to me when she saw
the look of fear in my eyes. She
introduced herself as Denise* and an
alcoholic; then asked me my name.
Denise took me under her wing and
showed me to the front row, where she
then explained how the meeting worked.
My heart was pounding when the
meeting began. It was a tradition to
go around say your name, sobriety date,
group, sponsor and what type of day
you had. When it came my turn, I
remember saying, “My name is Mandie,
and I’m a teenager who has a problem
with her drinking. This is my first meeting.”
The response every single person in that
room was “welcome.” Followed by a huge
round of applause, and a hug by Denise.
Naturally, I kind of stood out, so I was
asked to share. I was on the verge of
tears as I told the room I wanted my
sanity and life back. Then, they hooked
me up with a meeting book and the
“big book.” I don’t remember what other
people said during the meeting, but I do
remember one person who directed a
comment towards me. He explained how
he blew his chances in high school due to
drinking, but that I still had a shot at it. For
the rest of the meeting, he kept staring at
me and telling me that I could do it. When
the meeting ended, I was given a list of
phone numbers, conversations with people
who understood me, and unconditional love.
They all took me in to their society with and
attitude of gratitude, no questions asked. We
all understand each other, in this way. We’ve
all done the same things, have gone through
the same things, and know what the other is
feeling. That is what makes us unified.
“Our common welfare should come first;
personal recovery depends upon AA unity.”
(12 & 12, 129).

After the meeting, my mother asked how
it was. I replied, “these people understand
me.” Its amazing how I can pour out my
life’s story to a group of complete strangers,
and how I can see their heads nod, signaling
that they know what its like because they’ve
been there. This memory is something I will
treasure forever. “As far as I know, there’s
only one place where I feel sane, and that’s
at the AA meetings. It’s like that home I’ve
been searching for all my life. When I’m
there, its like I’m automatically understood
and taken in by everyone there. They
support me because they know me, like
in this way. There’s just this weird power
or force surrounding us all, which makes
us whole. It finally makes us complete. And
our family is all at home once again.”

(My dairy- “Superhero” 2-10-03).
I went to a few more meetings after that.
Didn’t really talk to too many people, got
some more phone numbers though, and
words of hope. Mainly, I was running my
own program. But going to the meetings
was the only thing that kept me sane, so
I kept going back. Not too often though,
only a couple of times per week. I joined
a group, but didn’t have a sponsor. So I
wasn’t all that connected to AA. But it
was keeping me sober. I had almost a
string of thirty days lined up, and then I
get to celebrate. (Every thirty, sixty, ninety,
six months and year thereafter are
celebrated.)   But then the worst thing
happened. I had a bad reaction to the
medication I was on and flipped out during
school one day. (However, the people
from AA would tell me it’s just in the
first 90 days of sobriety that made me
crazy.) The following Monday, I was
admitted to the hospital. It was like my
world had been shattered. Once again, I
was completely alone. It was one of the
worst feelings in the world. Knowing that
there was a whole other life out there that
you couldn’t interact with because you
were stuck. You were lost in time and
there is no possible way to reach all of
the people you once knew.

My friends weren’t all too surprised
when they found out. But they still started
crying on the phone when my mom called
them to tell them about me. I made sure to
call them collect every day during the
hours when I could use the only pay phone.

I remember my first night at the hospital.
I was crying myself to sleep and thinking,
“why can’t I just get better?” I thought
about all of my teachers and how much
they meant to me. Mentally, I made a
list of one good thing about each of them.
My Spanish teacher was always there to
give me a hug when I needed one. I
could rely on my social studies teacher
for a pat on the back and some words
from the heart. Although my Latin teacher
was slightly weird, he was never
judgmental of me and was the only
one who has never given up on me,
and who never will. My bio teacher had
grown to be like another one of my older
sisters and was always there to talk to
and boost my self-esteem with her high
energy. I went to my math teacher when
I needed to vent and ask for advice
when nobody else would listen to me
for two hours on a Friday afternoon.

Then there was my English teacher, who
was a lot like me in many ways. I decided
that I wanted to be remembered by them
as a success story, so I made myself a
simple goal: to be out of the hospital to
celebrate my thirty-day anniversary with
my home AA group.

So I did everything in my power in order
to get out by Sunday. I didn’t attain my
goal, but I did call someone from my
group on that day. (Who is now my
sponsor, Christie*.) She held up the
phone to the group and shouted, “Mandie
celebrates thirty days today!” In the
background I heard them all applauding
and cheering for me. I was there in spirit.
And through AA, I was going to be
okay. The following Tuesday I was
discharged, and my life began to get
back in order. However, I was still
running my own program with regards
to AA. Although I had a sponsor, I
wasn’t taking the suggestions that she
was giving me. Sooner or later, Christie
was beginning to get fed up with me.
Well, after an argument one night with
her, I relapsed. “The fact is that most
alcoholics, for reasons yet obscure, have
lost the power of choice in drink. Our so
called will power becomes practically
nonexistent. We are unable, at certain times,
to bring into our consciousness with
sufficient force the memory of the
suffering and humiliation of even a week
or a month ago. We are without defense
against the first drink.” (“Big book”, 24).
The next morning I felt fine though. I kept
thinking, “this is okay, I can take this. I’ve
got control.” That was my process of
thinking until I got my morning cup of
coffee. While I was chatting with my friends
by my locker before first period, I brought
the cup to my lips, and noticed that it was
shaking. Then I realized, the shaking was
due to withdrawal. I guess it wasn’t okay
after all.

That day during a bio lab class, I had a
panic attack. My bio teacher, who
knew about my issues, talked to me for
a couple of minutes as I sat curled up on
the bathroom floor. I confessed to her
my relapse and asked if I could call
my sponsor. She gave me three options:
go to guidance and call, go to the nurse,
or do the lab. I chose the third option.
In the end, I felt better knowing that I
had rode it out. Later that day I called
Christie and told her what happened
and that this time, I was committed.
And although I had all of these thoughts
running through my head, I knew that
I would make it through. “And I’m
scared because I want my life. I know
there’s a better life for me. This life
that I’m leading now isn’t’ the one
that is set up for me. I know I deserve
better than this.”

(My diary- “Sacrifice” 2-6-03).
I didn’t drink, but I cut myself during
Latin class when I was two days sober.
Guidance eventually found out, labeled
me “threat to self” and sent me back to
the hospital. Instead of being admitted,
I was put on mood stabilizers on top of
the other medication and was free to go.
Christie wasn’t too pleased when she
heard the news. She said I was just
substituting one behavior for another.
I had to stop my destructive behaviors
all together. I was still being stubborn
and running my own program though.
But one night put my whole life in
perspective. It was the night where I
finally was given enough love by AA
to fight down the alcohol for the first
time. And also the night, where I
overcame the river of denial of being
an alcoholic.

I was making room for my new shoes
when I came across a half of a liter of
tequila in my closet. When I saw it, a
great amount of fear came over me. I
knew I couldn’t drink it, because I knew
what would happen; my life would go
back to the chaos. But I wanted to, oh
did I want to! Somehow, some little
ounce of sanity came over me and I
picked up my cell phone and called
Christie to explain the situation to her.
She simply stated, “So? Dump it.” I
went nuts. “What??? I can’t do that!!!”
She then explained to me that normal
people could take it or leave it, but that
people like me and her couldn’t because
we were alcoholics. “Remember that we
deal with alcohol- cunning, baffling, powerful!”
(“big book”, 58-59). Multiple emotions fled
into my head. I couldn’t figure out which
way to turn. I told Christie that if I went
out, I’d be back tomorrow at a meeting.
She stated, “Yea, I’ve heard lots of people
say that and I’ve gone to their funerals.”
Finally, when she wasn’t getting through to
me, she got her own sponsor, Lucy*, on
the phone too and all three of us talked.
As I sat there, holding the bottle in my
hand, crying hysterically, I realized that
I couldn’t do this anymore. Nearing the
end of the conversation, there was a
half-liter of tequila running down the
roof into the gutter; my sobriety date
still remained at February fourth of two
thousand and three. I realized that I
couldn’t do this alone. This ideal that I
held about me being a superhero wouldn’t
have any good coming out of it. Maybe I
couldn’t do it, we can. Although it wasn’t
instant relief, I began to work my program
after that night. “To get what you never
got, you have to do, what you’ve never
done” is a phrase that sticks with me often.
So I decided that I would do the 90/90 thing.
(90 meetings in 90 days). Plus do the five
things every day. Pray to my higher power
(which is currently my yearbook), call my
sponsor, call another person in the group,
read a piece of AA literature and go to a meeting.
I can now say that I have a wonderful
sponsor who has stuck by me at all times,
and a great network of people who are
always there for me. Now, I look forward
to each day because I know I can make it
through, one day, one hour, one minute at
a time. Just for today I will try to live
through this day and not tackle my whole
life’s problems at once. And go to bed
knowing that I did the best I could do,
just for today.

Every night I will be in a room of people
who are getting to know me better and
can give me guidance, support, and that
unconditional love that I’ve always
needed. They take me right in at every
new place I go to a meeting. My new
favorite phrase is, ”always talk to strangers.”
I love my life now because of AA. It’s
where the heart is. Oh, and did I mention
that I love my life now? I am able to help
others through the twelve steps. How?
Through the internet, where I got my first
boost. I go back to my pro eating
disorder websites and post notes of
hope.

Already, I have turned people away from
suicide and have helped them to become
the better people they have always wanted
to be. I can now say that I have overcome
a lot and have hope to survive my future
challenges. My name is Mandie and I have
depression, anxiety, a mood disorder,
bulimia, and I’m a cutter and an alcoholic.
My support network includes my sponsor,
Christie, and other AA people, my therapist,
my teachers and friends. The day of my last
bulimic episode was on January 13th, 2003.
Day of my last cut was on February 6th, 2003.
Day of my last panic attack was on
February 4th, 2003. And my sobriety date
is and will always be February 4th, 2003.
(Hopefully.) Oh yea, and I’m having a good
day today. AA gave me my life back. Its still
a mystery how it works, but as they say
“it works-it really does.” (“Big Book” pg 8 )
Every day I look forward to my meeting. I
look forward to talking to Christie and my
other AA friends. Its weird how you can
connect and identify with a room complete
strangers. But there’s just some sort of
power in those rooms. I can feel it. Like
someone, somewhere wants us to succeed.
“Although things are getting rough, I’m still
determined to make it through. If I’ve gotten
this far, then obviously someone,
somewhere, wants me to make it. Someone,
somewhere…you don’t get this far unless
you’re going to survive. There’s someone
out there telling me to press on…I’m hanging
in there. I’ll make it. One day, one hour, one
minute at a time. I’ll be okay. I’ve still got a
chance at this thing called life.”

(My diary- “Someone Out There” 3-4-03).
I’ve found that acceptance I’ve been
searching for all my life. With my “gathered
family” I had finally reached home.

“Higher power, grant me the serenity to
accept the things I cannot change. The
courage to change the things I can. And
the wisdom to know the difference.
Keep coming back, it works if you work it.
So work it. You’re worth it. And live it!”

...And I still believe that after every storm,
a rainbow appears...that is my belief...this was my story...

~Mandie, now 16