This is a continuation of a previous post.  Read Part I here!

If you thought my last entry was sobering (yak yak yak), buckle your seatbelt.  The next chapter is where it all started to catch up.

Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of going to law school.  I have no idea why.  Perhaps I saw a television show which made it look interesting, or maybe I was convinced it would bring me fame and riches.  Regardless of the source, I stuck to this goal without actually considering that I wasn’t too interested in the law and maybe my talents would be better suited in another field.  Sitting here now, I feel like the young men and women who complain that they didn’t chase their dreams after high school because their parents were forcing them to follow a particular career path.  I was my own dictator, and I really wish I had the courage and foresight to stand up to myself.

When I got accepted into law school, I was naturally excited, but also panicked. I had a job that I loved at a huge resort, a lifestyle that I had become accustomed to, and a social life that was rich and full of new experiences. I really had it all.  Giving all of that up was something I saw as necessary – I wanted to move on to bigger and better things and have some impressive degree.  Now, more than anything, I wish I would have stayed there and enjoyed that life.  I could have easily moved up the ranks, shipped out (the hotel was purchased by Marriott, and employees can transfer all around the world), or stayed in my position making a livable salary and loving my life.

 

The Gaylord Texan Resort in Grapevine, Texas (the hotel that still has my heart)

The acceptance letter, to me, was sort of the announcement of a prison sentence.  I knew I couldn’t do any of the things I loved during law school and my life would be constantly controlled by the need to turn in assignments, read cases, research, etc.  So I started to make dumb choices.  A lot of them.

My first bad move was hanging out with a group of promoters.  These are folks who get paid to throw parties at clubs – they get a commission per head, they get free drinks, and they get VIP and after-party passes.  Now, I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I don’t like partying. I really don’t.  I feel anxious and out of place at bars and clubs, even though I have had years of experience working in such establishments.  I was never one of the “cool kids” – always a lone ranger of sorts.  As you recall, I drink more than normal when I am anxious.  Boozing it up, once again, became an activity that I did nearly every night of the week.  My parents told me to stop, my friends said I was “a little much,” my bank account was drained and I looked and felt like shit regularly.  But you better believe I convinced myself I was having a great time.

Law school was not the only external stressor in my life at that time.  My family was also a huge contributor to my drinking.

(Let me say something here. I agree with what you are thinking – no one can make you drink but YOU.  However, the people you love and spend most of your time with can absolutely contribute to your level of stress.  I don’t care how much you meditate – if your home life is a wreck, it’s a wreck.  They way I dealt with stress was drinking.  Bad choice?  Yes. My fault?  Yes.  Did I cause my own stress? Not completely.)

 

I intend to writing a separate post on this, so I will spare you the details – but at the time I was filling out my law school applications through when I started classes, my stepfather was having an affair with his first wife.  Not just a casual once-a-week after work sort of thing…but he moved out of the house and only communicated with my mother to discuss bills and other necessities.  At that time, my mother was drinking heavily, she dropped 50 pounds, and she was actually not a mother at all, but more like a sister who fell off the deep end.  Concurrently, my stepfather’s mother was literally dying of lung cancer and refused to stay in a nursing home, so my parent’s house (where I lived) doubled to serve a as a hospice unit.  Our formal dining room was converted into a hospital room of sorts, complete with a toilet, bedpan, and medical supplies so that my mother could administer morphine drips and the like.  To recap, the house smelled like death, my mom was practically manic, my brother and I were both drinking tons, the “man” of the house was off playing house elsewhere, and my brother’s firstborn, who my mother raised, was only 11 at the time and needed tons of attention and supervision. Good times.

So, one of those nights I headed out with one of my promoter friends.  He was a Venezuelan guy who went by “Toto.”  He got me into a Latin concert at the House of Blues with free admission, valet, and drinks. The night was so-so; I didn’t know the band and I didn’t know anyone there, but I was convinced it was a cool thing to do.  As the night went on, I got completely hammered by mixing drinks on an empty stomach.  I agreed to go to an after party, then another after party, at which point I was near a blackout.  Toto was driving my car because I definitely couldn’t, and he agreed to take me to his home and let me sleep it off at his place.  We got there and all was well.  I was in safe, I had a roof over my head, and I wasn’t driving.  Unsurprisingly, it didn’t stay that way.

I went to the restroom to get sick for a while, and my brilliant drunk brain thought it would be a good idea to just sleep there.  Toto lived with family and couldn’t have a girl in high heels and a miniskirt passed out in his bathroom, so he pulled me out and placed me in his bed, where I immediately passed out.  I awoke several minutes later at the sensation of movement.  Surprise surprise…Toto thought the drunk girl in his bed was an easy catch.  I was completely uninterested in that man, and I wasn’t about to let anything happen despite his feigned generosity chauffeuring me around.  I got up, demanded my keys and started being simply cantankerous.  Though he warned multiple times that I couldn’t drive, he eventually gave in so that my screaming wouldn’t interrupt his family or neighbors.  I got in my car and started driving.  I had no idea how to get home, I knew I just wanted to get our of there.    As if he knew, Toto called to warn me that there were many cops in the area. As soon as the words left his lips, I saw the lights behind me.  I had been pulled over when I was drinking previously, and I thought I could get out of this one.  I was wrong.

I pulled over into a gas station parking lot.  The reason?  I didn’t have the front license plate on my vehicle.  The real reason?  It was 2AM on a Saturday in a small town and these cops needed to feed their families. I performed the field tests (more on this later – you will NEVER get out of a DWI for your performance on these tests) and talked to the officers. I was so polite with them because I had never been pulled over.  They were polite right back, but they still had to arrest and charge me.  I wasn’t handcuffed, they talked to me all about getting into law school, and they apologized that they had to make the arrest.  It actually did make me feel better, even though that was the beginning of a long terrible journey.

That night, I slept in a freezing jail cell in Rowlett (Dallas County) and called Toto for bail the next day.  I was too embarrassed to call my parents.  I went to eat with him and his father and they assured me that everything was going to be fine.  I believed it, since I personally know so many people with DWIs.  I went home that evening, took a shower, and slept.   On Monday, I went to work as usual.  I got a phone call on my way home from my mother.  She found out about the DWI because of the 50+ advertisements we received from DWI lawyers around the metroplex (when you get arrested, your charge is available on the county database – lawyers can target you based on why you were arrested).  She was furious and I tried to explain to her that it was already in the past and that I would deal with it.  All of the sudden, she said she needed to go because my grandmother just died.  If that’s not a scene made for a Lifetime movie, I don’t know what is.

For those of you who don’t know, Dallas county is huge; and there is a TON of crime there.  There were over 99,000 arrests last year in Texas for DWIs alone.  My plea would not occur until 18 months later – after I had completed my first year of law school, had a birthday, became a student teacher, and all but forgot about the charge. The drinking continued, but I was a lot more careful with driving.  I only drove when I was REALLY not intoxicated. Several times I offered to be the DD and had no issue with it.  For a while, I calmed down.  I didn’t get drunk, I focused on school, and I tried to get my life back on track.  I definitely wasn’t prepared, however, for the amount of binge drinking involved in law school.

First year law students are able to drink at every turn.  Mixers held at the school have wine and beer.  The administrators and professors encourage students to get involved with local bar associations and the like – and all of the events have drink tickets.  Law school socials are held around town at bars.  There are no classes held on Fridays, so Thursday nights are the…well…I don’t remember most Thursday nights of my 1L year.  I made some mistakes that gave me a couple of enemies, I developed crushes that would never amount to anything, and by the time I made it to my third year, I realized I hated everyone and just wanted to graduate.

Interestingly, during law school orientation, a few hours are dedicated to substance abuse issues.  After dentists, it is believed that lawyers have the next highest rate of substance abuse issues as an industry.  How those statistics are gathered or their accuracy is questionable (as with any statistics) but going to law school and working in a law firm made me a firm believer that if you don’t drink heavily, you must be a yoga instructor or a heroin addict.  Though I had already been arrested for a DWI, and I had all of the negative experiences I mentioned in my previous post and then some…I still didn’t think I was at risk for that. Not me!  I just had a temporary, one-time slip up.

If only that were true.

To be continued…