arrest

Light at the End of the Tunnel, Part I

Miss A 2 Comments

I have been arrested twice for drunk driving.  I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t wreck, I had no children in the vehicle, or any other complications which would compound my guilt.

Let me tell you what it’s like to be under 30 with two very highly stigmatized arrests.  Since my last arrest in April of 2015, I have been incredibly depressed.  I until about a month ago, I would cry at the smallest reminder of my situation.  Even though I had accomplished many things in life, I felt unworthy of love, success, or escape from my situation.  I simply felt like a lesser human being.  I constantly fretted about how I would pay my student loans since I couldn’t get a good job, how I would explain my lack of success to my former law school classmates or family, how long I could pretend to be “normal” and “happy” with my life, and what I could possibly say to my future children about what I did.

I lost a man I loved because of the arrest.  I had to listen to the “I told you so” lecture from friends and family, and I learned that people will forgive mistakes, but they will not forgive patterns.  After my first DWI, people shook their head, chuckled, and said it could happen to anyone.  After my second one, I was isolated, and I could hear buzzing in my ears from people talking about how foolish I was.  It is extremely lonely.  I gave up on trying to be friend with the people I had been close to in my past with a few exceptions because, even if it wasn’t true, I felt those people were judging me.

For example, I went to a wedding for a girl I used to call my best friend in August of 2015, four months after my arrest.  Of course, she knew about my issues.  I drank at her wedding, and she came by the table and I made a joke about some of her coworkers that was inappropriate.  Everyone at the table had just been talking about the same thing, and they encouraged me to say something.  I often make jokes that cross the line, so it really had nothing to do with the drinking – that was just my personality.  After I told it to her and everyone laughed, she pursed her lips, shook her head, and just walked away.  I felt hurt of course – she was a great friend and I had offended her on her wedding day.  I found her outside later and said I was sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.  She said…yeah, I know how you are when you’re drinking.   The thing is, no. she. fucking. didn’t. She didn’t know anything about my problems, because she never cared to ask, and she was so rude that I always worried that she would ridicule or judge me if I opened up to her.  I asked my date if we could leave, and I couldn’t even wait until we got to the car to start crying.  He went to find her and told her I was crying, and she came to the car and said – get this – “I’m sorry if my friends were mean to you.”  I just shook my head and told her don’t worry about me, go back and have fun. I really considered our friendship over at that point, and I never actually told her what she did or how much it hurt me.  The thing I learned from that episode?  1) If you are afraid to open up to someone, they are not your friend, and 2) once you fuck up, everyone will judge you and see you as a product of your addiction.

After my arrest, I would get irrationally angry.  One small argument would result in me locking myself in a closet, threatening to kill myself, crying until I could no longer withstand the pain in my abdomen, or screaming and saying horrible things that I regretted as soon as they left my lips.  I would tell my boyfriend to just leave me, that I wasn’t worth anything, that he could find a better woman literally anywhere.  I  wasn’t trying to taunt him or beg for attention, I actually felt that.  I worked for a very awful boss (70 years old, power hungry, narcissistic jackass attorney who believed women belonged in the home and made blatant sexist comments to me an others), and even though I can usually deal with geriatric shit stains like him easily, every time we would get in a confrontation (read: weekly) I would cry.  I just couldn’t handle criticism nor friction.  Imagine a life like that!  It was just awful.

Little by little though, things started to change…

Diary Entry: May 7, 2016

Miss A Leave a comment

Yesterday I received a letter from my lawyer asking for $9,000 and advising that my BAC for my DWI 2nd was 0.125.

Standing outside of my apartment reading the letter, I felt as if Freon was coursing through my veins.  I was cold, shaky, and honestly shocked.  I entered the apartment after a few moments in the passageway.  My husband, who was finally home after 2 1/2 weeks on a rig, was blissfully unaware of my emotional state, was cheerful as usual as he did the dishes.  I tried to maintain my composure for his sake.  I failed.

I went into the bedroom and shut the door, then cried as if I had lost a loved one.  It actually hurt.  My jaw is still twitching today, nearly 16 hours later.

He wants to understand what is going on in my mind, and I want to tell him.  In order to do so, I must understand it myself.  There is a mosaic of emotion in my mind, and the part of glass which catches the most sunlight is the color that shines through, even if it’s the not shade I wish to focus on at the moment.  This leaves with the monumental task of controlling the sun.  Here goes nothing…

  1. The first thing I feel is ANGER.  I am angry at myself for being so dumb, for ruining my career for an insignificant night with people who are not even my real friends.  I feel angry at the smug officer who arrested me.  I feel angry with the justice system for not adjudicating my case despite it occurring over a year ago.  I feel angry at the Texas Board of Law Examiners for denying my licence for a mistake I made even though I am paying the price for it every single day.  I feel angry at my friends and family for sweeping my addiction under the rug (and even encouraging it sometimes) instead of giving me the slap in the face I needed.
  2. I feel HOPELESS.  I lost hope in getting a law license in Texas and Oklahoma. I lost hope in getting a job that will pay my bills.  I lost hope in even getting an hourly job for which I am overqualified and underpaid because I can’t pass a background check.
  3. I feel FEAR and ANXIETY.  If I can’t be a lawyer and I am limited in other job options, I will not be able to pay my bills.  I have 5K in credit card debt and 200K in student loan debt.  My money will go to bills and court fees while I empty my savings and drown in interest.  In 5-7 years, when my background will be less of an issue, I will be near 40, and I don’t know that I will still be sharp enough to convince anyone that I deserve a second third chance.
  4. I also feel SHAME.  I see my friends celebrating success in their careers while I am working as a part-time envelope stuffer.  I wonder what I will tell my kids about my life.  I wonder who knows about my history and what people are saying behind my back.  I feel ashamed to spend time with my professional friends who didn’t fuck everything up for themselves.  How do I explain to them that I put myself in mental and professional catharsis?
  5. I feel LONELY.  I don’t associate with other criminals, so there is not a single person in my life who can understand what I am going through.  I can tell people how I feel, and they will nod and sympathize and tell me everything is going to be OK.  But, maybe it won’t.  I know that, but they can’t possibly know.  Maybe my life really is on hold and it will continue to be miserable for the foreseeable future.  I am not a pessimist, but the truth is not always caked in glitter.
  6. I feel like a FRAUD.  When I was in law school, I was always terrified.  I kept fighting, studying, working…but on the inside, I was so self-conscious.  I thought everyone else had their lives together, that they were sure of themselves and the path they chose.  I was a kitten among lions, just waiting for someone to see right through me.  I still feel that sense of inadequacy and I simply don’t know why.  I have the brains and the talent, but something is preventing me from executing.  It was, at least. Now my pending trial has all but made me completely abandon all hope to chase my 24-year-old dream of being an attorney.
  7. I feel spectacularly UNMOTIVATED.  I don’t care about my looks, my cooking, reading, writing, keeping the house in order, setting personal goals – I don’t care about anything.  I wake up, do what I have to do for the day, then retreat into myself.  I numb my mind with hookah and TV.  I avoid talking to friends and family and even my husband.  I have no sex drive.  I have no joy.  Living like this is not living, but I don’t have the fight in me to change it anymore.

How does one re-invent themselves at 29?  What I always wanted is no longer an option, and so many doors of possibility are now closed.  And it’s all my fault.  I carry concrete bricks on my shoulders everywhere I go.  Before, I was hanging onto the glimmer of hope that I would have a low BAC and be found not guilty.  Now, that seems foolish.  The hopelessness I feel in this case is leaking into other parts of my life.

I know I have to change.  What I am doing isn’t fair to myself nor those around me. But how?  How do I pick up all these broken pieces when it hurts to get off the couch?  Others turn to faith, but I have none.  I loathe AA for all the false hope its attendees have. I can’t afford therapy.  Saying “no” and “I can’t” constantly is cancerous to the mind, but how do I convince myself otherwise?

My mental decline has affected my physical health as well.  I am always tired.  I broke my wrist 6 months ago and it simply didn’t heal.  I got my first-ever bladder infection.  My cramps have intensified.  I am prone to headaches and nausea.  I was always so strong, healthy, and energetic until about one year ago.  Now I am a roll of dough, absorbing every knead.  Fuck, how did I let this happen?

I don’t really know how to end this entry.  I should end with some resolution to change or some promise to myself that I will stop this selfish behavior and be the best person I can despite my circumstances.  I can’t do that this time.  I don’t know if someday I will laugh about this period of my life or look down from some high-rise office and remember when I through I couldn’t do it.  But for now, the score is Life: 1, Amber: 0.

 

****Not part of my diary entry, but I though it important to note here that I am not looking for sympathy, condescending remarks, or affirmation. I am using this blog as an outlet and if anything good comes out of it, it should be to help people like me in knowing that they are not alone in these battles.  Thanks.   -A

Real Talk: Life as an Alcoholic, Part II

Miss A 1 Comment

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.

baby lawyer

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.

 

gaylord

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.

rebecca

I wasn’t kidding.  Total train wreck.

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…