I was fourteen years old, and had just started my freshman year at a small Catholic private school in my rural town. My graduating class was only three people, including myself.
Now, I had been home schooled up to that point with the exception of fifth grade in a disastrous attempt to start public school. I was bullied a lot. My two single "friends" would take me out to the field during recess and take turns hitting me and kicking me in the stomach. One of the girls lived on a farm and would occasionally wear steel toe boots. It hurt like hell. My teachers monitoring our class would intentionally turn the other way. I don't think they really cared all that much.
I became violent at home. I was full of pent up rage. I'd tell my little sister that I hated her and would stomp off to my room. My only escape was a good book. At home, things weren't that much better. My mother emotionally abused me and my sisters to no end, but that is a story for another day.
Because of the bullying, I was very anxious to start at another school, and terrified of being bullied again. I was glad for our uniforms because I didn't want to have to think about looking cool.
I was cutting a lot. I kept a razor hidden in my pencil pouch. Cutting, burying myself in books, and playing The Legend of Zelda were the only ways I could calm myself. I cut in the school bathrooms between classes.
I made friends with a girl a grade above me. We'll call her Lilly. There was something about Lilly that made me feel like she would understand me, that she was going through similar things. I distinctly remember sitting across from her during lunch and seeing her eyes water as she bit into her sandwich. I could feel her pain. I didn't know what she was going through, but I knew she was in terrible pain, just like me.
We got talking about having a sleep over. My abusive mother had barely ever let me go to a friend's house, and certainly not a sleep over, because she wasn't able to control me there. It was probably my dad who said yes, but either way I was pumped to go.
I stood on Lilly's front step beside my mother. Lilly's mom opened the door and let us in. Her mom had eleven piercings in her ears, each for one of her children. I loved the idea of a piercing for each child- it was certainly a lot more unique than those necklaces women wear. A graphic crucifix hung on the wall. Our moms talked with each other for a while, and finally Lilly and I were left to do whatever, so we went to a grocery store at around 10 PM to buy snacks and Coca-Cola. I told her about my cutting. She told me about her drinking. She was the first person I ever told that I self injure.
We went into her much older brother's room. He was in his late twenties, and I felt grown up that he was hanging out with us, while he smoked and burned incense. We just sat around talking. Her brother took the Coca-Cola and began pouring us our drinks.
He handed me a red Solo cup. It smelled a little weird, but I couldn't quite put a finger on it. I took a swallow. Something was wrong with it. I hesitated a moment. Lilly and her brother were laughing and talking about something. It was close to eleven by then. I slowly took another sip.
It was on that sip that I realized there was rum in the drink. Her brother, in his late twenties mind you, had mixed two girls, ages fourteen and fifteen, rum and coke.
Guilt flooded me. I wasn't tired because I was too excited about the sleep over, but I lied to my friend and her brother. "I'm tired. I'm not used to staying up this late. I think I'm going to go to bed." I was worried they'd laugh at me, but they were cool about it. I went into her room and stared at the moon for hours, telling myself I was an evil child, a horrible person, that I was worthless. It wasn't so much that I was angry at myself for drinking, but I had a habit of telling myself these things, and even taking two swallows of alcohol gave me an excuse to beat myself up even more. The thoughts played on a loop in my head, and I could never stop the mocking voice that was my conscious. I stayed awake for hours. I could hear my friend and her brother laughing and talking in the room next to me. I prayed for her.
I don't quite remember the exact sequence of the following events, but basically, her mom finally woke up from the commotion and discovered that her adult son was giving us teen girls alcohol. She got Lilly cleaned up, and gave her coffee. Finally Lilly came into her room. She was terribly drunk, slurring words at me about how her mom found out. I was overcome with guilt. Should I have stopped Lilly and told her that I wanted her to come with me? I didn't know what to do in the entire situation. I talked with Lilly for a long time. I remember her walking to her door to go to the bathroom, probably to vomit, and declaring "that, that was a straight line." It kind of was, if I ignored the fact that she had to stop half way through to regain her balance. She swore to me that she'd stop drinking from now on.
After she settled into bed, I stayed awake until 6 AM, listening to the comforting sound of her snores. Her snores meant she wasn't choking and dying if she vomited in her sleep. I finally allowed myself to close my eyes, and it was suddenly eight or nine in the morning. I hadn't meant to fall asleep.
Lilly didn't die. Instead, we got up at the same time, had breakfast, and then went to the mall with her brother. It was my first time in Hot Topic. He bought a bottle of hot pink Manic Panic. We went to a thrift store. Her brother later shaved his hair into a Mohawk and used the Manic Panic. I was so worried about telling my parents that I'd drank, but when I got home I told my mother. She was furious with me, just as I suspected. My dad was calm about it. He was concerned about Lilly's mom not supervising us well than he was with me drinking. I only listened to my mother hurl her standard insults at me. I knew I deserved it because she had always taught me that I was worthless. Stupid. That me simply being born was a mistake. My poor father had no idea she was telling me these things. She told me that if I ever let him know what she was saying to me, that my dad would murder me.
If there was any one thing I could have done differently that night, it would have been getting my friend to come to bed with me at the same time I did, but honestly, she needed to get that drunk so she could see how concerned I was, and that someone loved her. That seemed to be her wake up call. Thankfully, she stopped drinking underage altogether after that night.
Who cares what my abusive mother said to me. My dad was right, and I can see that now. Nine years later, and I can finally appreciate my maturity in the situation. Kudos, fourteen years old me. Lilly moved away years later. We keep in touch, but I miss her company. I hope she knows that I still love her dearly, even with all the miles between us now.
