Top 7 Drunk and Alcoholic Related Episodes as a Kid
These episodes reflect only a small glimpse into my alcoholic past as a kid; Episodes of drunken debauchery or alcoholic misconduct that jumped into my head as soon as I began writing. These are by no means my worst drunkenly imbibed feats of idiocy, just the ones I feel I can safely share without too much of a backlash onto my self-esteem. ;) OH…and if you think this is just some good old-fashioned ‘drinking fun’… Keep reading. There’s a link to the story of my alleged alcoholic rehab (that was really a cult) at 15 in here somewhere.
Let the Kid Alcoholic Tomfoolery Begin
#1. I stole my Mom’s car when I was 14 or 15 when I was in a semi blackout drunk.
Even worse, my sister was with me and so was my best friend.It was around 2:00 am and I thought it was a good idea to take a drive. Let’s see… I ran some red lights, stopped at some green ones, drove into a ditch and amazingly found my way back home anyway.
Mom thought she’d busted me the next morning when she collected my purse from the car. A hungover me came to and couldn’t find my purse. I drunkenly and hungover-edly [hungover-edly?] walked past her in the kitchen, out the front door – looking very deliberate like I knew what I was doing – and checked the car thoroughly. My purse was gone! I walked back inside and went straight to my Mom – having no idea how I was going to get out of this one…
“Have you seen my purse?” She looked mildly amused, “No. Why?” Me: “Well I left it in the car, it turns out, when you dropped us off at Christine’s last night.” She looked thoughtful for a second, “Now that you mention it, you didn’t take it with you did you?” Me. “No. I accidentally left it in the car.” Her. “Oh honey… I thought maybe you’d taken the car in the middle of the night or something…” She went and fetched my purse. Me. “God Mom. You’re so funny.”
#2. When I was a minor, my friends and I would steal beer from convenience stores.
I have never been a thief [by trade or hobby] or a kleptomaniac…you know “needing” to steal for the thrill or joy of it. I tried to buy my beer, wine coolers or liquor, but when 21 yr olds weren’t available or we didn’t feel like selling out to the perverted men who would have gladly done it, we resorted to stealing. Here’s how we did it. [Yeah. I’m telling all the secrets of the alcoholics in training aren’t I? ]
We’d decide who was going to be the distraction before we went in. [It had to be a man behind the counter or we’d choose a different store.] I was usually the chosen distraction because I could flirt better and because I was a weenie when it came to shoplifting. [But sometimes I was the thief.]
Going in at different times so as to not look like we were together, the flirter/distractor would catch the attention of the clerk and make eye contact and ask stupid questions and hint as to what he was doing after work. The shoplifting friends would be in back shoveling beers into the over-sized bags they’d smuggle in. I wouldn’t quit flirting until my friends were safely back out the door…meantime insuring the clerk was not looking in that direction.
After maybe 3 or 5 more minutes, I’d either take his number, offer a fake number, or give some other vague promise, and leave.
#3. I was put into rehab at age 15.
Easily the worst 48 hours of my underage drinking, I got home and remember only bits and pieces of the entire day and night. I had blood on my arm and apparently – according to them – I told them I’d been hanging out with Don Johnson. They looked in the yearbook and there was no Don Johnson.
I don’t remember the trip to the E.R. but I do remember becoming combative. Flash forward an attempt to leave the hospital. Flash forward to waking up in my own bed the next morning.
Off to rehab I went and would stay for a few months. My BAL was apparently off the charts which is why this would be the #1 blackout episode of my life. Going to this place would be the worst episode – bar none – of my entire life.
#4. When I was 11, I drank screwdrivers [vodka and orange juice] and smoked the butts of my Mom’s discarded cigarettes as I practiced my mandatory piano lessons.
I actually started drinking – but not regularly – when I was in the 6th grade but didn’t get really drunk out of my mind and decided I liked it until I was 13. There was something so seemingly sophisticated about having a screwdriver and smoking stale butts from the ashtray as I practiced my piano lessons. After a long hard day at the 6th grade… well.
#5. I was 9 or 10 when I popped the top off a beer from the fridge.
The beer was my 1st step-dad’s beer and he drank a beer once in a blue moon. Back then the caps on the beer can were pull-offs. There was no un-doing it once you pulled it off. So here I am a little alcohol addict at 9 or 10 with a 9 or 10 year old brain that could not look past getting the top off. You think I’m making these things up. I assure you; No I’m not. Here’s what happened…
Parents weren’t home. That beer had been calling out to me for days. I remember. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I may have been practically a baby, but my alcoholic tendencies were already keeping up with every other growth spurt I was prone to.
So I’m thinking to myself and thinking hard. “I’ll only have one sip; I swear! No one will ever know.” I popped the top off. “Uh oh.” I remember at that moment knowing I was in big trouble! To this day, although I remember everything else, I still cannot remember if I had become so panic-stricken that I knew I better NOT drink it, or if I eventually did take a drink anyway, knowing I was doomed either way. I put the top back on top of the now-opened beer can and went about like nothing happened.
That would be the night, naturally, my Dad would want his beer. So he called me and my sister into the kitchen and asked who opened the beer. We both denied it. I denied it and had no problem lying because I knew if I ever admitted it, I was getting in big trouble! In the back of my mind I knew if I could just stick with the lie, he’d forget all about it.
I don’t remember how it came to be that my conscience started bothering me. I don’t remember if he began asking all the time and the more times he did, the more times I had to lie…or what. But one night I wrote a letter and told him I did it. I told him I was sorry I lied. I told him a lot of things I no longer remember but I do remember the sorrow for lying to him that had stayed with me in the pit of my stomach.
I called out, “Daddy! Here’s a note!” as I threw the note down the stairs to where he was. Then I promptly went to hide in my parents’ bedroom closet. [I just knew I was going to get a whipping!] Then I heard it! The creaking banisters that meant he was coming upstairs! “Oh God!” He was slow and deliberate and heavy.
After arriving up the stairs, he called me in his booming voice, “Samsara!” I didn’t move. No way. No way! I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to come clean so my conscience would leave me alone. Maybe he’ll go away if I squeeze my eyes shut! “Samsara!” He is not going to leave. The realization hit me and then I grew petrified. I had no choice. I was out of options. I had to go to him.
I walked down the hall slowly and he watched me. He was standing there, not moving and watching me walk slowly. As soon as I got to him, I looked up at him. For maybe 4 seconds he looked down at me and then he hugged me.
It’s been one of my best memories ever. I lied. He hugged me.
#6. I was so drunk I thought the stuff on the bathroom floor was Coke Slurpee.
Uh. Yeah. No, I didn’t drink it. Who drinks stuff from the bathroom floor? Anyway…I think it was the culmination of the events that I remember most. Naturally, it involved my being drunk. Here’s what happened…
My sister and I had been out to a party the night before the “coke slushee” incident. I wanted to stay and continue my drink on. Kshama did not. She wanted to go home. She implored me to come on. [We were sharing the car our Mom gave us.] I told her to go on and I’d get a ride. Long drunken Jerry Springer story made shorter, I wanted to fight. She kicked my drunken ass. I felt no pain so I kept trying to bring her back down. In the end, she got in the car and left.
I drank some more and got a ride home. When I got home, Mom and sis were gone. An hour or so later they got home. Turned out they went to go find me. My face looks like I’ve just had my behind kicked and Mom is telling me how Kshama’s hair is still coming out. [Am I seriously supposed to have sympathy for this? My boyfriend had started calling her Tyson as a result of the marks she put on my face!]
Feeling like dog-shit, once again, a feeling not unfamiliar in my drunken life, I decided to end it. I swallowed a lot of pills, attempted a suicide note but couldn’t decide on one that didn’t sound pathetic, got scared I actually would die and called 9-1-1. Got scared they’d send an ambulance and wake my family up, I hung up on them. They called back. “Shit!” I answered and whispered, “Hello?” But not before my 2nd step-dad answered at the same time. Then I hung up. My Mom came in the bedroom and told me to quit playing with the phone.
“I should die. Then she’d feel bad about telling me not to play with the phone!” Next thing I know…
When my Mom woke me up from a drunken stupor and asked me what that stuff was on the bathroom floor was the next morning, I was so drunk still that I really thought it was Coke Slushee so I told her, “Coke Slushee.” She told me, “Well get it cleaned up before I get home from work.” I passed back out.
When I woke up 8 hours or so later, I’d forgotten all about it until I had to go to the bathroom whereupon I would remember my Mom waking me up and showing me and telling me to clean it up. Because I was always the drunk one, it made sense I would have “made the mess” and therefore would have to clean it up. But my sister had problems keeping her butthole in check when she drank…so theoretically the chances are higher than average it was hers because on that particular night we’d both been out to a party. But there again, there is the theory that the reason I didn’t die that night is that by some miraculous event that did not leave my clothes soiled, or my feet for that matter…perhaps…perhaps it was my own expulsions.
I still don’t know whose it was or where it came from but two things are certain: It was not Coke Slushee [or Coke Slurpee] and cleaning it up was seriously nasty. For the record, I still do not know why I said, “Coke Slushee” or “Coke Slurpee” because to this day I have NEVER EVER had such a thing.
#7. I vomited beside myself in front of the entire line.
I was escorted outside from the underage club I hung out at because the rule was no drinking. They did not sell alcohol and if they thought you were drunk they would escort you outside and usually kick you out altogether. But I was a regular so I was “invited” to get some fresh air for a while.
It seemed like a good idea with my mini-skirt on to just go ahead and sit on the sidewalk up against the building. The line was maybe 15 people out and it did not occur to me to be embarrassed as I thought it might be a good idea to lay down on the sidewalk and have a little nap.
When I woke up from my little nap, the line had gotten much longer and so I thought it best if I tried to look like I knew what I was doing as I was sitting on the concrete up against the building. So there I am sitting up against the building and smiling up at the people who were looking at me and trying to look as sophisticated and together as I could look when…oh no…here it comes… I turned my head and yakked all beside the right side of myself onto the concrete.
I felt so much better. Like I said, it did not occur to me to feel embarrassed.
Public Service Announcement
Kids Have Alcoholism too
But if you do think you may have a drinking problem, you are not alone – even if you’re a kid. You don’t have to be 30, 40, or 50 to be an alcoholic. You can be 13 – like I was. You can be full on into fatal alcoholic progression by 14 – like I was. You are not alone. There is help available.
You are never too young to be an alcoholic. Here are some signs that had I known about at 13, 14, 15, it may not have taken me as low as I did eventually go.
If you drink and you crave more… If, when you drink, you cannot just stop; meaning that to stop would cause distress… If you can stop drinking alcohol anytime you want to (and never seem to want to)… If you engage in regrettable behaviors when you drink… If you would make different decisions while sober… If you sometimes stop drinking following an episode of something you regret just to see if you can but then start cycling again later… If it confounds you to see a person finish their drink while alcohol is still in it… you might be an awesome candidate for alcoholism.
Do you know that there is an entire movement of young people in the alcoholic recovery community? Yep. Young people. Whether 15, 20, 25 or even 30…it’s a part of Alcoholics Anonymous especially congregated so young people can not feel alone; so young people can get and stay sober. [Young People and A.A.]
If you’re a kid, a minor, or a young person who thinks she may have a drinking problem, or you think you may know a young person who has a drinking problem, I have resources that may be able to help:
- Alcoholics Anonymous Website
- Find an A.A. Meeting @ the AA website
- Read the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous Online
- Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous
- Alcohol Recovery Books from my Bookstore [New and Used]
- Alcoholic Recovery Articles at Living Samsara
- Help an Alcoholic Stop Drinking Article
- Stop Drinking without Alcoholics Anonymous Article
For Family and Friends…
- Al-Anon and Alateen Family Services Website
- Al-Anon Recovery Books from my Bookstore [New and Used]
- Codependent Articles at Living Samsara
- Recovery Articles at Living Samsara
- Codependent Recovery Books from my Bookstore [New and Used]
- Help an Alcoholic Stop Drinking Article
Since I’ve been sober, things like this don’t happen anymore.
Thanks for reading & take care of yourself.