Monday, January 2, 2012

My Problems with Alcohol: Growing up

I get asked a lot why I don't drink alcohol or if I believe that drinking is bad.  I believe drinking is bad for me.  I also believe that there isn't a single good thing that has ever come from drinking that can't be accomplished sober.  Yes, I believe it can be bad for you too.

 I am going to share reasons with you in parts. Why? To change your mind about alcohol? Maybe. To illustrate the progression of destruction in a person's life? Perhaps. Whatever my intent, doesn't matter.  What matters is, what you do with the information I am going to pour out on these pages.  My hopes are that it disturbs you enough to have a second thought or it stirs long enough to make a difference in your life.  I will not waste the opportunity to share these things with you because if God didn't intervene in my life, I wouldn't be here - I believe I was meant to share this with you.  I believe the Lord extends grace and mercy so that the terrible things that happen to us become stories of hope and redemption for others.  It also has a way of making us feel very uncomfortable; convicted.  It's suppose to because there are things about us that is begging for change. But will you listen or will you shrug it off as something that doesn't apply to you?

I needed
A reason to change and got 30+ years worth. 

Growing up, I was a very frightened child.  I can remember as a little girl, my mother and father fighting violently with one another.  When I look back, I cannot think of a single peaceful time in my home.  I am not just talking about my environment; I am also talking about my state of mind.  If my parents weren't fighting or I wasn't getting beat, I stayed on edge, anticipating the next episode. Is today the day my mother will be in a bad mood? This constant fear kept me withdrawn for the majority of my young years. I tried faking my way out of feeling this way but fear always found a way to get a hold of me.  It robbed me of any joy I could experience as a child.  I am certain there was suppose to be happy times growing up; I mean, there are photos of me smiling as a little girl. I really don't remember much of those times.

I can recall my mother going to the club at night; she says it was for work.  I would watch her get dolled up, she was beautiful, and leave me at home, alone.  The good about her leaving was, I felt this was a time for me to try and relax - to have a break from her punishments - I was always very tense.  The flip side of that was, what was I going to get when she returned home.  I have been woken up many times to her drunkenness, banging on the apartment door to let her in.  Not wanting to open and let in what was on the other side of that door, I always hesitated, my heart jumping out of my chest with each BANG BANG BANG! Hoping that once I turned the doorknob, she would just stumble into her bedroom and sleep it off.  I've had her high heels thrown at me.  Yelled at. Beaten in the middle of the night.  Rise in the morning, open the door to leave for school to find a pile of vomit on the front doorstep, along with her keys to the apartment still in the door, while a neighbor of mine looked at me with pity from the steps.  Yea, I was embarrassed; I was ashamed.

These episodes all came to an end when the last time I was beaten in the middle of the night was because I couldn't name every single item in my school bag, led to me being thrown out of the apartment with golf ball sized bumps on my head.  As I stood outside, trembling, somewhere around the age of 13, I had a choice to make.  Do I stand outside and wait for her to drag me back in the apartment to possibly kill me, or do I run, run far far away.  I ran, as fast as I can; I ran as far as I could.  I remember running up this really steep hill that felt like 5 miles long! It knocked the wind out of me, crying, hoping that when I saw headlights behind me, it wasn't her.  Please God, don't let it be her! I finally reached the top and ran into an apartment complex and hid under some stairs in the fetal position and just wept; not knowing what my next steps were going to be and what I was going to do.  What if she found me?  I thought for sure, she would kill me.

Will someone please save me?

2 comments:

  1. I know it is taking a lot for you to put these words down and share them with others, I am proud of you.

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  2. While this is so heartbreaking to read, and I never knew the vivid details before, I am so overjoyed that God saved you! Your courage nudges others to be courageous as well, and I hope many who feel hopeless find hope in the One who saves eternally. The greatest life is yet to come;-)Love you, Shanny. Thanks for sharing.

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