I am blessed to know some amazing friends. This time of year is a big reminder to me of how the people I care about have influenced and made my life better. I am a lucky woman and a connoisseur of fine people. For years I hated the holidays, but over the last few years I have grown to find it magical. Trees bedecked with twinkling lights, silly music, but most importantly, shared moments with friends celebrating the bounty of our lives, good food, lots of spirits.
Christmas 1985 was a hard time in my life. I was 11 years old, and on December 24, my father kidnapped me. He and my mother had a huge fight in the front yard of my mother's house. I remember hyperventilating salty tears, it was probably the most violent cry I have ever experienced. After my parent's fight, my father sped off with me in the car. We did not even stop at home to pack bags. He drove into the night and across state lines. We spent Christmas Day in Santa Fe, New Mexico, eating dinner with strangers I had never met. I was not allowed to call my Mom or my brother. It was one of the saddest evenings I have ever spent. Ultimately, I was able to convince my Dad to return home on December 27. He realized his idea to run away was fool hardy. It was only 6 months later that he did run away again (bringing me with him to California), and this time we never returned home.
Christmas 1993 was another sad one. My father had sank into a deep depression and had not left the couch for one week. He picked a brutal fight with my brother, and Tigh and I decided to leave on Christmas Eve. All 3 of us were living in a 1 bedroom apartment in Las Vegas. I was 18 years old. That Christmas Eve, Tigh and I drove to Death Valley. We pooled our money together and bought a 12 pack of beer and stayed in a cheap motel. We got up at dawn and drove through Death Valley. It was chilling and stark, much like our life with our Dad was.
I write about this, because it brings me to my New Year's Resolutions. 2012 will be my year of no alcohol. My body and my mind needs a break. Some believe that you stop emotionally maturing when you first start abusing alcohol. I began drinking heavily at age 12, right after the drama started about running away with my Dad and my Mom had left us. I have always been able to keep my "poop in a group" and be successful at most things I try. I do not have great self confidence however, and often find myself drinking a bit excessively at social functions, usually due to nerves and low self esteem. Although I deem myself a connoisseur of fine people, I do not always consider myself to be a fine person. This can be a real drag for the friends I am hanging out with, and the overindulgence in alcohol ends up being a real drag on my body and psyche too. This year I want to allow that hurt child inside me to truly heal.
On December 10, 2012 I will write about how it felt to not drink for one year. I look forward to a year without hangovers. I look forward to pursuing relationships with people that do not involve cheap wine. I look forward to allowing myself to accept me in all my beauty. I look forward to moving forward, away from the stark Christmas memories and into the magical ones.
- ► 2012 (14)
- ▼ 2011 (25)
- ► 2009 (12)