Tag Archives: alcohol

June 11, 2012 · 10:02 am

My first abortion

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I fell in love for the first time ten years ago, well at least what I thought was love. He was the typical bad boy – the one everyone warns you about; involved in drugs, a player and egotistical. I never listened, and yes my heart got broken and I did things I never expected I would do. However, I do not regret it as it has lead me to be the person I am today and I am very content within myself.

The first few months of being with him are indescribable; exciting to say the least. A bit of playing hard to get, the excitement when you hear your phone beep and hoping it was from him, the first kiss the list goes on. I was falling and falling hard. Up until I had met him I had always believed I was strong, a girl who knew what she wanted and that wouldn’t settle for less – I had a mouth on me and I knew how to use it. I was the girl that never relied on anyone to pay for me, pick me up, make me happy – I was rather independent. That was until he came along, I was completely under his “control”. He made me question my beliefs, the way I dressed, the way I spoke, the way I carried myself. He was molding me into what he thought would be the perfect girlfriend. My moods became erratic, I would lash out at those closest to me when they would try talk to me; in other words I became a b*cth. Friends and family would caution me about him when I would tell them his latest antics – and I would always have an excuse to cover up his bad behavior.

A couple of months down the line, I became an emotional mess. One key moment was whilst we were watching a movie I broke down in tears of jealousy over an actress that was beautiful – I was convinced he would rather be with her than me! I couldn’t understand it – this was not my behavior. I noticed other changes and somewhere in the back of my mind I thought to myself “maybe I am pregnant”. It definitely was probable because there were sometimes when we did not practice safe sex and I had to go get the morning after pill. I confided in my friend and she offered to take me to the pharmacy after school (I was in Matric at this time). Off we went on her scooter, laughing and joking about it. Surely I wasn’t pregnant? Alas three tests later and I was definitely pregnant! Sh*t, now what?

To say the boyfriend wasn’t thrilled is an understatement, he immediately got on the phone to his older brother and asked where I could get an abortion! He broke down and said that his father would kill him and I was far too young to be a mom. I don’t know if I should just blame it on the hormones, the love I felt for him or the lack of maturity on my side but I agreed to go the next morning and have the abortion.

We arrived at the clinic, a dodgey little shop in the middle of town. I was shivering, starving and petrified, the boyfriend tried to comfort me and tell me that we were doing the right thing. We walked in and sat down in a queue of people and I just knew right then there was no way I could do this without speaking to my parents first (I am the only child and have an extremely close relationship with my parents – just shows you how toxic this relationship was that I did not go to my mom straight away). I burst into tears and told him I could not do it without speaking to my mom, he told me that it was fine but that he would never step foot in my parents house again.

I roped in my best friend and we told my mother, which then lead to telling father, obviously they were not happy and rather disappointed but they were as always caring and supportive. Both my parents agreed that an abortion would be best for me; my best friend also seemed to think so as well. So now I had four people rooting for an abortion and now that I think of it no one asked me if that’s what I wanted. I suppose subconsciously I had made up my mind as well. We went the following Monday to book an appointment with a reputable family clinic, where I was well informed of the procedure and the effects it would have on me – the lady I spoke with was amazing and she really put my mind to ease. I was booked in for the Wednesday and the abortion would be done under anesthetic.

The morning arrived; my mom and best friend would be coming with me. The boyfriend had to work – never mind we bumped into him and his brother at the garage – they were on their way home from a party! Yet still, I covered up for him and said just maybe that was his way with dealing with it. It was not the traumatic experience I thought it would be but I would put that to the fact that I was under anesthetic and had some really amazing support from my mom and best friend as well as the staff at the clinic.

That night my parents had to go to a work function and my boyfriend came over but he would rather have been at his ex-girlfriends 18th birthday party. Right that was the perfect way to end an emotional day! He eventually left for the party and I was left alone to my own devices and all I remember is feeling numb. I knew I should be upset, crying – I had just aborted a tiny little baby! Maybe I should have felt relieved? It was over and I could move on but I felt nothing. I have this ‘thing’ that when I am confronted with matters that really get to my heart I either push them back as far as I can or I make light of it, I never fully deal with it. My coping mechanism I suppose.

Or my coping mechanism could have been the copious amounts of alcohol consumed, the experimenting with drugs and a one night stand (stories for another day), or finally forgiveness. It has taken me a long time – I initially seemed to have “forgotten” but not forgiven, but I am happy to say that I have finally forgiven myself and found a sort of sense of peace – I will never forget but I hope that I have learnt from it. The abortion and unhealthy relationship led me to take some very wrong turns, but there was a lesson at every turn and boy did I learn them. I have changed my life around completely and am strong in my convictions, beliefs and myself.

So fast forward 10 years later – the boyfriend and I never worked out (surprise!), he is now a father to two gorgeous children, a boy and a girl but apparently not very happy with his babies mama, which is sad to hear especially because of the children. Me? I am happily in love – real pure, honest, respectful and true – with an amazing man (7 years almost) and I believe the wedding bells will ring shortly. I cannot wait to be the mother of his children – if God so blesses us- and I will give them extra love to make up for the ‘lost’ one.

I would just like to put a note out: the morning after pill does work, in most cases, however and what some pharmacists do not tell you is that if you take it too often, your body gets used to it and it will not work. I had taken it three times in three weeks and that is how I fell pregnant (well there was the birds and bees involved – of course)! By saying that it works, I do not recommend it – I recommend the ABC’s – abstinence, birth control and a condom.

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May 9, 2012 · 9:14 am

My First Time blacking out

The first time I blacked out was after a school dance; a so-called sokkie as it is known in the Afrikaans culture.

I was 16 years old and in Grade 10. It was the year when all provinces started using ‘grade’ instead of ‘standard’. It was summer, Guy Fawkes Night, but unusually cold.

Having been increasingly marginalised by my circle of friends since Standard 6, I was feeling particularly vulnerable two years on. I believe they were edging me out of the group because they believed that I was snitching to their parents about the wild parties we had been having since high school. We later found out that it was actually a boy who liked to gossip…

The bottle of vodka, which was bought at a shibeen a white suburban mother had been running from her living room, was originally intended for consumption at a drummie tour in Durban but it was never drunk or never taken with.

So when the sokkie came up a few weeks later it was the ideal time to get rid of the bottle which I hid in the base of our piano.

It was by no means my first encounter with alcohol. I had been experimenting with various forms of the substance, culinary and industrial, for a couple of years.

The drinking was not a result of peer pressure but more a means of coping with being socially awkward, excruciatingly shy, and hoping to numb the pain.

So, that Thursday night I smuggled the whole bottle of vodka into the dance concealed in my butterfly backpack.

I proceeded to top up my white Styrofoam cup of Fanta every so often in the bathroom; taking great pride each time I sneaked past the teachers.

It was a way in which I could be in control.

My regular circle of friends ditched me there at the dance to go hang out with some boys. I was shattered.

When the dance was over and it was time to go home. I had not come close to finishing what I had set out to do – finish the bottle of vodka.

So, one of my girlfriend’s boyfriends and I walked home with a girl in my grade. The boyfriend and I finished the bottle of vodka along the way.

Down the street and across the sports fields we went. I stopped somewhere to take off my shoes. I remember the girl opening her front gate and looking at me all worried. The friend’s boyfriend then walked me home – across the sports fields again, I guess. Somewhere along the way we kissed and somewhere I sat down on what I though was the pavement, fell back, and bumped my head…

Next, I’m shaking. I’m walking down a street towards my house. My underwear is missing and I’m trying desperately to keep my pants up. A police car passes me by. They ask if I’m okay. I lie: “Yes, I’m fine I’m almost home”.

I arrive at my front door, drunk and three hours late. My parents’ faces are pale with fright.

My shocked mother puts me into the tub. I’m covered in dirt and vomit.

She lectures me on how they thought I was dead and helps me check to see whether I was raped. Luckily, I’m not.

I’m sick as a dog – probably alcohol poisoning from downing half a bottle of vodka.

In my restless sleep I dream/remember how someone pulls my pants down and rips my underwear off. My body is numb from the drink but I can feel the cold night air move against my bare skin.

I’ve always wondered what sex would be like but I know this is not right. They try some humping but can’t get it up for some reason. I think I see a streetlamp in the background; my uninvited companion is silhouetted by its glow.

All goes dark again.

In another dream/memory somebody pats my back while I throw up. This is someone different, I think…

It is Friday but I’m too sick to go to school. I already know the shame that awaits me anyway, “She was drunk she deserved it,” they’ll say.

I’m so ashamed I sever ties with my so-called friends for good. I resent them for putting me in the frame of mind in the first place.

There are no further repercussions except for social exclusion.

Years later I hear there was a story going around about me and some boy at the sports fields. However, I refuse to believe he was my attacker. I believe he stopped whatever was going down. I, unfortunately, will never find out the truth. He died after a foolish varsity dare. I will never be able to confront or thank him.

I didn’t drink again like that until varsity. One morning I woke up in my residence room without knowing how I got there. The last thing I remember was having some shooters at the bar during a formal dance.

Later that morning I would hear what events transpired the night before. Luckily, they were more of embarrassing nature than a dangerous one. I was reminded of what I so narrowly escaped a few years before.

I try not to think about it too much and mostly it feels it happened to someone else but I do still wonder what happened during those missing hours 14 years ago. Some days I feel like posting the question on Facebook, because, believe me I come from a small town, someone will know.

But becoming increasingly greater than the need to know, is the thanks I owe to God for keeping me safe that night and for the incident occurring in a time when cellphones did not yet have cameras…

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July 21, 2010 · 10:28 am

My First Health Scare

When I was a kid I enjoyed getting dirty in the mud and playing with bugs, and yes, sometimes eating them! When I went to birthday parties I would pig out on all the sweets, cake and chips, because we weren’t allowed many “sweet things” at home.

I hated being forced to bath or brush my teeth or eat all my vegetables, but I did it because I was told to and I really had no choice in the matter. Being healthy was a chore when I was young but as I grew older I realised that doing these mindless tasks would make a difference to my health and they soon became a routine, as it should for everyone. I am now 25 years old and I have probably seen a doctor less than 25 times in my life, and most of those times have been for sporting injuries, I hardly get sick! I don’t have any cholesterol/ heart problems or serious allergies, that I know of. I have a super metabolism, which has gotten me the accusation of being either Anorexic or Bulimic throughout my life. But if I just generally eat healthy and exercise a couple of times a week, I don’t have to watch my weight and I still get to indulge in all the treats I enjoy. Despite a bit of an iron deficiency (because I don’t eat much red meat) I seem physically healthy and whether its good genes or their strict rules on food and hygiene, I guess I have my parents to thank for that. We all know that the most important time for our health is during our childhood when our bodies and minds are still developing and I am so lucky to have come from a home that could supply my growing body with nourishment and cleanliness.

It all sounds great on paper, I’m a healthy little package, but I will eventually have my mental health to thank one day for my poor physical wellbeing. I may eat right and exercise, and keep clean, yet I choose to smoke, drink and take recreational drugs. Talk about a double standard. I preach health everyday when I force myself to eat that fruit, or take that jog but I just can’t kick my nasty habits.

It started in high school when I had a terribly low self esteem and the only thing that made me feel better were the cigarettes and the wine that I would steal from my parents. They never noticed the wine missing as my parents don’t drink, those bottles were merely for guests, and show and I would drink alone in the afternoons before they got home. I had a weekend job at a restaurant nearby and I would lie about the late shifts I was working; I was out drinking with my friends. This continued through high school and was only elevated by my discovery of Marijuana; I found it when I was snooping in my older brother’s cupboard for cigarettes. I had heard about this magic green plant that you could smoke and it would make you feel like a hundred bucks! It wasn’t long before I was friends with the “stoner” crowd and was meeting up with them after school for a few puffs.

As I grew older my need for “steam” as I call it, grew stronger and stronger. Naturally I began to smoke and drink more and soon I was being introduced to all sorts of drugs at University, where I found a soft spot in my heart for hallucinogenics. We had so much freedom in comparison to high school, and I came across so many like-minds that it almost seemed that everyone was doing it, of course that wasn’t the case, I was merely clouding my mind with excuses in order to feel better about doing it. Before I knew it I could quite honestly label myself as a regular drug user, and it wasn’t until recently when a close friend passed away suddenly from a serious illness, that I started to evaluate my life.

I wouldn’t say that these harmful chemicals that I’m poisoning my blood stream with, rule my life, I am not an “addict”, so to speak. I am not at the point where someone might find me lying on the bathroom floor foaming at the mouth, overdosed on some concoction, but then again I am only 25. For now, I’ve managed to contain it so that I can get up for work during the week, and maybe exercise some of the brain cells I have left, but when it comes to “off-time”, I over indulge on anything that makes me dizzy. When I am stressed or just need to wind down, I like feeling out of control and reckless, and alcohol and drugs do that for me. They make me feel invincible, and suddenly my troubles are far away, until I wake up with a pounding headache and no recollection of the night before.

I know its wrong; I know all of the health risks and what it does to my pocket! After a binge I am depressed for days beating myself up about it and making empty promises that I will calm down. This is something I have been battling for years, and it’s been a constant struggle physically and mentally to remain motivated and focused, but now I have a constant reminder, of how short life can be.

The memory of my friend, and how much life she still had to live makes me feel guilty about recklessly throwing mine away. I am now on a path towards changing my life, one where I am forcing myself to assess my priorities, goals and dreams daily. I am not the type of person to waste away in the corner, I would like to make a mark on this world, but these kind of dreams don’t happen overnight, and I don’t want to leave the wrong legacy! I hope to live a long successful life, one that I can remember, and where I am not suffering from Emphysema or Cancer! I want to be healthy not only in body, but also in mind.

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