Tourniquet

For years, I was victimized, both physically and sexually, and for many years after the abuse I led the life of a victim. I spent years thinking that I deserved what came to me. I watched my father abuse my mother. I watched him abuse himself. He was an angry man, and an alcoholic, that I now identify had his own demons he was unable to work through. Instead, he took his pain and frustration out on himself and those he loved the most. I swore I would never become my father. The truth be told, for many years, I did take after him and lived my life in ways that devastated both myself and those closest to me. 

Addiction is a selfish thing, admittedly. You start to lose recognition of who you are, nor do you care to change it. You can fall so low that the bottom becomes a safe place where disappointment is no longer shocking, but expected and the expectation can be less pressure than to want better for yourself. There is a not-so-subtle brainwashing that takes place with abuse, a belief system that is built upon fear and secrecy and is cemented by years and years of self-continuance. It stays with us years after the act of abuse has ended. The levels of consciousness can be more diverse than a thousand layer cake and, almost always, the addicted self will lose track of who they are until one day they are forced to make a choice. 

On February 6, 2008 I celebrated six months of sobriety. In AA they have a ritual. They give out sobriety coins, inscribed with the amount of time you’ve managed to stay sober. As they called out the months, I waited patiently and in anticipation for my number to be called. At six months, I raised my hand and walked to the front of a packed room. I took my sobriety coin and a well-deserved hug and walked to the microphone. “My name is Ophelia and I’m an alcoholic. I made it to six months!” As I stood, applause flooded the room and it was all I could do to hold back the tears. This time I decided to let them fall, allowing myself to feel the pride of my hard work. In the back of the room stood my husband and a dear friend of mine, both of whom were instrumental in me achieving my goal.