Once again, I heard the deafening shrill of the telephone. I picked up the receiver then slammed it down. Suddenly it occurred to me: who keeps a land-line anymore? Had I spent the night with a fucking 75 year old? Jeeeezuz, now I had a migraine. And how was I still unsure of where I was exactly?
I heard a vibration coming from under the bed. I bent down on my knees, cursing loudly at the entire situation. As I had suspected, it was my cell phone - that now had a cracked screen. Poor baaaby! 27 text messages. 3 missed calls. 2 voice-mails. Some bullshit event invite on Facebook. And only 2% battery remaining.
And it's on those especially stormy nights when I am most vulnerable. Thinking back to the previous day .... and the series of unfortunate events that began with good intentions...but ended with me evading arrest for a potential DUI. I was dumbfounded at how things had escalated so quickly.
It all started with me sulking at the Four Seasons...half-way through my second martini...when an older woman named Seline approached me. Adorned in pearls and elegant couture...with a silk pashmina draped around her...her entire essence was oddly comforting. Irrationally comforting. It felt like she had come to save me from my melodramatic pity party. I instantly felt safe around her. Seline's niece was getting married that weekend to some "money-hungry exec at Goldman Sachs" who according to Seline went through wives like she did Louboutins. She predicted they would have two years of wedded bliss before their "irreconcilable differences" would become enough reason to file for divorce. Seline had flown in from South Carolina where her own daughter lived. And now was waiting for her husband to get showered so they could go to dinner. She asked me who I was waiting for...what I was doing there. I paused ... contemplating whether I should speak the truth - that I come to the four seasons and drink alone...most nights of the week - because at 24, I am already jaded/alone/and an alcoholic-in-the-making. That I am two days away from finishing grad school and beginning my future...and yet I am anything but excited. That all my friends are out celebrating with their families while I am engaged in a cold war with my own family. That I am knee-deep in a quicksand of addictions and can barely take a step forward without doing another line of coke. That my ex-boyfriend just got married last week to a woman who is far more stable than I will ever be! Or should I just fabricate some glamorous story for why I was downing martinis alone at the Four Seasons like no-big-deal? I went with a less abrasive version of the truth.
Seline gently put her hand on my arm, looked me in the eyes, and told me I was far too young to be so sad. Then she said, "It gets better, I promise." A minute later, Seline's husband came down, ready for dinner. She invited me to join them. I politely declined...explaining that I too should be getting home for dinner. Oh what a lie that was! We parted ways, she hugged me goodbye...and I was on my way...to nowhere.
After leaving the hotel...I drove through the city like a reckless drunk. It was only a matter of time until I got pulled over. So when I heard the sirens behind me, I obediently pulled over to the side of the road. But as I was sitting there...with the cop car's lights flashing behind me....a panic came over me: what if he made me take a breathalyzer? I would fail. So I stepped out of the car...praying to God the cop wouldn't notice. I didn't dare look back as I walked away. Literally abandoning my car. As I turned the corner, I heard the cop yell out "Hey, get back here!" While deciding whether to run or hide, I saw an inconspicuous sign on a glass door: "HM crisis response center." Without thinking, I walked in...half of me wanting to escape the cop, and the other half of me seriously needing a crisis intervention. It took me only a couple seconds to realize I had just walked into an inner-city psych ward. As I approached the second set of double-doors...I heard a loud (insensitive) voice: "Are you suicidal or homicidal?"
Angered by the way he had spoken to me...and upset at the fact that a psych ward was my alternative to jail....I yelled back: "I don't fucking know you fucking asshole!"
Next thing you know I’m being stripped of all my belongings...and being forced to piss in a cup...as a broad-shouldered, butch-looking security guard stood behind me making sure the urine was actually mine. Requesting some privacy was a mistake...she just laughed in my face, unconcerned about the spit that was flying everywhere. Two and a half hours later....after telling "my story" to eight different people...I was deemed stable. They handed back my car keys and cell phone....and released me from their care.
It was after I left the crisis center that things became foggy. I was physically drained...emotionally cold...and had lost all rational thought. I was ready to act out my crazy.
Violently exhausted from all of this writing....Perhaps the events that occurred after leaving the crisis center to waking up in a stranger's bed are best left unsaid. Or perhaps I will find the words in my next post.
until next time,
ElyVas
I heard a vibration coming from under the bed. I bent down on my knees, cursing loudly at the entire situation. As I had suspected, it was my cell phone - that now had a cracked screen. Poor baaaby! 27 text messages. 3 missed calls. 2 voice-mails. Some bullshit event invite on Facebook. And only 2% battery remaining.
I scrolled through the 27 messages, almost in a rushed panic.... forgetting to breathe as I scrolled... desperately hoping he had responded.
A bunch of “where are you?” texts from coworkers (some angry, some concerned). One from an old friend reminding me about our weekend plans. A couple one-word texts from unsaved numbers - "no"....and.... "nah sry." Immediately recognizing the numbers, I sighed...regretfully. Hating myself for trying to score drugs but hating them more for not having any. Fucking drug dealers. So unreliable.
Don’t care, don’t care, next. I had finished reading all 27 messages. My heart sank...he had not responded. Suddenly, I felt unwell. It was bad enough that I had lost so much dignity in one night...but the additional agony of unreciprocated love...oh how it stung! He had left me hanging...the whole world had left me hanging last night. When it rains, it pours. It fucking downpours.
Don’t care, don’t care, next. I had finished reading all 27 messages. My heart sank...he had not responded. Suddenly, I felt unwell. It was bad enough that I had lost so much dignity in one night...but the additional agony of unreciprocated love...oh how it stung! He had left me hanging...the whole world had left me hanging last night. When it rains, it pours. It fucking downpours.
And it's on those especially stormy nights when I am most vulnerable. Thinking back to the previous day .... and the series of unfortunate events that began with good intentions...but ended with me evading arrest for a potential DUI. I was dumbfounded at how things had escalated so quickly.
¨¨¨¨¨
It all started with me sulking at the Four Seasons...half-way through my second martini...when an older woman named Seline approached me. Adorned in pearls and elegant couture...with a silk pashmina draped around her...her entire essence was oddly comforting. Irrationally comforting. It felt like she had come to save me from my melodramatic pity party. I instantly felt safe around her. Seline's niece was getting married that weekend to some "money-hungry exec at Goldman Sachs" who according to Seline went through wives like she did Louboutins. She predicted they would have two years of wedded bliss before their "irreconcilable differences" would become enough reason to file for divorce. Seline had flown in from South Carolina where her own daughter lived. And now was waiting for her husband to get showered so they could go to dinner. She asked me who I was waiting for...what I was doing there. I paused ... contemplating whether I should speak the truth - that I come to the four seasons and drink alone...most nights of the week - because at 24, I am already jaded/alone/and an alcoholic-in-the-making. That I am two days away from finishing grad school and beginning my future...and yet I am anything but excited. That all my friends are out celebrating with their families while I am engaged in a cold war with my own family. That I am knee-deep in a quicksand of addictions and can barely take a step forward without doing another line of coke. That my ex-boyfriend just got married last week to a woman who is far more stable than I will ever be! Or should I just fabricate some glamorous story for why I was downing martinis alone at the Four Seasons like no-big-deal? I went with a less abrasive version of the truth.
Seline gently put her hand on my arm, looked me in the eyes, and told me I was far too young to be so sad. Then she said, "It gets better, I promise." A minute later, Seline's husband came down, ready for dinner. She invited me to join them. I politely declined...explaining that I too should be getting home for dinner. Oh what a lie that was! We parted ways, she hugged me goodbye...and I was on my way...to nowhere.
After leaving the hotel...I drove through the city like a reckless drunk. It was only a matter of time until I got pulled over. So when I heard the sirens behind me, I obediently pulled over to the side of the road. But as I was sitting there...with the cop car's lights flashing behind me....a panic came over me: what if he made me take a breathalyzer? I would fail. So I stepped out of the car...praying to God the cop wouldn't notice. I didn't dare look back as I walked away. Literally abandoning my car. As I turned the corner, I heard the cop yell out "Hey, get back here!" While deciding whether to run or hide, I saw an inconspicuous sign on a glass door: "HM crisis response center." Without thinking, I walked in...half of me wanting to escape the cop, and the other half of me seriously needing a crisis intervention. It took me only a couple seconds to realize I had just walked into an inner-city psych ward. As I approached the second set of double-doors...I heard a loud (insensitive) voice: "Are you suicidal or homicidal?"
Angered by the way he had spoken to me...and upset at the fact that a psych ward was my alternative to jail....I yelled back: "I don't fucking know you fucking asshole!"
Next thing you know I’m being stripped of all my belongings...and being forced to piss in a cup...as a broad-shouldered, butch-looking security guard stood behind me making sure the urine was actually mine. Requesting some privacy was a mistake...she just laughed in my face, unconcerned about the spit that was flying everywhere. Two and a half hours later....after telling "my story" to eight different people...I was deemed stable. They handed back my car keys and cell phone....and released me from their care.
It was after I left the crisis center that things became foggy. I was physically drained...emotionally cold...and had lost all rational thought. I was ready to act out my crazy.
¨¨¨¨¨
Violently exhausted from all of this writing....Perhaps the events that occurred after leaving the crisis center to waking up in a stranger's bed are best left unsaid. Or perhaps I will find the words in my next post.
until next time,
ElyVas
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