3 No Relationships
9 Beer Pong and Other Misadventures
10 Freak
11 Superhero
12 No Really Means No
13 Letting Go
14 No Filter
15 Who’s That Girl?
16 Pseudo-lesbian
17 Mourning
18 Anniversary
PART I I __________________ More Will Be Revealed
19 Applying Myself
20 Mixed Messages
21 Smoke Screens
22 StartingSchool
23 Higher Power
24 Feeling Smart
25 Unexpected Theatrics
26 Flashback: Trauma and Blackout
27 Flashback: Drugs and the C Word
28 Release, Finally
29 Flying Out of the Closet
30 Buses and Butterflies
31 Proud and In Love
32 Fireworks
33 No Means No Sharing
34 The Gift of Magi
35 Sociology Lessons
36 Coming Out in Sobs
37 Token Dyke
38 Queer Prom
39 Something in the Water
40 Death and Protest
41 Threats and Instant Messages
42 A Life of Activism
Epilogue
Resources
PREFACE
THIS BOOK IS FOR ALL THOSE WHO HAVE READ THE plethora of books out there on addiction and recovery that end with the person entering a rehabilitation program, quitting cold turkey, or simply not stopping the behavior at all—leaving you to wonder, what happened? My first book, Blackout Girl: Growing Up and Drying Out in America, published by Hazelden in 2008, was one of those books. I wrote of my addiction to drugs and alcohol, which started at age twelve after I was raped. I proceeded to follow a path of absolute destruction for the ten years that followed that pivotal event. I wrote of my struggles and the trials and tribulations that went along with living on the wrong side of society’s norms. I also wrote of my decision to enter a rehabilitation facility and of my first few months in treatment. I flashed back and forth a bit from that time to ten years later, when I was still living a life in recovery that was filled with joy and success beyond my wildest dreams.
But what of the years in between? Where are the books on how one actually lives in recovery? They are few and far between, because the rough roller coaster of addiction is much more appealing to our society’s thirst for drama than the years of recovery that must come after the ride ends in order for one to truly survive. This book is my survival story as it continued into my first years of attendance in college, my first relationships, and my emotional upheavals as I dealt with my demons—the monsters that lived in my head and that had driven me to drink and to use other drugs in the first place.
After I was raped, I began choosing dark paths. It was as though I was drawn to trouble, addicted to the thrill of defeat rather than the pursuit of anything good or happy. If two paths were placed in a clearing in front of me, but one had danger signs all over as it curved into darkness while the other was straight and clear with a bright light at the end, I would always choose the dark path. My gut would scream, “Go toward the light!” But my feet would veer off onto the curvy, dangerous path that only brought more darkness into my soul and more pain into my life. I never chose the path of least resistance. I fought my entire life, fought unnecessary battles against myself and everyone who crossed my dark path. Those choices kept me living a life in the dark. I was in the dark about my sexuality, my addiction, and my emotional pain caused by sexual assault and the premature losses of people I loved to death and suicide. I hid everything and kept myself numb to all of life’s hardships. I welcomed them into my life rather than pushing them away. I invited trouble, thrived on it, and embraced the messes that always followed my careless decisions.
The messes created yet another reason why I should escape and get high or drunk. The cycle of bad choices, initially, was a cycle I placed myself in voluntarily, partly for my own survival. As a young person, I just didn’t know how to face the pain in my soul from being raped, so I hid it. I also hid the knowledge that I was gay, and I hid the loathing I had for myself. As I grew more mature and gained the ability to face these demons if I chose to, I was already too deep in the destructive ways I had created to summon up the courage I would have needed to face anything. It was so much easier to just escape—to choose darkness over potential light.
Today I choose the light. Early in my recovery, that wasn’t entirely an option; but as lights of knowledge began to flicker in my mind, I knew I could never return to the dark places I had lived in before. As a rape survivor and recovering addict beginning to face my own demons, light became a part of my survival in many ways. For the first
