My relationship with alcohol has always been a rollercoaster ride.
In Turkey, we have no drinking age. My first real boyfriend liked his vodka on the rocks and he liked to have it often. And he hated drinking alone. We spent many nights at bars, he with his Vodka and me with the only alcohol that would slide down my throat: Safari with Peach Juice.
Even back then, I never drank wine or champagne.
After I got to college, I was completely freaked out with the fraternity scenes. Even though social drinking is big in Istanbul, I’d never seen people drinking for the sake of drinking before. In Pittsburgh, I stopped drinking altogether. They didn’t have Safari there anyhow.
For no logical reason, my second boyfriend also enjoyed his alcohol. He was a large man who could down several beers in a minute, and he worked hard to prove it.
When my first boyfriend got drunk, he’d stop being so shy and share his deepest emotions with me. So I didn’t mind his alcoholic habits so much. But things weren’t so simple with the second man. He seemed to have more anger and resentment than the typical teenager. Alcohol brought all this suppressed anger to the surface resulting in urinals being pulled out of their sockets and water fountains being torn off. As I said, he was a large and muscular man. Unfortunately, it also resulted in lots of emotional, verbal and physical abuse. None of which helped an already self-deprecating person.
We tried to go to several Alcoholics Anonymous meetings together, but it’s impossible to quit for someone else. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do it. Or he wouldn’t do it.
It took me too long to realize that I would never be able to fix his problems. But I finally did. I got out.
I’d never been a major drinker, but after him it got much worse.
The first time I got drunk was in Jake’s dorm room with Wine Coolers. Since I hated the taste, I downed them really quickly and they went right to my head. The burning sensation was so strong that within minutes I ended up taking off all my clothes. Everything was suffocating me and had to be removed. Thankfully the only other person in the room was Jake’s roommate.
I’ve always thought that I should drink. Everyone else did. Not drinking made me boring and I hated being boring. I’ve tried just about every kind of wine and alcohol. I’m able to drink Midori Sour, Archer’s and I can do shots since they go right to my stomach. But no wine, no champagne. And I’m careful not to get drunk since it’s not really socially acceptable to remove clothing at public places. Just the physical activity of drinking is difficult. Let alone the emotional baggage I’ve attached to it over the years.
One of the nice side effects to growing older is that drinking is less a part of our social surroundings than before and I don’t feel as pressured to try it.
Champagne? No, thanks, I’ll have the water.
Previously? Ketchup.
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