Authors: Victoria Sawyer
In the car I’m on pins and needles. I must drive as sober as
possible. But I’m actually kind of excited now. Normal, sexy, not sober
Victoria is way more fun. I wish I could be her all the fucking time. She can’t
wait to see her friends. She can’t wait to dance. She can’t wait to smoke pot,
drink beer and fuck her boyfriend’s brains out. She’s wicked cool. Drinking and
driving like some kind of dumb betch.
My driving seems fine to me and soon I’m on campus and
parked. Ready for the shit show, ready to see Jared and party my brains out. I’m
leaving my car in B lot overnight because I can’t park at Jared’s without
getting a ticket. He’s meeting me outside the MUB and then we’re off to his
place for some pre-game and then finally to the frat for the party of the year.
Speaking of pre-game, I grab my bag from the passenger’s side and pull out my
water bottle.
Just a few more sips.
The party is fun, so much so, that I’m blacked out for about
half of it. Dancing, smoking pot, guzzling beer, hanging with Hannah, Samantha,
Ian, Andy, and Jared and I’m so disgustingly happy to be out, and damn worried
about starting to feel panicked again that I am way overdoing the alcohol. I’m
trashed, out of my mind, stupid, ridiculous. It doesn’t matter.
Nothing
matters.
Before I know what’s happening, it’s late and I’ve sobered a
bit. Jared thinks I should go with him to his apartment, but Hannah wants me to
go with her to her place. I can’t decide what to do. I really just want to go
home to sleep in my bed. I can’t wake up somewhere else. The idea, even when
wasted is scaring the shit out of me. I need to be home when this hangover hits
cause it’s gonna be killer. I need to be home to deal with my fucked up panic
brain, I can’t be somewhere else where I might reveal my crazy to someone. And
driving while intoxicated doesn’t seem as farfetched to me right now. I can do
it, I’m not
that
drunk. But I can’t tell anyone, so I tell Jared I’m
going with Hannah and I tell Hannah I’m going with Jared and soon I’m out on
the street, walking back to my car in the dark. Alone.
God, what a fuckin
liar!!
I’m walking fast, through the darkness, past the MUB, almost
breaking into a drunken stumble run and finally my door handle is under my
fingertips and my shaking fingers are trying to wiggle the key into the door. It
won’t work. I try another key, wiggling it around until it finally slips in and
I’m inside with doors locked. Now I start the engine and put on my head lights.
Things seem a bit swimmy before my eyes. Watery, blurry and the car when it
starts to move startles me,
not too much on the gas, betch.
Ok, I can
do this.
Very, very careful, Victoria,
I say to myself, easing out
of the parking lot, driving slowly away from campus. Soon I’ve left Dunham and
am feeling more confident, taking all the back roads I know. I glance at the
clock,
4:32 am.
Suddenly, I try to remember driving for the past 15
minutes. I can’t remember any of it. I can’t remember parts of the night.
I’m driving down a deserted back road when suddenly blue
lights are flashing in my rearview.
HOLY… FUCKING… SHIT!
My heart is almost exploding it’s beating so fast and I’m
the only car on the road. It must be for me.
NO. NONONONONONONONO
. My
mind is going crazy right now, negative thoughts on overdrive, my own fucking
theme song.
I am CRAZY!!!
I put on my blinker and slowly pull over. I’m
practically throwing up. This cannot be happening. This is a dream. Not real. I
fumble in my purse on the seat next to me and rip a piece of gum from the
package, shoving it into my mouth.
I am sober. Yes. Yes I am.
HOLY
SHIT…NO I’M NOT!!!! FUCKKKKK!!!!
There’s a knock at the window and now I’m rolling it down
and the very serious pudgy cop is saying hello and may I have your license and
registration and I’m fumbling in the glove box, fumbling in my purse and
finally I’ve got the documents and hand them to him with an uncertain smile and
shaking hands. I need to escape. I need to get away. I cannot get arrested.
DUI.
DUI. DUI. DUI. I. AM. CRAZY!!!!!!
My heart is slamming like the pistons of
an engine about to shatter as he walks back to his car and I am tense and very
afraid, the fear creeping up my throat, almost there, almost ready to spew over
everything, but I must not because then he’ll know for certain that I am drunk.
Am I going to have to do the sobriety test? Was I weaving
all over the road? Was I speeding? I didn’t think I was speeding, I was sure I
was going exactly the speed limit, hands clenched on the wheel, eyes squinting through
the windshield, sure that I was the best drunk driver EVER. Now I’m fucked.
Images and feelings flash through my mind, losing my
license, being in JAIL. How could I get to school or work? How could I ever do
anything again? How could I leave the house? My parents!!
FUCK.
My friends?
What would everyone say?
Dumb, drunk driving BETCH!!
JARED? He’s going to break up with me. My heart is flying. Panic,
fear, terror, Jesus I’m a mess.
FUCK YOU, VICTORIA. You are stupid.
My
hand curls into a fist and I slam it against my thigh.
I can’t believe it. I
can’t.
I’m numb, sick, fucked, thoughts spinning. My life is over. If I go
with this officer, cuffs on, I will go insane. I will lose it. I will shit,
vomit, cry, scream, kill myself. Death to stupid dumb fuck Victoria.
It seems like it takes forever for him to come back. I’m
sitting there thrashing myself, mentally and physically. The need to escape is
over powering. My heart bangs, pulse throbbing, heat flushing over me and
everything is whirling, blurry, total surreal. My stomach sloshes and then
grips into a fist.
Oh shit. I can’t just sit here.
But I have to. Running
away from a cop is even worse. It’s admitting guilt, and they would chase. Take
me down. Take me downtown. Death. Death. If I get out of this, I will kill
myself because this is what my panic has led to. This is what my curse equals. I’ve
done this to myself.
There’s another knock at the door, the officer, handing me
back my documents.
“Where are you headed tonight?” he asks, a youngish guy with
small round glasses, his flashlight shining into my eyes and the car. I gulp,
heart hammering in my throat. What to say? I can’t lie. I have to tell the
truth or at least the partial truth.
“I’m headed from my boyfriend’s apartment in Dunham,” I say
with a gasp cause I can’t breathe, looking at him, hoping he doesn’t see my
fear.
“Where are you headed to?” he asks, no emotion.
He is
Authority.
“My parents’ house, where I live,” I say, stomach clenching
and sloshing like tsunami waves or a freakin hurricane, bent on the destruction
of me. I’m about to be sick all over myself, one way or another.
DISGUSTING.
HATEFUL.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asks, light shining
over to the passenger’s side of the car onto my handbag which is (
thank God!)
covering my water bottle and my heart slams again and again, breath almost
panting.
Don’t make it obvious!
I feel like I might break down into
tears at any moment. I’m not strong enough for this. I played with fire and I’m
about to get 3rd degree burns on places that really really fucking hurt. I’m
done. Life over. Game over. It’s not just the social officer this time, it’s
the real deal. Cuffs, jail, DUI, court, no more life, no more boyfriend, no
more loving family, 100% over the top death panic, total screw up, nut-house
ready, brink of suicide, death, death, death. I’m sweating now, droplets
sliding down over my torso, pooling under my arms, vomit about to spew. Finally
I squeak out,
“No, Officer,” and I feel like my voice is quavering all
over the place. I need to act normal. But I cannot speak, throat closing, air
restricted. I wait for him to ask me to get out. I wait for the hammer to drop,
to smother me, to crush my brain. Finally after what seems like an interminable
amount of time he replies.
“You have a tail light out. You need to get that taken care
of. I’m going to give you a verbal warning.” I breathe out the breath I’ve been
holding.
OMG. Seriously? That’s it? OMG.
Just let me leave this and I
will never drink and drive again.
“Thank you, Officer, I will get that taken care of. I had no
idea,” I reply, nice as pie, my stomach unclenching for a moment. I breathe. The
cop nods and moves away, flash light cutting through the dark to his squad car.
I’m free. I’m free.
Don’t fuck this up now you stupid bitch
, I
murmur as I slowly pull away from the curb and drive down the road.
Holy
shit.
I cannot believe what just happened. I am amazingly lucky. But I’m
still quivering, full on body fucked and tomorrow I am going to crucify myself
over how incredibly stupid I am. Basically my problem has gotten so bad that I
can’t function.
Victoria is dead.
The mall trip was not the end. The STD, not the end. Jared
finding out, somehow not the end, although I could have sworn it was. I hadn’t
broken, yet. But each event was a step to my final madness. And now, I’m over
the edge. Descent into physical and mental torture is upon me. I hate myself. I
hate my life. I hate my panic.
I want to die.
I can’t even use alcohol
anymore as a crutch. There is nothing left for me.
My newest problem is simply the fact that, physically
speaking, I cannot leave my parents’ house for any other reason than work. Work
is the only place I still go and even then, not willingly. And now, here I am,
lazy Saturday evening at the store feeling sick as I always do. It’s my
everyday, all day, constant sickness. And lucky me is up front on the register,
playing slave to every paying customer that walks through.
Hello, how are you today? Hello, how are you today? Hello,
how the fuck, are you today?
I keep saying again and again like a parrot. I’m
running a constant deep level of anxiety. Jittery like an addict or someone
who’s had gallons of caffeine, stomach clenched, always on the verge of
throwing up everything or having to run to the bathroom in agony, constant
mental dissection of every little thing and how it affects my anxiety. Everything.
Analyzing every thought, situation, potential situation, making me feel even
worse. Wanting with every breath to die, but forcing myself to live out this
false playacting game, just so I can feel that I haven’t completely given up
hope yet. I’m close. Very, very close. Exhaustion isn’t far now.
School is out now, thank God, and I just managed to squeak
by. I was certain that I had failed all my classes and it was giving me some
pretty extreme anxiety. I could picture my parents’ faces as I said…
um,
yeah, I got suspended.
Luckily though I got by with some C’s and D’s. Not
excellent and not up to my usual standards, but what could I do? I
was…am…losing my freakin mind. I should try to look at the positive, I finished
the semester. But being a humongous pessimist, I always look at the negative. I’m
not sure my GPA will ever recover. But, you know what…
fuck school. Really,
just fuck it.
“Hello, how are you today,” I say again with a forced smile
to the middle-aged man and his wife who are approaching my cash register. I
slide each item from the belt and over my scanner, hearing the beep and letting
it slide down toward my bagger. The work is mindless and leaves me plenty of
time to think.
God, how I hate thinking
. I try to focus on the items,
pasta sauce, two red tomatoes,
what is the code for red tomatoes?
It’s
been a while since I’ve been on register before tonight, bananas, frozen peas,
deli meat, toothpaste.
Then my mind begins to wander, never able to stick to the
task at hand when there’s worrying or freaking out to accomplish. Because
really, the only thing I can think of or feel is that I’m fairly certain I’m
going to puke all over the register, my stomach heaving, bile rising and my
feet are urging me to run away, just seconds from running into the person
behind me in the register lane to my back, shoving their cart out of the way in
crazy insane haste and then out into the wider aisle and all the way down back
at a sprint to the bathroom. But I’m holding back. I won’t do it. I won’t.
Please.
But my heart is thudding and my eyes feel glazed over and the world is dizzy
and steamed up blurry, like looking at through a shower door or mirror that you
swipe with your hand to clear.
“That’s not the price it said on the tag in the aisle,” says
the small grey haired man with wildly pointed eyebrows, snapping me from my
thoughts. I blink and then awake to action.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I reply, my voice a sweet deadpan, no
emotion but pleasant, how may I help you bullshit.
I. Am. A. Robot.
“I
can have my bagger do a price check in the aisles.” I say, handing the offending
item to my bagger who scurries away to find out the price. I continue ringing
up their groceries, climbing back into my own mind for a few minutes until my
bagger returns.
Work is almost impossible. It’s like willfully walking into
a torture chamber and allowing someone (
something?)
to do horrid things
to you simply to prove to yourself that you haven’t completely lost it. Everyday
is hell. Every waking moment is now hell for me. Whether at home or work, the
only two places I go, I am constantly hyped up and frantic.
Tonight I’m supposed to work from 3:00 until 10:00. When I
first walked through the door they told me I would be ringing groceries up
front instead of my normal place in the courtesy booth. They really (
really
)
needed someone up front, so I was asked to grab a cash drawer and start
ringing.