scarred for life?

When I was about 7 or 8, I went with my mom and aunt to the outlets in Reading. Pretty normal-type trip. It was probably an early Sunday afternoon.

We stopped at a red light and my little self watched from the backseat as a guy stumbled out of a bar. I remember the who scene so vividly... he was in a brown suit. The sun was shining. He staggered closer and closer to the car. My mom hit the automatic lock on the door. He put his hand on a fire hydrant and leaned over to start heaving out his guts when the light turned green and my mom sped off.

About 30 minutes later, my mom and aunt were browsing the racks, but I was still thinking of that man. I might have been young, but seeing that cut me to the core. I started crying, and my mom asked me what was going on. I told her that I felt really sad for that man.


When I was about 10 or so, my brother and I went to pick up a motorcycle with my dad. I am not sure where it was... not a terrible place, but not too nice of one either. We waited by the car while he talked to the owner.

The end of the road came to a T and in the intersection was a boy of maybe 12 riding his bike in slow circles. He was smoking a cigarette. He had on a huge watch, which he kept checking. I presume he had limited time for his habit.

I sat in the back seat of the truck on the way home, with tears streaming down my face. Again, I just felt incredibly sad for the kid. I actually remember thinking that he did not know what he was doing, and that it was a terrible terrible thing to get into that at such a young age.



I am not sure why that stuff has always affected me that way, but it has. You would think I would be more used to it. My dad has smoked pretty much my entire life. My mom smoked when I was young, though my brother and I begged her into quitting. My dad has been alcoholic... geez, my whole extended family is pretty much a bunch of boozers... you would think I would see things differently.

Why I am not like them, I do not know.

Trust me though, I am so thankful.



I thought that I was getting better with it. I mean, I can deal with people drinking around me... And I can even suffer myself having a small glass of wine once in awhile. I can sit with people while they get themselves into a drunk stupor and I can watch my friends smoke if that is what they do. It has taken a long time to get to that point... I would never ever say that I don't care... But that I have pushed that feeling into the back of my head, knowing that it is somewhat irrational. I mean, why should it bother me that much?

So yes, I think I have gotten better, but as I have always said to Jon, that is the easiest way to get a divorce from me... just start drinking or smoking. I just simply couldn't do it. I actually well up with tears when I just think about it. Sorry, I just couldn't be with someone like that. Not after my dad.

But anyway, I really thought that I was doing well and that this did not bother me so much. But then there was Thursday.


Thursday night, Jon and my parents and I had a 9 p.m. flight down to Orlando. My cousin Jake got married in a really nice ceremony and had a great reception at a local golf club. It went very well, I got to hang with my relative (you know, the boozers!) and a good time was had by all. The flight though, really got to me.

We got on the plane and sat down a row or two back from the wing. There was a guy sitting in the aisle with the extra leg room. My parents sat behind him, and we sat behind them. Jon was on the phone with his family and my parents were getting settled in when the flight attendant walked past.

She got a look of worry on her face and asked the guy in front of my parents if he was okay. He did not really say anything. She then asked if he had been drinking. All of a sudden, two rows back, I get a giant whiff of alcohol. Crud.

I immediately signal to Jon that we have to move, I do not want to be anywhere near this guy. He is in total confusion because he is on the phone and it is loud with people boarding. The flight attendant, by now, has an absolute look of disgust on her face. She asks if he is drunk. He mutters something. She calls out to another flight attendant and says that he has thrown up all over himself. And not like just liquid, but like the kind where everything you ate for a week has come up.

She is pissed, and rightly so. She tells him to get off the plane. He stumbles off. By this time, I have grabbed my parents and forced them to move. They were really confused too. My mom is like a bloodhound with her nose, but I think with all the confusion, she just wasn't paying attention to it. But after we move back MANY rows, she can smell it and starts feeling icky herself.

Meanwhile, Jon and I have moved to the BACK of the plane and the original flight attendant is trying to help clean up. She can't hack it and leaves because it is making her sick. Another attendant cleans it up while a third gets on the intercom and says, "Some idiot got completely drunk and threw up all over the place, we are working on cleaning it up, so give us 20 minutes". Ugh.




Now I am not sure if it is the fact that I have been sleep deprived or that I was extremely hormonal and not feeling so hot with that whole stuff anyway.... but it hit me hard. I felt sick to my stomach, but not because of the puke or anything like that... because of the guy. I prayed for him. I tried not to judge him. But that makes me literally sick that he was like that. I do not know him. I never will. I hope he is okay because he was alone and basically just went back into the airport. Who knows, maybe he went back to the bar? Maybe he got picked up by security? No clue. But COME ON!!! WHY did he have to do that? Why??? It makes me so sad for him and for people like that. It breaks my heart.

And like I said, I thought I was over this - that I had come to terms with the fact that people do what they want to do - but apparently not. I keep thinking about it. I was quite literally sick to my stomach over the state of humanity. How can it be so easy to be like that? How could a bartender keep giving him drinks? How could that man allow himself to get to that state? Why did he feel like that was okay? Why do so many people have dependency problems?

Of course, maybe it was just a stupid mistake. He could have been a business man, traveling to wherever, many different flights at once. Maybe he was lonely and he just started drinking and before he knew it, he was blitzed. Maybe it was a huge one-time mistake.

Maybe it wasn't.



Quite honestly, it hit me hard enough that I was nervous about the flight home. Like - what if there is someone else like that on our next flight? How utterly preposterous! Yet that little thought was running around my head and making my stomach churn.

I mean, it is not like I can change anything. I can't do anything if someone wants to be like that anymore than I can actually hope to convince people that I really DO care. In the past I have been called judgmental because, I think, not everyone can understand compassion. I don't mean to say I am Mother Teresa, but I do care and it cuts me to the bone for some reason.

Does that mean that those of you reading this should not drink around me? Does that mean you should not get tipsy or smashed or whatever? No. Do what you want. I am not judging you. I am not thinking you are an idiot. I am not being condescending. I am not looking down at you or thinking less of you.

What am I thinking, then? It depends.... sometimes (many times) I really am thinking absolutely nothing. Sometimes I feel a sadness. Sometimes I want to throw up with pain. Those are rare occasions, like Friday, apparently. I have not felt that way in a long long time. Yet it still surfaces once in awhile.


Bottom line, I am not sure why it happens. It just does. I am not sure why it hits me, but it does, and it is part of me that I won't ever "get past". I am sure it has to do with my family and how I grew up. I do not know why my childhood affected me this way instead of the other way - I could be an insufferable dancing naked on the table tops kind of drunk. It could have gone that way, but praise God it didn't.



So here I am, it is 12:25 a.m. on May 26th. I am27 years old today, right now. And I write to get it all out so that hopefully, when I wake up tomorrow, I can stop thinking about it and go back to ignoring whatever this is inside of me.