Rock Bottom

My rock bottom wasn't the usual way for a problem drinker to start their journey to sobriety. I didn't wake up in a pool of vomit in the bushes with no clue where I am... Although I have been there. My rock bottom came on a Wednesday night in Summer, at appx 10pm at a BP service station in Watsonia, a suburb of Melbourne's outer North.

I'd been to dinner at my in laws, and my husband and I pulled in to get petrol before our half hour trip home. Pulling in, I noticed a young girl about 15 walking her dog.

As soon as my husband got out of the car, I instantly reached for the snib to lock the doors. This was a habit of mine, as soon as I was alone in a car, I'd lock myself in.

But then something stopped me. 'Why the hell am I so scared?'

I looked at the young girl, now sitting outside the service station with her dog, and in my mind I was instantly transformed to a 15 year old again, young, innocent, and nothing to be affraid of.

Something about this girl, alone at 10 o'clock at night, walking the streets of Melbourne seemingly without a care in the world, compared to a 30 year old woman who scrambled to lock herself in a car despite her husband being just outside, triggered a huge emotional response for me.

'What the fuck am I scared of?' I thought. 'I never used to be scared of anything!'

And then it hit me. Because I've never faced anything in my life sober. By this stage I hadn't drank for about 4 months, but still hadn't fully committed to staying sober. But because I didn't have alcohol to self medicate now, I just retreated into myself. I'd been having trouble with my business partner bullying me at work, and instead of coming home and drinking and not giving a shit, I had to deal with it. But I dealt with it by going to work when she wasn't there. And then eventually by rarely leaving the house.

It then hit me while sitting at the service station that I hadn't left the house alone in 3 months. At all. Not to go to the shops, to work, nowhere. I always used an excuse to wait until someone could come with me. I just hadn't realised it before now. It had slowly crept in.

When my husband was finished filling the car with petrol and paying, he jumped back in the car (without having to knock for me to unlock the door) 'Hey, you didn't lock the door' he said proudly. 'Look at that girl over there' I said in a daze. 'She has no idea how unsafe the world is yet'. By this stage I had tears streaming down my face. 'Hey, what's wrong?' Asked hubby, clearly concerned. 'What's wrong with me?' I asked. 'I can't even leave the house alone or sit in an unlocked car, and this girl can walk the streets late at night alone'. 'What do you mean you can't leave the house alone? You leave the house alone all the time!'.

Hubby started the car, and we drove off, all the while I was watching the young girl, now eating an ice cream, as I mourned for the loss of my own innocence. The flash backs had started now. I hadn't had them in a long time. I closed my eyes and cried silently as my husband drove. 'Whats wrong bub, what's going on?' He asked, he'd never seen me like this. 'Think about it, when is the last time you remember me leaving the house by myself?' I asked. We sat in silence as I went back to my flashbacks, and my husband delved through his mind to come up with the last time I'd left the house alone.

Two days before my eleventh Birthday, Friday 4th of October 1991. My sister and I had been staying with my grandparents in Bundoora for the school holidays, and were catching the train with my Nan from the city to Werribee, where Mum was picking us up to take the three of us back to our home in Lara.

We got off the train, and started walking to the car park at the back of the station. I saw Mum and ran ahead toward her as she walked to meet us, and she said to me 'I've left the boot open, chuck your bag in while I grab your Nan's stuff'. I ran ahead to the car which was about 20 meters from where Mum met us. Reaching the boot, I noticed a grotty old guy walking down the car park isle in my general direction. He was dirty, had a beard and creepy eyes, and made me a bit uneasy. I threw my bag in the boot and looked up and he was about a meter from me now on my side of the isle, and he was unzipping his fly. I felt sick. "Come here darling" He growled.

 I turned to run but he grabbed me from behind, and put his hands up my top. I tried to scream, nothing came out. I felt like everything was in slow motion. He started dragging me and put his hand over my mouth. 

I grabbed the back of the car and stood my ground using all my strength. But he pulled harder and forced me away from the car, I started crying and screaming. I looked up and saw my Mum, Nan and sister about 10 meters away. They looked up and saw me. I'll never forget the look of horror on their faces as he dragged me towards the river. It was then that I looked at where we were headed. A group of guys, all dirty, and creepy looking, we're standing on the other side of the car park next to Werribee River. They seemed to be pointing and laughing at us. He dragged me closer, and although the eleven year old in me had no idea what could happen, I knew I was scared and had to get away. So I used all my force and stood my ground. This pushed him off balance and he lost his grip. I was free... Now run!

By this stage my Mum had started running toward me, and I started running towards her. Then I felt another grab from behind, he was chasing me, and not giving up that easily. He grabbed again, and this time he had me... But luckily Mum had caught up and started yelling and screaming for him to let me go, and began hitting him with a bag. This was all in slow motion to me, and as he put his hands up to protect himself from the wrath of my mother, he let me go.'What were you doing to my daughter you creep?' Mum yelled. 'I was just asking her for fourty cents' and with that, he turned and fled towards his friends. Mum and I went to Nan and my sister at the car and as we turned around, the group of men started all heading back towards us. Panicking, Mum threw my sister and I in the car and locked the doors. The men then changed their mind and headed back towards the station.

Pulling into the drive way, my husband turned the car off, but made no move to get out. Coming out of my daze, I looked at him with tears in my eyes and asked 'Who am I?' 'What do you mean?' He asked. 'I have no idea who I am. I've never dealt with anything. I block everything out and then just keep going. I pretend to be so tough, and put on this hard arse act. I don't know who I really am.'

 I thought back over everything that had happened to me in my life up to that point. The Werribee incident wasn't even close to the worst. When it happened, I had counselling etc, but I didn't really understand what had happened, and before tonight, other than a few flashbacks when I was young, it hadn't really bothered me. In fact I'd thought I was special because I'd gotten to choose anything I wanted for my Birthday (I chose a black and white swing top and a Bryan Adams cassette tape). I knew something bad had happened, but I was more concerned about my Dad (or my hero as I called him at the time) who we'd spent the night in hospital with. After the Police came and locked the guy up, they took our statements, and my Dad came to meet us. The Police told him all they could do was keep him for 4 hours for drunk and disorderly. But then they let Dad in on a secret. In four hours time when they let him go, they'd let him go at the scene of the crime.

Dad drove us home and then said he'd catch the train back to Werribee to get his car.

A few hours later we met him at the hospital where he was treated with a broken wrist and knuckles. I'll leave you to connect the dots.

As I sat in the dark with my husband, I realised there was more, much more. So much I'd never dealt with. 'Ive told you about the Werribee Station incident yeah?' 'Yeah of course' he said. 'But you were always kind of removed from it, like you were talking about someone else'. 'And the Driving Lesson incident?' I asked, referring to being touched inappropriately by a family friend when I was 16. 'Yeah, same thing, like it's about someone else. The same as being beaten and assaulted at the airport. Or your Aunty being murdered. Most things you tell me about your past. Like its happened to someone else and your just relaying the story' he said. 

I was instantly transportered to both incidents in my head. This time though, it wasn't happening to someone else. I started to cry. 'The driving lesson was much more than being touched inappropriately' I whispered, re-living small fragments in my mind. 'I've never even admitted it to myself let alone someone else'.

My husband held me as I told him the small parts of what I remembered. I felt his tears dripping on my forehead.

'Thats when I really started drinking' I said. I'd gone home, showered, pretended everything was ok, and drank half a cask of wild peach to myself in my room alone and cried myself to sleep. I'd only drank once before, my 15th Birthday where I was allowed to have a tiny vegemite jar glass of wine. But I'd never drank this much.

The next day I didn't even have to pretend to be sick, my first hangover took care of me. Mum went out for a few hours during the day, so I drank a little bit of everything in the alcohol cupboard so as not to alert my parents. That 'gastro' was really bad, I'd need a week off school!

Luckily when I returned to school, getting booze was easy, and it helped me forget. I started pulling away from certain friends, and hanging out with the one's that wanted to drink all the time. It was easy. I'd already blocked out what happened, and nobody knew so there was nothing to remind me. I was 'too old' to be forced to visit family friends so never went back to the house for about 4 years until it was unavoidable, their sons 18th... I'd draw too much attention to myself if I refused to go. Beside's I didn't want my sister going there without me, I'd managed to convince her to stay home with me any time my parents went over there, but she wanted to go to the  sons 18th. I hated being there, though it was easy to get blind with free alcohol. He didn't come near me, I think he knew better, I was drunk and angry.

'Let's get inside, and you can hop into bed while I make us a cup of tea' Said hubby, pulling me out of my daze. 'I think you need to speak to someone about this stuff' I nodded, knowing he meant a psych or counsellor. 'I think I need to speak to my Mum, maybe she can fill in some blanks for me, she's up here tomorrow night staying at Nan's.'

We went inside and talked for a while about why I couldn't leave the house alone, and had to lock the car door, and a few hours later, while my husband slept, I lay awake. Every time I closed my eyes I became either Eleven or Sixteen. The two defining moments in my life playing over and over in my mind.

At about 3am I hopped out of bed, snuck out to the garage, and took a few swigs from each of the already opened bottles at the bar. I sat on the floor and cried until I'd finished a half bottle of vodka. I'd reached rock bottom. I snuck back into bed, thankful that my husband was a heavy sleeper.

I didn't need to pretend to be sick the next day, my old friend hangover took care of me, and hubby didn't suspect a thing. 4 months between drinks and I was back to being a light weight.

I stayed in bed all day thinking. Somewhere in the afternoon I had a breakthrough. If I was going to break the cycle, and move forward, I had to face this head on. I was starting to remember more and more of what happened, and I had to go with it. It was coming back for a reason, and something about the young girl at the service station had triggered it.

And if I was to do this properly, I had to be sober. And I needed to speak to Mum.