I Was a Teen Alcoholic
Source: Seventeen, March 1974.
The Number one drug turn-on among teens today is alcohol. Half of the
heavy users among teens are likely to become alcoholics, and it is
estimated that there are already 450,000 teen alcoholics in the country.
Recent Parent Teachers Association surveys gauge that 75 per cent of high
school youth now drink, and that more than half of those have serious
alcoholic problems.
During the past ten years, arrests of girls eighteen and younger who were
intoxicated by liquor have more than tripled. Arrests of boys in the same
age group have jumped almost two and a half times, according
to Dr. Morris Chafetz, director of the National Institute of Alcohol
Abuse. Dr Chafetz also asserts that a third of all high school students
state that they drink with regularity, while only 14 percent of
teen-agers are total abstainers. (Among adults 32 percent don't drink at
all.)
Alcoholics Anonymous a leading self-help organization, says that they
currently have twenty-five groups oriented to young people. A year ago
there were only twelve such groups, five years ago none. (Columbus
Hospital, in New York City, has just expanded its alcohol treatment
center to offer help to adolescent alcoholics, the first such program in
America.)
Many young people are turning from hard drugs to alcohol, particularly
beer and wine, states a recent report in the "Christian Science Monitor."
Sales of "pop" fruit-flavoured wines are up from three million gallons in
1968 to 33 million gallons last year, and these wines are consumed almost
entirely by young people.
Following is the true personal story of one teen-age alcoholic.
My name is Cathy C., and I am an alcoholic. I started to drink when I was
fifteen. My first drink was in the park near my house, where a number of
older neighbourhood teen-agers used to gather regularly, to socialize and
drink beer.
One day one of the boys offered me a can of beer. I had always been
painfully shy. In the past I'd felt ignored and left out by this group of
older kids. But as soon as I drank the beer everything seemed wonderful.
I was no longer shy; I couldn't talk to people, dance and sing. Everybody
seemed to like me and find me fun to be with.
This was going to be it, I thought. Whenever the opportunity arose, I was
going to drink. The taste meant nothing to me, though at first I stuck to
milder stuff like beer and wine. It was the effect I was after, and the
effect was wonderful as far as I was concerned!
In the beginning it was only weekend drinking. I soon graduated from beer
and wine to screwdrivers (vodka and orange juice) which tasted better to
me and had an even quicker effect in getting me high.
I had always done well in school, and during that first year of strictly
weekend drinking I managed to keep up my usual good grades. But by my
sophomore year my drinking began to increase, and my marks started to go
down drastically.
I was part of a whole gang of kids who got together for parties or just
casual drinking in the afternoon. Not all of then were that interested in
alcohol. About half were strictly marijuana smokers, or were into pills.
I tried pot and pills, but they just weren't my sort of high. Give me a
six-pack or a can of those prepared screwdrivers then just becoming
popular and I was happy. Though my parents weren't heavy drinkers, they
did keep a small supply of liquor on hand for social occasions. Before
long I was into this too.
By the time I was sixteen, at the end of my sophomore year, I was doing
so badly at the parochial school I attended that I was asked to leave.
But I was glad to go to the high school which was much larger, had less
supervision, and was much less strict about attendance. Besides, most of
my new friends attended that school.
I got in with what I considered to be the real " in" crowd, something I
felt I could never have done before I started drinking. None of us really
went to school. We would just check into the home room in the morning;
then we'd get together and find out whose parents would be away that
afternoon and go there and party. I don't think we attended school more
than one third of the time that year.
At least 20 percent of the students were involved in this kind of thing,
but I guess my closest friends were the real troublemakers. None of them
wanted to be in school in the first place. They all wanted to quit, even
if they had no plans for the future. At this point I'd say that at least
half of the gang were still on drugs, but I stayed strictly away from
that, not only because I didn't like it, but because of the danger with
the law. I figured I was being pretty smart to stay with liquor, which
was not only safer from a legal point of view but also cheaper and easier
to get. Age was no barrier to getting alcohol though most of the taverns
were pretty strict about ID cards. There were always a few phony ID cards
being passed around, and there was seldom a problem buying the stuff in
supermarkets or liquor stores. If a liquor store wouldn't sell to us, we
could always recruit an older person to go in and get a bottle for us -
just tell him we were planning a party or something.
That was the thing about drinking. People generally approved of it - they
were glad that at least we weren't on drugs. Alcohol was familiar,
something they could understand. Even the cops weren't too tough if they
found us with booze. Of course, possession of liquor by underage kids is
not a crime.
Toward the end of my junior year my behavior came to the attention of
school authorities. They sent for my parents and I had many conferences
with the school psychiatrist to find out why I was skipping so many
classes. My father had been aware that I was in danger of becoming a
problem drinker from the start. A year before, when I, had been out until
two in the morning and had come home obviously tipsy, my father had been
very concerned. When I sobered up he took me aside and said: "Kathy, you
are one of those people who should never drink. You change drastically
when you are drinking. Your personality is completely different."
I remember answering him "Yes, but the change is for the Better! I don't
feel shy. Its terrific!"
One day, when I was sixteen, I found out that my mother wasn't going to
be home that afternoon so I had the gang over and we had a groovy party,
swinging on beer, screwdrivers and wine. But even though I was to some
extent the life of the party, there was one guy there who wouldn't pay
any attention to me. I am not sure what made me do it, maybe something I
had seen in a movie or on TV, but I went into the bathroom, took a razor
blade from my father's medicine chest, and with two quick movements slit
both wrists. I really had no intention of killing myself. It was just a
play for this boy's attention, and when I reappeared at the party,
bleeding heavily, it certainly got attention.
Of course that was the end of the party, since I was rushed to the
hospital. I know that I would never have done that if I had not been
drunk out of my mind. When I was drunk, I didn't even feel the pain. I
was sent to a private psychiatric hospital for two weeks as a result of
this incident. When I returned to school, everyone seemed to know what
had happened.
I told my father I couldn't go back to school because I was sure everyone
was making fun of me. I went with him to the guidance counselor, and she
agreed that my parents might as well take me out of
school since I was getting nothing from it. The next season my parents,
who had always hoped I would go to college, enrolled me in a business
school. That was the year I turned seventeen. Now that I was no longer in
high school, my life began to revolve more and more around bars. But I
was still not aware that I had a problem; I felt I could quit drinking
anytime I wanted to. This was the year I met Peter, my first serious boy
friend.
Peter would drink occasionally, but he was not part of my crowd, and he
thought my excess drinking was caused by the people I associated with. He
introduced me to his crowd - much straighter than the group I went with
and drinkers only on the weekends or special occasions.
The business school I was going to encouraged me' to take courses that
would help me get better jobs when I got out, such as accounting and
business English. But in two months I had dropped all courses except
typing. It seemed to be the only one I could cope with when I had a
hangover, which was often. By now my parents were deeply troubled, but I
still refused to take their advice and even told them that unless they
locked me up and chained me to the bed, there was nothing they could do
about it.
Then I started to go in for morning drinks. I remember sitting in a bar
one night and saying: "I'm going to have a beaut of a hangover tomorrow.
The noise of those type-writers is going to drive me crazy!"
One of the fellows answered, "Try a drink in the morning. It'll bring you
around."
So I figured: "This is marvelous! Now I can drink and not even feel sick
the next day!"
Toward the end of my seventeenth year, I had my first blackouts - periods
when I couldn't remember anything that happened. I was scared at first
but I was still going with Peter, who was a very dependable guy, so I
knew I'd get home all right.
Just after I turned eighteen Peter was drafted. I decided I would be a
faithful girl and go out only with my girl friends or stay home at night
and write letters to Pete. So instead of going to bars to get drunk, I
would drink alone in my room.
I got my first job about that time, and it was terrific. I didn't have to
depend on my folks for money or on my boy friends to but me booze.
But I was hurting myself desperately, without realizing it. I would go
out with my girl friends on Wednesday nights, and the blackouts were
getting worse, only now I didn't have Peter to protect me; often I didn't
know how I got home or who had taken me there. I was still very straight
and religious and I worried what might happen to me some night during one
of those blackouts.
Up to this point I didn't drink at work. I knew this was different from
school and that if I drank I'd be fired. But one day I decided I would
just have a drink to break up the boredom at lunchtime. I took a bottle
to the office, but I had this terrific hangover and felt I couldn't wait
until lunch. By five I was in a blackout and couldn't remember anything.
I know that I behaved very foolishly at the office and apparently fell
down a flight of stairs and had to be taken to the emergency ward at the
hospital. When my father came to get me, he said; "Kathy, You must go to
Alcoholics Anonymous. Nobody drinks the way you do. You shouldn't be
drinking alone or hiding bottles."
By then even I began to realize I had a bad problem. But I hated the idea
of A.A. There weren't many young people in A.A. then and I was sure it
would be some kind of Salvation Army evangelistic crew. I finally agreed
to go to my local chapter meeting, but to do that I had to get drunk.
The next day they sent two people over to see me and even arranged to
have a twenty-three year old woman talk to me, as she was closer to my
age. But she was married and had a baby. I was single. What would happen
to my social life if I stopped drinking? The parties? The bars? I
couldn't face giving up alcohol.
The next two years were a hazy nightmare. I became a "periodic drinker,"
drinking one week out of the month. I lost my job and drifted into a
series of temporary jobs. The minute I got a paycheck, I was off on a
binge. I began to let everything go - even my dress and appearance.
Sometimes I didn't bathe for days. Peter got out of the army and saw that
his girl had become a full-fledged, full-time drunk. This romance
eventually ended.
Even then, I didn't consider myself an alcoholic. I felt all I had to do
was learn to drink like a lady and control myself. I did attend a few
more A.A. meetings, but I wasn't impressed. I got sick and was
hospitalized several times. The thought of suicide crossed my mind, but I
was afraid of failing at it. Besides, I'm a Roman Catholic and my
religion was one of the main things that kept me from going that route.
At my family's urging I even went to a psychiatrist. He helped me with
many problems, but not with the drinking, because I wouldn't let him.
I really didn't think much of myself at the time. My self-esteem was at a
low point, and the only way I seemed to be able to avoid my feelings of
self-hatred was to drink. My family life was miserable. It reached the
stage where the family was ashamed to have guests come to the house when
I was around. I began to wake up in the morning sick and nauseated I was
throwing up constantly and losing weight.
Finally I collapsed again, at the end of my physical endurance. This time
somebody recommended that I be sent to the Freeport Hospital, in
Freeport, Long Island - one of the few in the country devoted to the
treatment of alcoholics. I was carried in on a stretcher.
In the hospital I was put to bed and given a complete physical
examination. It was determined that I was in a severe state of
malnutrition - my weight had dropped to 85 pounds from my normal 110,
largely because during my drinking bouts I simply had no interest in
eating. I was also suffering from vitamin deficiencies, particularly of
B-12, which is the first to be destroyed by alcohol. I was put on a
high-protein, high-calorie diet, given massive injections of B-12 until
my bottom was sore, and given high-potency vitamins orally too. My liver
showed signs of damage, but the doctor felt it would easily recover.
During the first few days I was also given a mild tranquilizer to help me
cope with the shakes and withdrawal symptoms. But this was quickly
discontinued.
"Alcoholics, above all, should avoid any sort of tranquilizer or
stimulant. Their bodies have built up a high tolerance for drugs and they
tend to increase dosage when they are troubled," I was told by hospital
director Dr. Frank Herzlin. "This puts them right back into the alcohol
habit in short order,"
Patients are usually ambulatory when they are admitted to Freeport, and
all admissions are voluntary - nobody is committed, as they might be to a
mental institution. In my case I was on my feet in two days and
encouraged to take my meals with the others. I had pictured the patients
as being "Bowery bum" types, but I could not have been more wrong. Most
were attractive and well spoken. Though at twenty-one I was the youngest
at the hospital, a number of patients were under thirty.
I was then entered in the educational program, which consisted first of
orientation lectures to explain what alcoholism is and what it can do to
you. There were three of these a day.
This was followed by another series of lectures for an hour and a half
every morning, seven mornings a week. Afternoons were devoted to group
therapy and individual counseling sessions. I was soon made to realize
that I was not like other people, that I had a severe reaction to alcohol
and could never be a "social drinker."
To me alcohol was, in effect, an allergy. I was told that the only way I
would be able to stay sober, once I was discharged, was to join an A.A.
group, and I attended several sessions which were handled by outside A.A.
volunteers. Much time was spent trying to build up the patients'
"self-esteem" - to convince them that being an alcoholic was not a sign
of a weak or evil character but a condition that could be treated, like
diabetes, though not ever cured.
I was started on a family program and my parents, brother and sister were
invited to attend what we called the FOG sessions (Family Orientation
Group). There my family was given lectures similar to my own orientation
course, explaining what alcoholism is and how I should be treated. They
were encouraged to join Al-Anon, an organization specially for the
families of alcoholics. One of the important points stressed was that
families should not disrupt their entire lives because one of them was an
alcoholic, but must learn to start living for themselves. Sometimes after
hearing the orientation lectures, other members of the family would
realize that they too were alcoholics and apply for a course of treatment.
Altogether there were twenty-five different programs in one week for the
alcoholic patients, including films, group and private therapy, rap
sessions and lectures. We were also given a complete physical checkup
every day. I know of no case in which any of the patients tried to
smuggle in drinks or have any alcohol at this period. They had all been
too close to disaster.
Treatment at Freeport is usually for one week. This costs $405 and is
allowable on Blue Cross, but since I had no regular job at the time I was
admitted, the cost had to be picked up by my family.
I finally left Freeport after two weeks, restored in physical and mental
health, and convinced I could and must stay sober.
I was able, after a few months, to start another relationship with a boy
I had known in high school. He knew of my illness and was confident we
could fight it together. This did much to help my self-esteem.
But it was hard to stay sober. I still couldn't realize that in my case,
I could not drink at all. Shortly after I left Freeport, I took a bottle
of Vodka to my room, just to lift me out of the blues. I fell off the
wagon with a bang, and within two weeks I was in almost as bad shape as
when I'd first arrived at Freeport. I agreed to return for further
treatment and was reminded of what I had been told so many times in the
hospital and at A-A. meetings. When you go back to drink, you don't go
back to the beginning; you return to the point where you last left off.
This time I cleared the hospital in one week, convinced that I would
really stay sober forever. I had another scare not long afterward while I
was having some dental work done. The dentist had given me the usual dose
of Novocain and started confidently to drill, when I let out a shriek of
pain.
I had forgotten one of the warnings in the lectures at Freeport. If you
are given anesthetics, you must always warn the doctor or dentist that
you are a recovered alcoholic. Alcoholics often develop such a special
chemistry with regard to drugs that they have been known to come suddenly
out of anesthesia even during surgery!
I have finally learned that I can cope with my illness by facing it day
by day, with the help of my family, my boy friend and Alcoholics
Anonymous. I've learned to love waking up not feeling sick.
I took and passed a high school equivalency test and have now passed
entrance exams for a local university, which I plan to attend next
semester.
Paul, my new boy friend, loves and understands me. Before, I never
believed anyone would love me sober. Now I don't think anyone could love
me any other way.
I give thanks to God, the Freeport Hospital and Alcoholics Anonymous for
giving me back a life that nearly ended before it began.
Source: Seventeen, March 1974.
Contact:
The Legacy Group of Alcoholics Anonymous © 2005