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DRUNK
by Terri Lynn Rasmussen
Portia Mason sat amongst the sea of strangers in the basement of an old church and wondered how she had gotten to this point in her life. She sat quietly and listened to each person get up and speak. Telling their own sad stories of personal addiction, tragedy, and recovery. Why was she here? She asked herself. She wasn't like the people here. She wasn't addicted to anything. Other than shoes and chocolate. What red blooded American girl wasn't? So, she liked to have a few drinks every now and then to unwind. Certainly that did not make her an addict. And just because she had woken up in some stranger's bed unable to recall the events of the night before. She wasn't a drunk. No, she wasn't like these people at all. She was a supermodel after all. Supermodels were not addicts.
None of the other people in the decrepit old church even looked like her and surely they didn't have the money she had in the bank. She could afford anything she wanted and never have to think twice about buying it. She wore furs and diamonds, drove the latest sports car on the market. Her clothes were exquisitely tailored made by designers these people had never even heard of. Even tonight, sitting in the church, she wore an outfit from Dolce & Gabana's new spring collection and a beautiful pair of Jimmy Choo's. The others were dressed in faded blue jeans and t-shirts and tennis shoes. Normally, she would look down on them with disdain. For some reason tonight, she didn't.
Why am I here? She asked herself. I don't have a problem. Not problems like these people. They only had problems because they were poor.
She craved a drink right now. Just one to steady her nerves. That's all it would take. As soon as the warm fluid hit her stomach, it would course thru her bloodstream and take all the hurt away. Her last drink, she recalled had been sometime the night before she had passed out on her couch. Only to be awaken by her sister, smacking her in the face. Her precious face. Her million dollar face. Damn, she had been pissed off. She had pushed her sister off of her and onto the floor. Ally had broken her wrist somehow during the tumble.
Portia had felt horrible about the whole accident. Even apologizing profusely to Ally. Her apology had fallen on deaf ears.
"I've had it with you, Portia." Ally had yelled at her sister. "I'm out of here!" She had yelled while holding her wrist with her other hand.
Portia felt as if her world would end if her only sibling was not in her life.
Her mind recalled the day of her first drink. She had been only fifteen years old when a neighborhood boy had offered her some of his father's Jack Daniel's whiskey. Sliding down her throat the beverage had burned and caused her to gag. The more she drank the better she liked it and the better it made her feel.
Her loneliness had begun to fade. Her paralyzing shyness disappeared She opened herself up and began to laugh and that was something she had never been taught to do. Their parents had dies when she and Ally were only two years old in a car accident and they had been shipped off to live with their stricter than strict grandmother. When she drank the pain of her parent's death disappeared right along with shyness. She fell in love with the feeling the alcohol caused.
By the time Portia turned sixteen she was gorgeous and a bonafide drunk. She drank to escape the pain she had felt everyday. Finally, she thought she had found happiness. Too bad it was in a bottle. And it did not have a bottom.
Her drinking had led to more pain causing trouble. With her inhibitions lowered, she began sleeping around with different boys. Only looking to feel loved unconditionally. Neither boys nor sex could quench her desire. Getting drunk was the only thing that erased her pain.
During one of many drunken nights, she slept with some boy who didn't even know her name at a party and gotten pregnant. Her grandmother, when found out Portia was expecting made Portia give the baby up for adoption. Portia had wanted to keep the baby. Having legal guardianship over the two teenage girls', their grandmother had forced Portia into making the most horrible decision of her life.
Giving the innocent child up for adoption had almost killed Portia. Depression over the loss drove her further into the bottle. That was when she first experienced her first black out. It had frightened her but not enough to give it up.
Deciding to break away from her grandmother's control, Portia packed up her belongings and ran away to New York to become a model. To do that, she had to get sober and she did for awhile. Until the money came rolling in.
The cycle started all over again. This time the liquor was more expensive and it didn't take as much for her to become numb from the pain of her horrible life.
Snapping back to the present moment, Portia noticed her hands shaking. God, she thought, I need a drink. Just one. Two. Three. She didn't care how many it took to ease the pain in her heart and soul. The shaking was so violent she decided to sit on them.
Listening to a woman describe the intervention that had put her on the road to sobriety made Portia sit up and take notice. She was reminded of the morning with Ally and George, her manager had tried to sit down and talk to her.
"Portia," Ally had begun. "You have got to stop drinking."
Portia stared blankly at her sister. She didn't have the problem. They did.
George spoke up, "Portia, your drinking is causing some major damage to your career. Noone wants to work with you anymore." His tone of voice was solemn as he spoke.
Portia threw a fit. Crying and screaming, she resisted their feeble attempts at trying to help her. "Get out! And don't come back!" She spat at them thru gut wrenching sobs. She picked up a crystal vase and threw it at the wall. Hatred, anger, rage, and unspeakable fear overtook her. She picked up another vase and flung it across the room. One after another until tiny shards of glass littered the floor.
"I said get out. Both of you." Sweat and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Ally and George left Portia to herself after explaining they would not return until she sought help for her drinking problem.
Portia immediately ran to the bar and pored herself the tallest glass of vodka she could find. She gulped it down in short quick swallows. Then poured herself another. The hot fluid hit the back of her throat and burned all the way down to the pit of her stomach. Though, the burn was painful, she found it comforting as she felt the pain of their rejection slip away.
She looked around the house and surveyed the damage. She had destroyed so much. Not only her belongings, but her relationship with her sister and George. She sunk to the cold tiled floor as the wrenching sobs took over her body. She cried and yelled out at the empty room.
Her sister's words rang in her ears. "Until you get help, I am done."
Portia stood and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and red. Dried tears stained her face. She looked a wreck. She was a wreck. She didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. "What's wrong with you?" She asked herself.
"You're a worthless drunk." Stunned at her own revealing answer. George and Ally had been right, she needed help.
That's what had brought her to this church to meet with these people. People like her. On the outside, they were as different as night and day. On the inside, they were the same.
Once again, Portia snapped back to the present, realizing she wanted to get well. Honestly, she did. She had to.
As the woman at the podium finished recounting her story, Portia felt something ignite deep down in her soul. Strength, she realized. She could and would overcome her addiction.
With her newfound strength fueling her on, Portia stood up shakily and made her way to the empty podium. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands were shaking even more violently over what she was about to do. Looking out at her fellow addicts, she smiled nervously. Their eyes bore into Portia as they knew who she was. Embarrassment flooded her and for a brief second she considered running out the door.
With a shaky voice, Portia spoke as tears poured out of her eyes. She inhaled the stale smoky air one last time before admitting the horrible truth about herself.
"My name is Portia and I'm an alcoholic." She said.
The group of complete strangers replied in unison, "Welcome Portia."
***End***
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