Personal Narrative: Alcohol And Drinking

Ever since I was a little girl I have always aspired to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and become a prosperous attorney like him. He exerted himself strenuously, graduated from Northeastern Law School and was one of the founding partners of the Morrison, Mahoney and Miller Law firm currently located in Boston. It has been an arduous journey for me to verbally express the least endeavoring to follow my grandfather’s legacy. Shortly after graduating high school, my life consummately spiraled out of control and I was faced with adversity that seemed insurmountable. It is paramount to take a moment and apportion some brief history considering that I my past has molded me into the strenuously exertive, goal oriented student I have always aspired to be.

My relationship with drugs first began during my senior year of high school. While most of my peers attended their first parties years earlier, my first was not until I was already 17 years old. I still remember feeling so cool for attending my first party and having my first sip of alcohol. The feeling of being drunk was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I felt liberated, like I could break out of my quiet shell and be that fun, goofy person that everyone wanted to hang out with. Prior to this night I had never used any type of substance, legal or illegal. Since then I have continued using alcohol while also trying various different types of drugs including caffeine, marijuana, tobacco, and adderall.

Cliff sat down next to Jensen watching the other alpha down two whiskey shots in a row. “Slow down alpha, or I’ll be taking you home in about twenty minutes.” Cliff admonished.

Tucked at the end of a long dirt road, framed with cacti, sat the low profile block building. Surrounded by a wire fence, I later learned it to be the men’s facility. My new home, the women’s quarters, sat in the open paved lot. “Phoenix Prison Camp,” read the sign. Joe opened the chicken wire embedded glass door and led us into the administration building. Dragging their feet, my kids accompanied us inside. We had few words to say. No one acknowledged us. We waited, huddled together on a wooden bench, our legs and hands crossed. Levi rubbed his face. I chewed my nails. Framed photos of Barack Obama and Eric Holder hung on the wall. Guards strolled past, ignoring us.

I started dating a boy my senior year of high school that was two years younger than me. He had been known to throw parties with his older sister and get drunk almost every weekend, but he was genuine and kind to me, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Throughout our entire relationship he gave up drinking because he knew that I did not approve. However, we got into a fight one night and he decided to go out with his friends to blow off some steam without telling me. That night, he got black out drunk and started drunk texting me about how horrible I was to try to restrict him from living his life and having fun with his friends. I broke up with him the next day because I could not see the relationship continuing on after such hateful words had been exchanged and the differing views we had on what was considered fun.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” I lay on my bed with my hands covering my face and scream. I look at my dating account with little determination, and press enter. I scrolled to a new tab and looked at the invite to the party I was invited to that was happening tomorrow night. I close my laptop and continue watching whatever's on TV, I flipped to the news.

This article depicts one man's journey through alcoholism, beginning when he was a young teen and following him all the way through college and the event that finally knocked some sense into him. I personally have never understood the allure of drinking. Being in high school, I know many people who drink on a regular basis. They go to parties and drink to the point where they can no longer control their actions or even their thoughts. They wake up the next morning in a haze, and half the time they can't recall the events of the night before.

At September 14th me and my car plummet to the ocean while i’m there justing waking up from a nap i took while driving scared and confused alcoholic on his way to his death. But before we talk about how if I escaped that situation let’s go back a few hours before all this happened. So there i was at a local party celebrating with me and my designated driver. I was drinking and dancing with some other funny people. I don’t like to admit it but i’m an alcoholic who obviously is addicted to alcohol but at this point i feel like i’ve drank every beer there is to man.

I think that I shall attempt to be original on this topic. Just joking. The worst act of deviance that I have taken part in to my recollection was underage drinking. Before I start talking about this particular act of deviance I would like to say that it was a blast and I would gladly do it again. Also I did know this act was one of deviance, I believe most people know what they are doing when they break the law and I particularly did about this act. My parents and I had talked about underage drinking on several occasions and how there would be plenty of time later in my life to party and get drunk.

Due to economic circumstances and my father's alcohol abuse, my family suffered from family problems and emotional pain. My father would come home drunk and argue with my mother about our economic circumstances. I was too young to understand what was occurring between my parents and I grew up believing that this was the typical family. I remember a specific occasion when my dad came home and he said that he was tired of us. He left my mom with my three siblings and I without money and anywhere to go. This situation terrified me and caused me to focus in school to forget about my personal problems. I could not understand how my father could leave us and not care for us. We then lived in someone's garage because we could not afford a home. Throughout

Before we got in the line we had these people buy us alcohol but we are running low and sobering up and it's only about five at this point and the show didn't start for another six hours. We ask a couple of people to buy us alcohol but it wasn't the right moment. We ask this boy who looked well under our age to buy us alcohol. Just by his appearance, his skinny, long torso and long legs and neon green shirt make him look like a highschooler. “But, he has the bright orange wristband that says 21” I say. Wendy goes over to asks him and he says yes and she gives him the money. After a couple of minutes Wendy and I start watching and noticing they were talking. “It looks like they are just going to take the money and run.” “They aren't even getting in the line to buy the beer.”

I need sleep,” my dad said, dismissing us when we got back to the house, sitting awkwardly on a sofa which had collapsed beneath his weight. His tracksuit bottoms caught up on his calf exposed the shocking white of his skin. I straightened the covers for him, plumping the cushions.

Keeping her head covered, Louise whined, “Oh, Mike, I have a big problem and don t know what to do.” Wanting to tell him about hitting the dog, but she was afraid of what he would say.

During this time of my childhood, I had no clue as to what they were fighting over. But I did know they’d been going at it often lately over my Step Daddy’s drinking so that was the assumption.

I prefer beer. I am unable to imagine myself placing a blot of LSD under my tongue and surrendering to what comes my way. However, I can imagine myself traveling around the country on a bus seeking to bring others to a state of greater peace and understanding. Do I have to be tripping? Perhaps a little buzzed will do.