Warning: The following describes alcohol use and alludes to unwanted sexual contact, which may be triggering to some audiences.

​It was five o’clock in the morning and I was sitting in the car that my mother and I had paid for in full. I was always eager to become independent but, somehow, I always depended on my mother. 

I’ve heard many stories from peers and their parents about their children never speaking to them again. As much as I have contemplated leaving my mother to live a life of my own without her help or without her hovering around me, it was difficult. 

One time I moved to another state, it took her one phone call to bring me back home to live with her. She would always throw me into a guilt trip of how I am abandoning her and how much she needs me because I am her only child. Eventually I ended up throwing my mattress into a dumpster in my gated community and leaving behind my well-paying managerial job. I had felt very successful there, yet I was returning to my mother. 

Everyday I felt as if I was living in the strict environment of ‘her house, her rules’ even if I helped pay the bills. I had always felt so responsible that sometimes all I wanted to do was just be rebellious as a way of self-control. 

Despite my ambition, I lacked self-awareness and direction. I had a problem. At the end of the week, all I wanted to do was go out to drink and dance. When I was finally old enough to go out with my friends, I avoided drunk driving and one fateful night I witnessed what drunk driving does. A young woman in my community and her best friend were killed as a result of a collision with a drunk driver. 

Even though I was careful and responsible in certain ways, I later survived an ordeal that I never thought I would have to face. It was my first time going out to a restaurant for pasta and a bottle of wine with a table of colleagues, artists, and a man. The man was much older and I thought we had hit it off well. I was very happy and my excitement blinded me.

Somehow, l found myself riding in his car and the next thing I knew, we were in a hotel room. After that, I blacked out from excessive drinking. This habit of drinking, that had made me feel like such an adult, was no longer something to be carefree about. The feeling of partying with friends and embarking in these new adventures felt euphoric, but when I was dumped on the corner between a dumpster in an alley and a neon sign flickering “Thank you come again,” I realized that these were signs from my higher power that I needed to support and help me decide which direction my life was going to take. 

I knew if I did not stop drinking and seek appropriate help that my life’s direction would be in a grave. There were many changes that were necessary for me to make which required a lot of work. I was enrolled in intensive outpatient programs and peer support groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous and many others.

About the Author: Amela emigrated to the United States as a multi-ethnic minority from Southeastern Europe in the early 1990s. In the early 2000s she discovered her mental health diagnosis but did not accept it. Now, she is a mental health & disability advocate working to destigmatize symptoms and chronic conditions.