Hello, my name is LostCompanion and I am an alcoholic.
I met with my sponsor today. I need to go into more detail with my inventory. That sucks. For instance: It’s not enough to say I hate the babysitter who duck-tapped me to a chair when I was five. I need to talk about how for years I was afraid to walk up flights of stairs that didn’t have backings on them because that’s what the babysitters apartment stairs were like and at five-years-old I wished I would have fallen through them rather than walk into her apartment. I remember how nice she was when my mother dropped us off, there was light in the apartment when my mother was on the other side of the door saying goodbye to us. When the door shut and my mother was gone, so was the light. Darkness surrounded me and I can still shut my eyes and feel that darkness. I remember the anxiety of wanting my mother to pick me up. I was scared. I felt fucking alone. The woman had an eight-year-old girl who taunted me while I was attached to the chair doing God knows what to me.
That’s apparently the description my sponsor wants to see. I can understand that this shit needs to get out but fuck, this is what alcohol suppressed for me.
As I mentioned in the last blog I published, I am going to share more about my life. I started the last blog by opening the present of the birth of alcoholism in my early twenties and I ended with being driven away to an asylum.
I am going to start further back in my history tonight. I was born in the southern part of the US. I never knew my biological father. I guess he was in my life until I was 9 months old or so. We then moved to a place in the US that had the most accumulation of Middle Eastern people other than the Middle Ease in the world. I was four or five. Let’s just say the apartment building we lived in had a patio that was not to be walked on for fear of someone plummeting to their death. I was in first grade. There was this woman who lived in the building, one floor down from ours, her name was Fatima. She had many cats and I loved to go see her. Visiting her is one of the most positive memories I have of my childhood. Needless to say, she was just a small drop of beauty in a very horrifying and ugly place to live. One night, the front of the apartment building was bombed. All I remember is evacuating and seeing the building on fire and the fear on the faces of the tenants who lived close to where the bomb went off. This setting leads to the Nazi that came into my life…… My mother went to an exotic place to vacation and left us with God only knows who. She met the Nazi there. They had a long-distance relationship for nearly a year until he moved to the States and in with us. The location of where we lived with him was short-lived. Looking back I see he wanted to take us as far away from our family as he could. I remember seeing him and my mother sitting around the table and randomly picking a state to move to. So, we moved.
At that time I was excited. He seemed nice; not the Nazi he really was. My first memory of being in the new state: We were strictly told to stay in the car while they looked at the house that turned out to be the chambers of which the Nazi turned into his playful hell. To this day EVIL still resides there. A Nazi does not live there but EVIL now does.
It was the middle of summer. We waited in the car for what seemed like hours. It got extremely hot and the windows were up. My sibling and I started to scream and cry for them to let us out. That was the first time I truly felt abandoned by my mother. They walked outside and saw us crying and sweating and begging them to let us out. He said no, so she let us stay in there. I call that day the start of hell.
There are times to this day I want a “mom” that I yearned for that hot summer day, the day she sacrificed us for a man.
God, thank you for the meeting tonight. Thank you for keeping me sober. Thank you for this time I have to write about my life to strangers with hope that they keep me in their prayers for my sobriety.