Without realizing it, I had started drifting into my own isolation long before my diagnoses of depression. I had most likely begun isolating myself long before any of this came to fruition. Back before my life was centered around Henry, in high school when I seemed to have strayed away. I had always thought of my self as an extrovert and outgoing, but over the years I had transitioned to a homebody and began avoiding social situations to avoid the argument it meant I would have at home.
Aside from derby, there were few social outings you could find me at. Something that was special and important to a friend, like a birthday outing, I would make an appearance for, but usually I sat out the Thursday night shows and the Sunday night cookouts, justifying my lack of appearance with my insane work schedule. When my best friend came home for the holidays though, it was a different story.
To celebrate, we all joined together for a night of fun, drinks, and laughter. It was the first time Kevin really got to interact with a lot of them and ultimately it was a huge deal since Henry had never, in nine years, made an appearance before.
Kevin agreed to drive so that I could have a good time catching up with some friends and two drinks later I had a truth that I couldn’t bare to keep in any longer. Drunk, I made my way into the kitchen and found Ashley. I suddenly felt the need to confess to her what I had been dealing with.
Prior to that moment I had only told one other person, aside from Kevin, what was going on. Mustering up the courage to tell a close friend was hard and finding the right time felt near impossible. Turns out there is no neat way to fit “I am depressed” into casual conversation.
This was my best friend though. She had known me through the good and the bad. We always were there for one another and I knew of all people she would understand my struggle, I knew she would understand my fear of becoming my mom. So with the help of some alcohol, I bucked up, wondered into the kitchen and fought back the tears as I told her.
I swear I was whispering, but knowing me and that I was drinking, the whole kitchen most likely heard us. People walked up and would realize we were having a serious conversation, apologize and back away. In that moment I wasn’t ashamed. I wasn’t proud, but I had temporarily accepted what it was.
Ashley hugged me. She reminded me that I would never be my mom, that no mater what I wasn’t going to end up going down that path. The comfort of my best friend was suddenly interrupted by Kevin on the back deck. He had moved out there to let the cool air hit his face as he felt the alcohol hitting him harder than he ever had before.
Eventually Kevin made his way to the restroom and I returned to the dinning room to partake in jello shots followed by more jello shots and then some more. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when I began to realize that Kevin was still no where to be found. I wondered by the bathroom and knocked on the door, “babe, you okay?” I asked. I got some groan or mumble back, which seemed to be good enough for me at the moment.
As the evening continued and the drinks made their way through our system and began to hit our bladders the occupied restroom became and increasingly inconvenient problem. I began to worry. I knew that Kevin’s stomach could bother him from time to time, but this was really beginning to push it and he hadn’t responded to the text, that mostly made sense ,that I had sent him. I began standing outside the door knocking. I tried to get in but when the door wouldn’t move I assumed it was locked.
It turns out the door wasn’t locked, it was just blocked by Kevin’s passed out body on the bathroom floor.
In a panic I pushed the door open enough to squeeze in and get to him.
As I sat on the floor, scared about what was happening, I tried to get him to get up. Though, soon that fear grew to include anger and hurt. I felt like I should have known better, that I should have never assumed that this time, with Kevin, would be any different then all the times with Henry before. Why had I been so dumb to think that this would work out? Why did I think we would hang out with my friends and all had a good time? Rather then missing the party because I never showed up or leaving early because I had to get home to Henry, I was missing the party sitting on the bathroom floor with Kevin laying face down unable to move.
I hated myself in that moment. How could I have been so stupid.
I was angry with Kevin. How could he do this to me.
I couldn’t control what was happening and quickly the stream of tears were joined by blunt hits with my own hands to my head as a repeated “stupid, stupid, stupid,” over and over again.
Kevin tried to move, he tried to get me to stop, but in his condition there wasn’t much he could do but tell me he was okay and he just needed a moment.
“You have had a lot of moments,” I would snap in reply in-between tears, “Babe, you have been laying her for almost an hour now. I need you to get up. I want to go home, you said we could go home when I wanted to.”
We eventually made it out of the bathroom and I had cried myself into a sober state. I gathered our things and a water bottle, then we made our way to the car with our heads hung in shame.
That was how I said bye to by best friend and her family on their last night in town.
I drove home that night, with Kevin passed out in the passenger seat. He slept until we got to the house, where he made his way upstairs and into bed. I trailed behind, grumbling to myself in anger and fighting back tears. Upstairs I discovered that my pajama bottoms were still in one of the baskets of clean laundry. As I quickly searched through the basket the anger flooded over me like a title wave and my inability to find my shorts knocked me off my feet.
I dug through the basket in a fit of rage, leaving each piece of clothing scattered among the dark room. Every last piece. Tears were streaming from my face as my anger began to include shades of embarrassment and shame as I realized what I had just done.
I eventually found my shorts and fought past the knots in my stomach to go to bed.
Looking back, we still don’t know what happened to Kevin that night. The drinks that he had don’t add up to an evening if missing memories and awaking on a bathroom floor. It was also one of the first times since starting therapy that I had a monumental breakdown.
The next day Kevin and I collected ourselves at home and eventually made our way out to ring in the New Year, where the true discomfort of social situations really began to come to lite.
In my discomfort I shut down, not interacting with Kevin’s friends at the bar. I was to ashamed to speak up, to worried that I would be the girlfriend pulling Kevin away. As the night progressed Kevin could see the discomfort in my face, though I refused to admit it to him. Instead, I let it swell. I let my mind go on and on about how horrible some of these people were. I judged them by the things they said, the clothes they wore, and the people they were with. By the end of the night, my discomfort shifted to anger as I felt like it wasn’t fair that I had been looking forward to a fun New Years Eve on the town and had ended up with karaoke at some hole-in-the-wall bar. Soon the comments that had swirled in my head slipped there way out of my mouth as I told Kevin how appalled by this group of people I was.
I regretted the statements after saying them. As I had time to process my thoughts, I realized they were bringing back to many memories I had wanted to forget. I felt like such a snob as I realized I felt like I was better than some of them.