The Shatter Set Me Free
A Yooper sunrise and a dream
Ted and I took a road trip to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula last weekend to honor the tenth anniversary of my second DUI.
The consequences after my first DUI, in 2012, were not life-shattering. I was on probation for one year, and spent eight of those months in a fancy eating disorder treatment facility covered by my parents’ high-end insurance.
I could still see a future.
The consequences after my second DUI, in 2015, however, were life-shattering. My probation lasted three years, and my driver’s license was suspended for nine. I was forced into three different Medicaid-based inpatient rehab facilities. I quickly learned how heavy it is to carry the stigma of being labeled an addict.
The choices I had access to changed dramatically. I was excluded from the choices of white privilege that I grew up with, like which corporate career I would chase, which well-paid man I would marry, and where I would go on vacation. Instead, I had to choose which exploitative entry-level job within walking distance of my income-based apartment was most tolerable. There was no climbing, marrying, or traveling. There were only constant reminders of how fucked up I was.
I lost sight of a meaningful future.
Last week also marked one year since my driver’s license was reinstated. This meant I could begin the car breathalyzer removal application process, which requires a substance abuse evaluation. Part of the eval is called the Michigan Alcohol Screening Test (MAST), written in 1971. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and chuckle at the evaluator when she asked me the first of twenty-four MAST questions.
Do you feel you are a normal drinker?
In my head, I thought…
First of all, I haven’t had a drink in over three years. I am not a normal or an abnormal drinker. I’m a non-drinker.
Second, why are they still using a screening test that was written over half a century ago? Addiction research and language have evolved light-years since 1971.
Third, there is no such thing as “normal” drinkers. I mean, if this were a screening for cocaine, how would they measure “normal” use? Whether someone uses cocaine once a year or every day, they are considered a coke user, and that is “bad.” Right? So, why is alcohol—a highly addictive, lethal, blackout-inducing, Group 1 carcinogen—different? Where is the imaginary line between normal and abnormal use?
Fourth, why am I paying $325 out of pocket to have an outdated evaluation? Why am I still subject to systemic harm ten years after my second DUI? Why am I still being evaluated by people who probably use alcohol themselves? Why do I have more addiction knowledge than the “professionals?”
Instead of saying any of this, I fixed my face and told the woman what she wanted to hear.
No, I’m not a normal drinker.
The hotel I stayed at last weekend in the UP was right on the water. Upon arrival, Ted and I sat in a chair at the shoreline for five hours watching the waves crash on the Straits of Mackinac. The sun set behind us, which meant we had a front-row seat to a full moon rise over Mackinac Island. It was the most incredible thing I have seen in the ten years since my second DUI.
The next morning, we woke up at the crack of dawn and sat in the same spot to watch the sun rise. Something inside of me broke, and I let out ten years’ worth of tears.
Imagining a future beyond the limited choices I was given after my second DUI felt impossible. It didn’t seem fair that my alcohol-consuming peers and family had access to choices that I didn’t. I hate that they are considered “normal drinkers” while the MAST test is still reminding me of how fucked up I am ten years later.
It was as if the crashing sunrise waves said, “We’re here for you, Kelsi. You can release all of the pain and resentment. Leave it here with us in the Straits of Mackinac. We will hold it for you. You survived the shatter. You are free.”
My twenties were the decade of chasing the white privileged life I thought I was supposed to have, and consequently, getting so sick that I shattered.
My thirties have been the decade of getting sober, slowly crawling out of the hole of harm, deprogramming a lifetime of internalized white supremacy, and being Ted’s mom.
My forties will be the decade of living in the UP, exploring every single shoreline, and writing a book. For the first time in my life, I know what I want outside of the white privileged life that was expected of me.
The shatter set me free.
Ten years after waking up from a drinking blackout in jail, I woke up to a Yooper sunrise and a dream.
A bright future is on the horizon.
Progress.
