No matter how hard you try to run from your past, you can’t. It finds you. It finds you when you least expect it. Finds you in the most random place. It leaves you completely unprepared. Vulnerable.
I accepted that a long time ago and have long since stopped trying to run. Still, I’ve found that there is no way to be prepared for the flood of certain memories when it finds you.
The past requires explanations. Apologies. Uncomfortable balancing of the processing of memories and emotions with small talk and excited laughter. Hugs. Kisses. Holy Shit, how long has it been(s)?!?! The past requires being present when you’re not ready to be.
Today I walked into the past at a Starbucks downtown. I walked into it unprepared and came face to face with the Sandra I ran away from so long ago.
I had an appointment and I was early. Finding a place to enjoy coffee and get some work done is easy downtown, you go to Starbucks. I wanted an Americano and a muffin.
In 1999, I celebrated one year of sobriety.
I was 18 years old and had just experienced a miscarrage. Sober minds allow you to feel and I was feeling. I had been with my boyfriend for a few years, I loved him. We loved each other. We lived for each other. When I made the decision to stop using and enter rehab, I gave him the option of getting sober with me or I would leave. I’m not the type for ultamatums, but this was about saving my life; our lives. He chose me. I knew he would.
In 1999, we were both celerating one year of sobriety.
The miscarrage was painful. It allowed me to slow down and process the direction of my life; our life. I knew he only stopped using for me. He still spoke about drugs and his desire to use. Always reminding me that he would never “do that to me”. I couldn’t live like that. I never wanted to be in a relationship where decisions were made by one person and followed by the other out of love or fear of losing them. So, I left. I gave him room to breathe. To live. It killed both of us. He started using again that night, I’ve been sober since.
In 1999, I celebrated one year of sobriety.
I was 18 years old, working 70 hours a week and maintaining my own apartment. One of my jobs was the gym, the other was at a Starbucks downtown.
I loved working at Starbucks. I started there because I needed health benefits, what I found there was way more than I ever expected. Shortly after I started, I met my future roomate (who I would move to British Columbia with), made wonderful friendships (that I still have now), and I met my boyfriend (who would later become the father of my first child).
1999 was a great year.
Celebrating sobriety meant a new love and appreciation for partying without drugs. I would go to the Guvernment every weekend and just dance. I enjoyed the freedom and energy that my new life brought. I had just trained a new staff member at Starbucks, who happened to be dating a member of the gym I worked at. She was a dancer and we hit it off quickly. She instantly became my weekend clubbing partner and we had a lot of fun together. Me, sober. Her, not. It didn’t matter, I was strong enough to be around it without needing it.
I had stopped selling drugs when I stopped using, but it was hard to escape a life that people knew you for. Being downtown meant being recognized often. Being recognized often meant being asked for product. Being asked for product meant being forced to face my past regularly. I was no longer that Sandra. But I was strong enough to to be around it without needing it.
One night at the Guvernment, I bumped into an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. She was looking for drugs and smiled when she saw me. I told her I didn’t sell anymore but she knew I knew everyone there who did. She didn’t trust anyone but me, so she begged me to get her some. I agreed. Didn’t think anything of it, one transaction, no big deal.
As soon as those pills were in my hand, they were in my mouth.
I thought I was stronger than I was. I was strong because I had stayed away. The past found me when I was unprepared and I was weak.
I spit out the pills and left. That was the night I decided I needed to move. To get away. To run as far as I could from the past.
My roomate, my boyfriend and I packed up our apartment and moved across the country. We started a new life in Victoria, British Columbia.
I left to save my life.
With that, I left a lot of people behind. Some understood, some never forgave me for not saying goodbye.
The past requires explanations. Apologies. Uncomfortable balancing of the processing of memories and emotions with small talk and excited laughter. Hugs. Kisses. Holy Shit, how long has it been(s)?!?! The past requires being present when you’re not ready to be.
Today I walked into the past at a Starbucks downtown. I walked into it unprepared and came face to face with the Sandra I ran away from so long ago.
That friend. The one I spent every weekend dancing the nights away with. There she was. On the other side of the counter, holding my americano in her hand as we made eye contact. Floods of memories. Emotions. She handed me my drink and we smiled with recognition. Excited laughter. Holy shit, how have you beens!?!?!
It’s been 15 years since I’ve looked into those eyes. She is exactly where I last saw her.
The past found me and I wasn’t ready.
And miles to go before I sleep 