I Was the Most Unlikely Basehead

Those of you who knew me in high school probably remember that I was a total teetotaler.  I didn't drink, smoke, drink caffeine (to the extreme where I wouldn't touch chocolate unless it was decaffeinated,) or take over-the-counter pills unless absolutely necessary.  I rarely swore, avoided R-Rated movies like the plague and had no desire to engage in pre-marital sex, even though I was already known in some circles for my trademark offensive drawings, at that point in my life.  I made it through my first two years and half of college without any desire to visit a bar or be anything more than an LDS Sunday School teacher, a good student, a hard-worker and happy wife.  At that point in my life, I could be described as the stereotypical Molly Mormon. Unfortunately, life happened.

I was incredibly depressed, because of my brutal school and work schedule.  My first husband's insistence that I not speak about our domestic problems with my close friends, his assertion that my art was "satanic" and his constant accusations about my fidelity, did not help matters any.  I felt trapped in this situation, so I began drinking behind his back.  Often times, I would show up completely wasted  to my creative writing class, because I figured that everyone else there had substance-abuse problems, and no one would really notice another drunk. I was feeling fairly hopeless about the situation, so I became suicidal.  I didn't really tell anyone about my pain, outside of Ashbet, who desperately wanted me out of the situation.  Eventually my ex-husband went out of his way to sever my ties with her.  Lonely and trapped, I began to suffer from panic attacks and massive bouts of depression so severe, that I had to be sent to the emergency room.

I was put on Zoloft, and that seemed to help until my 30-day supply ran out.  No one had instructed me to keep on taking it.  Within a week or so my depression became much worse, and I was put back on Zoloft, after a second hospital visit.  Unfortunately, my second time on the medication yielded some rather disturbing results.  I became enraged to the point where I chased my husband around the house with a knife, intending fully to kill him.  Thankfully, I realized what I was doing before it was too late.  I called 911 and asked them to hospitalize me. They sent me to the FFTC.  I was optimistic that I would find some help there and perhaps a way to get my mind straight.  Little did I know that what awaited me behind the doors of that fortress like building, would be the beginning of a horrifying downward spiral into substance abuse.