I escaped my mean stepfather and moved 2200 miles away to begin university life. My first few days were met with Frosh week activities and let’s just say I can’t remember much of the pub crawl in downtown Toronto. I think I met half the busload, but I couldn’t tell you a single name the next day. Drinking was how you lowered your inhibitions to meet and mingle with all the new students. The barriers were being broken down nearly overnight as all the other first-year students who had fled their small towns and parents’ rules were now free to fly. And fly we did!
There were pubs everywhere on campus and most social activities were centered around drinking and getting drunk. It was the way of life. Mix that with large doses of weed and hash and—well—need I say more? I was partying like there was no tomorrow.
As I matured into 2nd, 3rd, and 4th year, house parties became the norm. Magnums of wine were consumed before, during, and after dinner. And beer? Heck, we’d even drive five hours from Toronto to Montreal with a 24-pack and a bag of weed to get us there in time for Montreal bagels at the crack of dawn — honestly, the only thing remotely wholesome about a wild road trip powered by booze and pot.
The discos were popular, so at least at those I could dance some of the booze off. I would have to say drinking was pretty much a daily occurrence during those four years. Well—except for when the hangover was so brutal you just couldn’t function. Some of those early morning classes were pure torture.
What started as a way to fit in and be part of the crowd eventually became another form of escape. My young marriage was already facing emotional abuse, which was only made worse when my husband drank. Drinking dulled the pain, but it didn’t solve a thing. Turns out booze makes a lousy therapist.
And yes, there’s a chapter in my memoir that details a moment where the party nearly turned deadly—a combination of alcohol, weed, and cocaine that left me on the edge. A night I barely made it through.
Author’s Note:
University gave me new freedoms—but also new ways to numb what still hurt underneath. Maybe you’ve been there too.
This chapter in my story isn’t just about the wild nights—it’s about how the pain followed me, no matter how far I ran. I share it all in my memoir, Reason to Sing – An Inspiring Journey Overcoming Trauma, Abuse, and Betrayal.
Because healing doesn’t begin with pretending—it starts with telling the truth.
👉 Available on Amazon and Audible (Click here)
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| University taught me some new games! |
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