~ Chapter 7: Who the Hell is Benji Campbell? ~
I have very little idea of what happened between when I left my house and when I drove through the Wendy's. Everything I know is courtesy of a camera catching me when I ran a red light, the 911 call a frantic woman made when she saw the accident, Derek, and the police officer who got there first.
I can't tell you how I felt in the car or what was going through my head when I drove through the Wendy's. Like I said before: it was like I fell asleep.
When I woke up in the hospital, I was so confused. I didn't understand how I'd gotten from point A to point B. The last thing I remembered was needing that Frosty, and I didn't realize that I was in the hospital exactly because I drove through point B. I didn't have too much time to process it. I think I almost immediately fell asleep again.
Things were kind of a blur at first. I was either still coming down from how drunk I'd been, or I was on some kind of medicine that was making me groggy and sleepy. I don't remember anyone telling me what they were giving me; I don't even know if they could give me anything. When I woke up for real, my parents were there. I think they must've shown up sometime after I woke up the first time and when I was able to think clearly, or maybe they'd been there earlier, and I had been too out of it to notice. We never talked about it.
Everything about that accident came to me in pieces. It felt like everyone held different fragments of the story.
This woman with a baby saw the accident. She happened to be driving around because her kid wouldn't sleep, and I guess driving helped. Imagine that. This frazzled, young, new mom just wanted to get her kid to sleep and, instead, she watched me drive into a Wendy's. I don't know how long it would've been until someone found me if she hadn't been there. It was almost 1 am, and everything was closed, including the Wendy's. Maybe someone driving by would have noticed something was up, but I don't know. I think the fact that I made it to the Wendy's and didn't get into an accident earlier is a sign that not many people were out and about.
I was pretty beat up when she got to me, and she was afraid to get me out of the car because she didn't want to hurt me more. There was a lot of broken glass, and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get my door open because it was all dented in. My window was completely shattered, so she could see me and hear me. I guess part of me was aware that I was in pain because she said I was mostly groaning. She said she asked me a few questions, but I didn't answer her.
According to her, she had to ask me if there was someone she could call three times before I understood what she was asking. I gave her Derek's number; I have no idea how I remembered it, how I was coherent enough to give it to her, or why he was the one I chose, but she called him. She said she was pleasantly surprised when it was a real number; she never knew that I was drunk, at least not to my knowledge. I think she just thought I was disoriented from my accident, and she waited with me until the police arrived. She came to visit me when I was in the hospital because she wanted to make sure I was okay.
The police officer also came to see me in the hospital, but it wasn't to make sure I was okay. He wanted to make sure I knew that what I'd done was really serious. He told me that he thought I was dead when he saw the car. He didn't think anyone could survive something like that, much less survive it with just some cuts, bruises, and burns from my airbags. I saw the pictures, and I don't know how I'm here right now either.
He got me out of the car and knew right away what had happened. It was lucky he got me out when he did because a piece of the roof collapsed onto my dad's car less than a minute later and if I'd been in my car, I would've died. It's not even a maybe. I saw the pictures. There was this huge wood piece that went right through and poked a hole through the floor of the car. It would have killed me. The officer told me I passed out before the ambulance got there.
He said my accident was just the beginning. He wanted me to know what my legal next steps were and told my parents I needed a lawyer. I didn't get it; why would I need a lawyer? It still hadn't hit me. They told me I'd been in an accident, and I knew I'd been drinking, but it wasn't until he started saying something about how he could smell the alcohol "wafting" off of me when he pulled me out of my car and when he recommended rehab that I understood. He'd gotten the approval to temporarily suspend my license pending a follow up hearing where I would find out if my license would be reinstated or if it would be suspended longer. Spoiler alert, it would get suspended. The judge that decided my case gave me the maximum time he could.
When that police officer left, I got some more of the story from my parents.
I'd find out from Derek when he got to the hospital that afternoon that the woman that helped me called him three times, enough that his phone started to ring despite being on Do Not Disturb. When she told him I'd been in an accident, that my car was totaled, and that I was barely conscious, he had no idea what to do, but he knew he couldn't handle it on his own. He drove to my house. He didn't know I was drunk. He would find out when he came to see me, but we're not there yet. I think it's important that you know this. That's what I did to Derek. He had to receive a phone call and spent hours not knowing if I was going to survive my accident and then would find out it only happened because I'd been drinking.
He'd practically broken down our front door trying to wake my parents up. I'd left the garage door up, so when that didn't work, he eventually just went through there and yelled for them. He was so freaked out that they had trouble getting everything out of him. He told them he'd gotten a call from someone that I'd been in an accident. He didn't know if I was okay. Once they understood what had happened and my dad confirmed his car was missing, they weren't sure what he did because they were in panic mode. They called the police to find out more about what happened. They were told the same thing Derek told them, but they found out which hospital I'd been taken too.
It wasn't until they came in to see me that they found out what I'd done. They told me that when the doctor told them I'd driven drunk, they thought he was telling them about the wrong patient. Surely, it couldn't have been me. As if they knew who I was anymore than I did.
I can't fully understand everything they went through that morning. There was the anxiety as they waited to hear about how I was doing, the shock and confusion as they found out why this had happened, their relief when they discovered that I could have died and hadn't, their anger and disappointment that their son was such a screw up.
My doctor told me that I was lucky the alcohol hadn't killed me. My BAC was crazy high. I didn't realize I'd been that bad, but I guess that was the point. I still don't think I had half a bottle of tequila, but I obviously drank a lot.
When he was explaining the "lifesaving measures" they took when I got to the hospital, my mom broke down. To this day, I can still hear it. I'd never seen my mom cry like that before, not even when my nana passed away. Sometimes, I have nightmares about it; nightmares where I cause her to cry like that again.
When the doctor left, my parents asked me why I'd done it, and if I'd gotten that drunk before, and how I could do this to them. I didn't answer their questions; I couldn't. I wasn't ready to admit that the drinking was a problem or that it was real, and there was something far more pressing I had to deal with.
Other than my parents, the only person I could think about was Derek. Nothing from before the accident went away. I still didn't want to be gay, but I knew I couldn't keep trying to be someone I wasn't. It had literally almost killed me. I was gay, and I needed to accept it was permanent. It wasn't fair to Derek or me or anyone in my life. And part of me wanted to stop pretending. Would the hatred I felt every day become easier to manage? Would I be able to stop drinking like the cop, the doctor, and my parents had told me I needed to? Would being Benji Campbell stop seeming like a punishment? Would I be able to figure out who the hell Benji Campbell was?
I knew in my heart that I had to stop hiding. I didn't know who I really was, but I needed to be whatever version of myself I could be in that moment.
I started to tell them like fifty times, but I never got any of the words out. It's kind of like my brain was screaming "gay" over and over again, but I couldn't make myself actually say it out loud. Instead, I asked them where Derek was.
They had never met him before that night, and he hadn't introduced himself before they were rushing to the hospital, so they had no idea who I was talking about. Then my mom asked me if he was the "young man" who woke them up last night.
I didn't know that Derek had been the one to tell them yet, but I couldn't think of anyone else it could've been. My dad said he was in the waiting room. He'd seen him when he got coffee earlier.
It took twenty minutes for them to hunt down Derek and bring him to my hospital room. He told me about the phone call and properly introduced himself to my parents. He didn't call himself my boyfriend but introduced himself as my bandmate. For a few minutes, we just talked like I wasn't in the hospital.
Then my doctor came back with some resources for addiction. Derek got so confused; he asked me what the doctor was talking about and kind of sounded like he needed the doctor to be wrong and like he also couldn't believe that I'd done what I'd done.
My parents refused to leave, so I was supposed to talk to him in front of them. It was mortifying, and I couldn't do it; maybe things would have been different if I'd had to say it myself, but my mom jumped in and told him what I'd done.
I didn't know what he was going to do. He just said he'd talk to me in a few days. I called after him when he left, but he kept walking.
My mom told me that she was sure he just needed some time to process everything. "Your friend will be just fine." That's what she said to me, and something snapped.
I told them he wasn't my friend, and it didn't land. They had no idea what I meant.
It hit me that I'd almost died because of how fucked up I was. I didn't want to blame the alcohol, so I decided to blame the fact that I hadn't come out to them yet. I felt like that was the root of all of my problems, and I decided to tell them. I was so surprised by how sure I felt of that decision. I hadn't known that depth of certainty… pretty much ever.
I took a deep breath because I'd never thought about how to do this. I didn't have a plan; I'd been too busy trying to be someone that never would have to come out that I didn't let myself think about how to do it.
I tried my best with it. I told them that I'd been dating Derek for almost four months and that I really liked him and that I was never going to have another girlfriend. It was messy and sloppy and probably would have gone a lot better if I'd planned it out and done it any other time than when I was in the hospital. They were stunned. My mom took it better than my dad. She hugged me and told me everything would be fine. It was a good reaction, but do you know what I remember? That she didn't tell me she loved me. It would be a long time before she'd say it again, and now I always wonder if she means it or if she just feels like she's supposed to say it. Derek always said I wasn't giving them enough credit and that they were dealing with my trauma in the only way they knew how. Maybe he's right, but maybe they also shouldn't be thinking of me as their trauma. I don't know. I doubt I'll ever stop feeling weird about that.
My dad didn't say anything, but he shook his head like he didn't believe me. I don't think my parents and I ever came back from that moment.
I didn't get discharged until the next day. They kept me overnight for observation; it wasn't even because of my accident. They wanted to make sure I hadn't caused any permanent damage with how drunk I was; they were throwing around words like brain damage and I just wasn't in a place where I could really hear it. When I got home the next day, Lucy was sitting in front of my house. She had a cousin that's a nurse at the hospital I was at. Her cousin recognized my name from my chart. He didn't tell Lucy the details, but he told her when I was discharged. My mom was pissed. She looked like she was ready to sue the hospital or something because I think it was technically some kind of confidentiality breach, but I told her to drop it.
All Lucy knew was that I'd been in a really bad accident. I didn't know how bad I looked until she saw me. She didn't say anything, but I could tell because she just stared at me for a minute. It would be a couple of hours before I'd see myself in a mirror. I looked awful.
I didn't have a chance to decide whether or not Lucy would get the whole truth because my parents paraded us to my room, made me sit on my bed, and spent nearly three hours scouring every possible hiding spot I could have in my bedroom. I mean, they even broke out a screwdriver and checked behind the vents. They were very, very thorough. It was kind of unnecessary because most of the stuff was easy to find because I hadn't tried to hide it when they hadn't known to look for it. The stuff that was hidden was mostly buried in my closet or under a pile of clothes. It hadn't been hidden intentionally but was wherever it landed when I finished drinking for the night. There was a lot in my closet. I'd been stashing empty bottles in there for… forever pretty much. I kept meaning to throw it in the recyclables right before I brought them out to the curb, but it always felt like so much work, so I had a ton of empty bottles hoarded there.
It was easy for Lucy to put together the pieces. I mean, my parents were literally putting bottle after bottle on my dresser, and almost all of the bottles were empty; I'd only missed two partially full bottles in my search the night before. It probably should have been an eye opener, but I was too focused on Lucy. I was so sure that she was going to react the same way as Derek and just storm out, but she mostly wanted to make sure I was okay.
She ended up spending the night, and I told her everything that I was capable of telling her. I definitely tried to downplay my drinking problem, but I told her about the guys and Derek. We had to have talked for hours. Even when Lucy fell asleep, I had trouble staying asleep. It was the first time since before middle school that I went to bed sober… technically I had the night before as well, but I think not being able to fall asleep in a hospital felt a little more natural than not being able to fall asleep in my own bed. In the hospital, I was woken up every couple of hours so they could take my blood pressure and do things like that. When I was home, though, it was like my body didn't know how to sleep without the help of alcohol.
If my parents hadn't wiped out my stash, I would've had something that night, but I didn't have access to anything. I checked our fridge at some point, figuring that wine would be better than nothing, but there was nothing in there. I tried out my birthday and my parents' birthdays and their anniversary on the lock on the liquor cabinet. Nothing worked. I had no choice. I honestly considered unblocking Zeke to see if I could convince him to get me something. I'd love to say it was my own inner strength that kept me from texting him, but I'd deleted his number and had no way of getting in touch with him.
I didn't like being sober. I'd go as far as to say I hated it. It would be a few days before I'd be able to get anything, and I honestly think I was going through withdrawal. I googled it when I actually got sober, and I'm still pretty sure that that's what it was. At the time, I thought it was my body's way of telling me I needed to drink. I guess that's technically what withdrawal is, so I wasn't wrong.
It wasn't easy to find, especially because my parents were watching me like a hawk, but I got one of my neighbors who was over 21 to buy some for me. She knew I was in an accident but didn't know the truth about what had happened because my parents had spread some story where I'd been hit by someone running a red light (they didn't want anyone to know their son was an alcoholic), and when I told her I was having some friends over to celebrate that I was okay, she picked up some stuff for me.
I need you to understand, that it wasn't a choice for me that night. My dad had shown me this spreadsheet of how much my accident had cost him so far. The number at the bottom was pretty scary, Victor, and that was just the cost of his new car and the fee for the lawyer until I went to my hearing. That number almost quadrupled after my hearing. He told me that I needed to find a job and that a big part of my paycheck needed to go back to him. He opened a bank account for me and said he was going to track it to make sure that everything I made was accounted for. He didn't think about tips which was how I eventually started buying my own liquor again. I think his exact words had been, "we are not being generous right now." Then he told me I was going to pay back every penny they spent on this. I get where he was coming from; I just feel like maybe that wasn't the time to talk to me about it.
It instantly destroyed any chance I had of getting sober. I talked to my neighbor that day. I knew I had to be so careful. My parents took the lock off my door, and they could walk in on me at any time. I also knew that they were regularly searching my room which made it really difficult to figure out where to keep it. I ended up taping it to the bottom of my dresser so no one could see it; the only way they'd find it is if they felt around for it. I was very good at being sneaky; I had a lot of practice with it.
I made a set of rules for myself. Rules that I mostly followed and then used as proof that I didn't have a drinking problem and that my accident had been an anomaly. My first rule was that I couldn't drink during the day. I felt like it was too risky. Heaven forbid someone could smell it… I just didn't want to take that chance. I mostly stuck to this. I think I only cracked a few times when the feelings started to set in, and I couldn't fathom the idea of waiting until my parents went to their room to start to drink.
My second rule was that I couldn't drink every day of the week. I followed this rule… well, I was about 50/50. It was tough when I got into a fight with my parents or Derek. Especially at the beginning, I felt like I was constantly fighting with everyone. They were so angry at me and I was angry at me, and it was so easy to pick stupid little fights and those fights always ended with me drinking away my problems.
My third rule was that I couldn't have more than three drinks a night. I was a little more strict with this, but my personal loophole was that I never thought about how strong those drinks could be. With the rule, I genuinely wasn't drinking as much as I had before. I was careful to drink just enough to quiet my thoughts, but not so much that anyone would be able to tell. I gave up the nights of blacking out. It had been surprisingly difficult, but it wasn't worth the risk. I didn't know what my parents would do if they found out, but I couldn't lose anymore. I figured if I could moderate how much I was drinking then it wasn't a problem. As long as I didn't take it as far as I had that night. That became my mantra and my standard for being a nonproblematic alcoholic.
My last rule, and this one was a freebie seeing as I didn't have a license, was that I couldn't drive if I had so much as a sip of alcohol. It's the only rule I've stuck to after all this time. You have to understand that I did drive without my license a few times; it was kind of unavoidable if I was with someone that didn't know I couldn't drive and if I couldn't think of a good excuse. If I'd had anything to drink, even a little, I figured out an excuse.
I called Derek the day after I started to drink again. It was the first time I felt like I could handle talking to him. Being sober made me feel weak, like the smallest thing would crush me. When I was drinking, it was like I could breathe again. One guy at AA said that the smartest thing alcohol ever did was convince us all we couldn't live without it, and he was right. I was in a dependent relationship with the stuff, and I needed it so much, I couldn't see how toxic that relationship really was.
I had to use my mom's phone to call Derek because my phone was somewhere in the ruins of the Wendy's or the car, and I hadn't gotten a replacement yet. I'm not sure if he would've answered if he knew it was me, but he agreed to come over.
If I had to pick a point that our relationship went from being okay to being kind of toxic, it was that moment, and it was both of us. I lied and told him that I regretted drinking that night; he told me that I was really lucky that he wasn't breaking up with me. I believed that for a long time; I believed that no one, other than him, would want to be with me if they knew the truth.
I can't say it's his fault that I didn't tell you because that would be a lie. I didn't tell you because I was terrified to tell you and own that this is my truth but what he said didn't help.
The first day back to school, Lucy walked in with me. We both knew it was going to be a stressful day for me, and Lucy was worried. I was so scared to come back to school and be out, and I had no idea how I was supposed to do that.
When Lucy was standing at my locker with me, Boston came up to me and asked if Lucy was "the honey" I was starting the year off with. I told him that I didn't have a girlfriend and his exact response had been, "what are you? Gay?" And I said… yes. He just kinda stared at me until the bell rang.
By lunch, it was all over school. You know how weird it was for you when everyone knew, but it sucked to have to go through that by myself, and I wasn't getting any sympathy from Derek. I think he told me that if I'd come out when we first started dating, they would already know, and it wouldn't be a big deal anymore. He made me feel like it was my fault for not being ready sooner, and I believed that for a long time. If I'm being honest, I believed it until I saw how guilty you felt for how long it took you to come out because you had no reason to feel guilty. I remember telling you that everyone has a right to come out when they're ready, and no one has a right to speed up that process and… I heard myself. It was the first time I started to let go of some of what I went through. Not all of it. I don't know if I'll ever really forgive myself for the drinking and the girls, but I can hate that part of my life and still feel compassion for how I got there. I didn't know that was possible until we started dating.
Most people didn't say anything to my face, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were talking about me behind my back, and I knew a lot of them probably weren't saying good things. It got in my head. I was suddenly "the gay kid" which was the exact thing I'd been trying to avoid my whole life. There were two other kids who were out, but I didn't know them, and I really didn't have an interest in getting to know them. It took me a long time to figure out how to fit pride into my identity, and I think part of me felt threatened by how confident and comfortable they felt because I didn't feel that way. I was so far from feeling that.
My court date was two weeks after the school year started. They showed me pictures – pictures of my dad's car and of the Wendy's and of me. I think the judge wanted me to see them because he thought I was just some privileged, rich kid, and I guess in some ways, he was right. It didn't feel like that though. Looking at those pictures was surreal. I felt like they must've belonged to someone else: that wasn't my dad's car, those weren't my bruises, that wasn't the Wendy's I drove through… I couldn't possibly have caused all that damage. It should have been my moment where everything hit me and, instead, it became another thing I needed to escape.
The judge read from this ten-page document before he suspended my license, issued me a mountain of fines, and mandated some counseling. I wasn't surprised by that; the hearing was just a formality. My lawyer had negotiated beforehand, so I knew exactly what I'd be walking away with.
After that, I was in survival mode. I was always anxious and on edge, terrified that someone would figure out I was drinking and take it all away from me. I wanted to be sober, but more than I wanted to be sober, I didn't want to be sober, and I had no idea how to break the cycle.