Waking up: A dedication

I guess I’ll just talk about it. I started Benadryl super young. It was always the go-to for my allergies. I’m not allergic to too many things, but freshly mowed grass and cigarette smoke will put me out. My eyes will swell and they’ll start burning profusely. Sometimes, it’ll get bad enough that I can’t even see anything, the world just becomes a blurry mess of tears and the stinging sensation overwhelms me. One time I rubbed my eyes so hard, I ended up with two black and blue sockets. When I have these allergy attacks, very few things are fast-acting enough to ease my allergic reactions. Benadryl was the only thing that worked when I was younger. I’m very proud of my body for not having an allergy attack in the last few years. I think it’s because I’m not around people who smoke cigarettes anymore. My family used to smoke them around me all the time. My mother was the only one to advocate on my behalf, warning others that they shouldn’t be smoking around me. No one ever really listened, they just did it behind her back anyway.

Since no one ever stopped smoking around me, Benadryl became a consistent companion. I would only take one and fall asleep shortly afterwards, drooling and dreaming my way past the allergic reaction. It was efficient. Interestingly enough, I didn’t like taking medication growing up. Whenever I had a fever, I’d spit out my Aspirins and Tylenols the moment my caretaker left the room. There were a lot of addicts in my family, so I tried to steer clear of anything and everything. I wish that were still true. I remember feeling so proud of myself whenever I told someone “I’ve never tried that before.” I can’t remember the last time I said that. I feel like I’ve tried everything I could get my hands on at this point, or at least everything that isn’t addictive.

The way I got wrapped up in my Benadryl lullabies is directly associated with my dreaded allergy attacks. Benadryl didn’t start out as a problem. It began as an efficient solution. Normally, when an attack would come, I’d ask a family member for some Benadryl and all would be over by the time I woke up. This particular time, the beginning of my dependency, I had done exactly the same. I began with my Aunt, she handed me the pink little pill and swallowed it with little hesitancy. One. Then, my father’s girlfriend noticed me scratching at my eyes and offered me another from her purse. Two. Then, my mother, upon seeing my bloodshot eyes and tears running down my face, ordered me “go to the drawer and get yourself a Benadryl!” Three. I hazily remember another family friend who was visiting handing me another. Four. It all happened so quickly. I was the kind of adolescent who just did what she was told. I didn’t think much of them handing me so many and none of them knew I had already had some. I was in pain and desperate. So, I just did what I thought would help.

Well, it helped, but I slept for two days straight. My family is the type to let you sleep as long as you want, so they didn’t bother me. I woke up hazy and confused, but it was also the first time I remember having a deep, relaxing sleep. While I woke up confused, I also woke up well rested. Growing up with my family, I was always on edge and was constantly woken up by screaming and fighting. But Benadryl made everything silent.

For the first time, I couldn’t hear a thing. I remember the sensation vividly. My body felt so tingly and I felt incredibly warm, like a house cat laying in the sunbeams coming through the window. Nothing could bother me in this state. It truly was a lullaby. For once I wasn’t worrying about tomorrow’s or responsibilities or shitty environments; my only concern was rest. For the first time, I realized the definition of peace.

It was a shame my family, with good intentions, kind of overdosed me, but I also admit I should have spoken up. It’s not really their fault. I just don’t think ahead, but that all changed when I fell in love, or rather in desperation, for that newfound peace. I was always thinking ahead to the next time I could head to Dollar General to pick up some more. From there I was doing Benadryl all the fucking time. Have a bad day? Pop a Benadryl to ease the stress. Finish your homework early? Pop a Benadryl as a reward. Excited for tomorrow’s events and want to get there faster? Pop a Benadryl to travel through time. Have a class you don’t want to sit through? Pop a Benadryl so you’ll sleep through it. Need to wait in the car in the hot sun with no air conditioning for hours while your father shoots up in a trap house? Pop a Benadryl and nap in the back seat. To put it simply: it made life a little bit easier. Just sleep through all of your problems? Yes, please.

I’ve never really spoken about Benadryl before. It was kind of this secret shame I carried around. The only one that has ever known about it was my abusive ex. Shouldn’t have told him shit in hindsight. Maybe the reason I stayed so long is because I slept through most of the relationship. Can’t hit me if I’m out cold, ya know? One time I got mad at him because I found out he was buying opiates from the downstairs neighbor in our apartment complex and he got pissed that I would even confront him about it because, “You do Benadryl and I don’t give you shit, bitch. Mind your damn business and go the fuck to sleep.” I took his advice. Although, I still stand by my opinion that opiates and Benadryl are a bit different. They’re also a hell of a lot cheaper and me buying it didn’t interfere with rent, but whatever, that’s a story for another day.

One time, Benadryl actually helped me out though. I think that’s why I was so willing to do it further in the future. I genuinely didn’t think it was bad and at one point it even saved my fucking life. Can’t say that about most drugs, huh?

It was in high school that Benadryl helped me out. It started when my guidance counselor called me in one day and asked where I was staying and who was taking care of me. I had become homeless over the Summer after my father got into an argument over drug money with his girlfriend and we got kicked out of her mothers trailer. Apparently, she was stealing thousands off him. My father had recently received a large worker’s comp. settlement, about 100k, that he had been fighting to receive for years. Most of the money went on drugs, but a lot of the money was also stolen for other drugs that my father didn’t know about by his girlfriend, my brother, and my aunt. It also involved a few family friends, but I genuinely can’t remember who the fuck they were. People were always in and out. I only found out I was homeless when my father picked me up after I attended an 8-residential writing program at Denison University. I thought I was going home, no one called me or anything, only for him to pick me up and say “we gotta go to your sisters house because we don’t live in the trailer no more.” I just nodded my head.

Of course, I wasn’t going to tell my counselor that. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what happened to kids in foster care and I also knew that the more I changed schools the less likely I was to graduate. My education has always been my primary concern. It’s better to be homeless with a degree, than homeless with nothing. I’m here to break cycles even if it kills me in the end. I’d rather die trying than with my hands in my pockets. I don’t even know how she knew to question me. I guess there were some red flags I didn’t know I was flying. I lied anyway. I told her my father was out of town and that my sister came in to watch me til he got back. She started questioning me like where’d he go and when he’d be back. I just shrugged and said I didn’t know. I wasn’t prepared for a line of questioning. I just wanted to get back to my school work.

She let me go with a hesitation, but I know her mind was turning. There ain’t no damn way she believed me, but my naïve, conceited little self was convinced I had gotten away with it. I cruised out the counselor’s office and confidently strode my way into my seventh period class, thinking I had gotten away with something. All that really happened is she realized she needed to keep a better eye on me, look for tangible evidence. She did.

It was about a week or so later, time is shady in my memories, when I would have another run in with the counselor. Typically I would spend my last period of the day asking around for a place to stay. I had a graduating class of 90 students, half of which weren’t even there because they were attending trade school, so we all knew each other. Many of the students knew my situation and were more than willing to help out. This particular day, I was in 8th period and had decided to take a Benadryl to get through it. My 8th period class was a mentorship program, which really meant I chose a teacher to help out with grading. It was my Senior year and I was in the 10th grade English classroom with Mrs. Schoonover. Mrs. Schoonover was actually the first person to encourage me to write. I wrote a story about two enemies playing chess and, I’ll never forget it, she told me, “You’re a really good writer!” From then on I made a point to impress my teachers with each new assignment. For someone who never received praise before in a school setting, I lapped it up.

This school, Westfall, wasn’t the first school I attended. I attended a school in Columbus ever since I was a little girl. It was called Hamilton. It was way bigger and the students were pretty affluent. I was always referred to as Reese rat because I lived in the low income neighborhood, Reese. Hamilton was fucking awful. I once told my guidance counselor there that I was molested and she told me that my grades were looking good enough that I should be okay to move forward and to let her know if my grades start slipping. Hamilton was a blue ribbon school, so they loved tests. They only cared if your grades weren’t up to par and if they weren’t they’d convince you into joining ecot or one of their “alternative academy’s.” This way they could push you out before your grades and scores started affecting their overall rating. Even when my house burned down, the Hamilton bus driver would drop me off at my burnt down house and leave me there. It wasn’t like the school didn’t know I was homeless. Hell, they even did a clothing drive! They knew exactly what was up and did nothing.

Because of shit ass Hamilton, I really wasn’t used to a school paying attention to me, nor did I consider they’d ever be concerned for my well being. In my experience, schools don’t care unless it starts to affect them. So, I was pretty good at keeping my tragedies to myself. Westfall was different. They were all so kind and when hearing my story offered loads of support and resources. Teachers even invited me to live with them. It was such a small community that everyone knew each other and the school saw no issue with me potentially living with teachers. Westfall was a saving grace and they are very well the reason I’m still here. I couldn’t have made it without them. Westfall was good at paying attention and they wanted to keep me not push me out. They valued me, something I had never experienced before.

Anyways, there I was in my mentorship program, when I decided to step away to go to the bathroom where I popped 5 Benadryl tablets. I can’t even remember why I did it. I was just bored. Maybe, deep down, I wanted someone to notice and help me. I had nothing to grade, so I sat at my desk with my head down until my body got those tingles and shut down for the remainder of the period. Like I said before, this was usually the time I’d start asking around, or I’d even wander the halls before the buses came to ask around for a place to sleep. However, the busses left at 2:35PM and my darling, polite teacher had let me sleep till 3:00PM. I remember waking up to her slightly moving my shoulder.

I headed out to the halls and realized I was only one still there. I ran back to the classroom unsure of what to do. She said I could stay there til someone picked me up, but I genuinely had no one I could call. I ended up texting a friend and she said I could stay there if I could find a ride. I thought about potentially calling my father, but I had already told him I had found somewhere to live to keep him from worrying and possibly pulling me out of the school to live in whatever new trap house he found. I guess you could say I was homeless by choice. He thought I was living with a girl he met named Cheyenne, so I couldn’t have him drop me off somewhere new or he’d get suspicious.

I sat silently in her classroom in a dazed panic. Benadryl was still in my system, so not only was I having an internal panic attack, but I was incredibly out of it. Even when I walked to the halls, I was stumbling and dragging my feet looking for someone, anyone to be left. After sitting and pretending to be finding a ride, I finally peaked up from my phone with slurred words and asked my teacher for a ride to my friends house. She agreed but she needed to ask the counselor for permission first. If the Benadryl wasn’t in me, I probably would have ran away when she left.

I was starting to nod off when her and the counselor entered the room. The counselor started her line of questioning again and this time the Benadryl didn’t let me lie.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

No.

“Do you have anyone taking care of you?”

No.

“How long has this been going on?”

I don’t know.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?”

Yes.

I told her with slow blinks and slurred words that I could potentially stay with a friend, but that I needed a ride to get there. I don’t even know how she could understand me. She arranged for a bus to take me there. She said if I ever needed a ride again to let her know and they’d do it no questions asked.

What was so remarkable about this was that they fought tooth and nail to avoid getting children services involved. I genuinely thought they were going to ship me away and make me someone else’s problem. They made it a point to tell me that they wanted to keep me here and that they valued my talent for writing. They provided me with some employment in the building and even gave me a variety of resources for homeless students. They arranged for a bus to take me wherever I needed to go and were able to find a loophole that prevented them from having to get Children Protective services involved. Apparently, if your parents know where you are and you’re in a safe environment, CPS doesn’t need to take you away. I ended up staying with that friend for a couple of months, so I was able to tell my father exactly where I was and avoided the dreaded foster care. None of this was possible without Westfall, and somehow, none of it was possible without Benadryl.

I was saved, not so much physically, but emotionally. I didn’t have to worry about rides or my school finding out. I didn’t have to worry about foster care or being sent away. I didn’t have to worry about losing the education I valued above all else. When I applied to university I didn’t have a transcript, but my counselor wrote a letter on my behalf and the only school I applied to, Wittenberg, welcomed me with open arms. It felt like my life was headed in the right direction for a change, I wish I hadn’t ruined my momentum by moving when my abusive ex, but even with all the support I still couldn’t afford room and board. Gotta do what you gotta do. Like I said, I’m here to break cycles even if it kills me.

Yet, even with a death wish, the thought of Westfall keeps me alive. Gives me something to strive for, gives me someone to not let down. I’m one of those people that liked high school. It’s the one place I felt safe and loved and okay. It was my escape and it was a better lullaby than Benadryl ever could be. While I still did Benadryl for years to come after this event, I can still confidently say this experience turned my life around. When my high school identified me as a homeless youth, the FAFSA gave me immensely more money and it’s what made university a reality for me. Without this, without Benadryl, without Westfall, you wouldn’t be reading this right now. I’m crying just writing this and thinking about the security Westfall gave me. They even knew I was on something and said nothing because my safety and education was their primarily concern. I had good grades, I was in extracurriculars, I won them writing competitions, I gave all the faculty and staff in the school goody bags for teacher’s appreciation week, I always showed up with a smile, and they noticed. They really fucking noticed. I can’t tell you what they saw in me. I can’t tell you why they decided I was worth investing in. In my eyes, Westfall is where my family is. It’s where my heart is. It’s where all my hopes and aspirations lie.

As of now, my Benadryl lullaby’s have ended. Instead, my heart sings me to sleep with the memory of those who gave me a future. When I walk across the stage this May, my heart will sing for the ones who brought me here.

Westfall,

thank you for waking me up.