It Happened To Me: I Hurled a Rose Quartz Crystal At My Own Car Window During A Drunken Spiral

And I didn't stop drinking after that. The nights ending in blood, lies, and blackouts kept stacking up for two more years. (This is a story about my not rock bottom. )

Hello Weekenders,

If I sound a little more loopy than usual (a high bar), it's because I got up at what for me is super early (bedtime: 3:30 AM, wake up time: 7:10 AM, a.k.a. last possible moment to be able to put dress on, jerry-rig it so my stomach wasn’t showing between the buttons, and race uptown to give the keynote speech at an amazing amazing conference that Rachel from Open Secrets Magazine put together). At the event, I got to meet, and even hug, notables like our Will! And Jenn Dines! And Judith Hannah Weiss! I've worked so closely on such personal stuff with all of them that it felt almost surreal to be with them in person. They are my celebrities and my idols and they lived up to all my hype.

I will come back and add links to this (the wonderful Substack doesn’t let me do it from my phone YET) so that you know who and what in the hell I'm talking about, if you don't already. (If you do, you are an AJPT scholar and I want to give you a present, so let me know in the comments.) I will also add photos (I look so funnily short next to Jenn, as you’ll see). The other crazy thing at the conference, aside from meeting the coolest groups of readers of Sassy, Jane and XOJane (and other cool people who have no idea what those things are), was when Rachel asked the audience how many of them had written for one of my publications, and so many hands went up. I was so happily blown away. Yay, employment! Yay, amazing writers!! Yay, all of us being still alive!!!

There's so much more I want to tell you about what's coming up this week, including an announcement about which of you “won” the contest to come spend a day with me cleaning out my storage unit - a contest you might even have forgotten about because it’s been eons since we ran it. But I'll stop my sleep-deprived rambling wordy self now and let you get on to reading this It Happened To Me. It was sent to me by Mandy, a former Jane reader who opened her letter by saying she was nervous to reach out. Fortunately, I was able to write her back within seconds and reassure her, because I was very literally waiting for her email (looking in my jane@anotherjaneprattthing.com inbox for your submissions, which I do All The Time, because it’s like Christmas for me). So keep the submissions coming and don't hold back. In life in general.

I sure do love you all. And thanks for putting up with my word salads.

Jane

Day drinking in the valley in 2015. I made myself puke in order to continue drinking …another proud moment in my downward spiral.

By Mandy Broderick

I used to carry around a cherished rose quartz—a milky pink stone about the size of a golf ball. It was a gift from a friend meant to boost my luck in love. I kept it in my purse and rubbed it absentmindedly when I was bored, anxious, or hungover. A kind of spiritual stress ball.

On this particular night, I turned to my talisman for a different kind of support. In my best alcoh-o-logic, I was as convinced as the tequila was strong that my prescription Klonopin was locked inside my overnight bag on the back seat. If I didn’t get that sedating relief soon, I was going to die. Or at least not sleep—which, at the time, felt like the same thing.

So I clenched the cool pink crystal in my hand…

And raised it like a weapon.

Of course, the night hadn’t started out like this—with me wildly intoxicated on the beach.

Channeling Alabama from ‘True Romance’, smoking a cigarette in a hotel parking lot on another drunken stay-cation weekend circa 2016

A few hours earlier, I was laughing under the patio umbrella, sharing a basket of chips and happy hour margaritas with my boyfriend and another couple. They were visiting from Southern California, with a suite at a luxury hotel in the valley. After dinner, we caravanned to the beach to watch the sunset.

Spirits high but coordination faltering, we wove through the crowds to a quiet stretch of fine white sand. A thick sheet of fog lingered above the ocean, like a movie scene. I spread out a blanket. At some point, my keys vanished. Slipped out of Evan’s back pocket. We all canvassed the area, shaking the blanket and raking our fingers half-heartedly through the sand.

My desire to appear calm overpowered my desire to yell at Evan. I didn’t want Clay and Taylor to think less of me.

We gave up on finding the keys. Everyone decided we’d just go to the hotel and “deal with it tomorrow.” I wanted to scream, but instead I smiled, slid into the back of their 4Runner, and kept drinking.

I don’t remember all of it. I remember Taylor had switched to champagne, while we stuck with the tequila. A hot tub. The lavender bushes on the hillside are glowing under tasteful landscaping lights. I remember having sex on the carpet while the other couple disappeared into the bedroom. I remember starting to feel irritated. Tired, but unable to sleep.

That’s when it came back to me—my Klonopin. It was in the car. I needed it. My brain wouldn’t stop spiraling.