Bananas by Yvette Schnoeker-Shorb

mentioned, no one even said she had a problem. Hangovers pounded at more than my head. Regret and embarrassment followed me every morning after and began to build up. I knew how things proceed to get bad until they explode. I knew this destructive pattern could not continue forever. Alcohol only goes one way, it poisons and you can get addicted to it. But it was one of those times that I had to learn the hard way. And so she wasn’t moved by my pleas to stop or at least control herself. It was only when she lost my virginity that things changed...It was a scene I do not cherish. But I recall it in flashes, frequently after it happened and still today during my bad days. I remember hands, everywhere, and taking off my clothing. I remember the taste in my mouth the next morning and how I didn’t sleep well long after it happened. I remember the walk of shame home and how I thought I’d feel better after a shower but I didn’t. It was consensual I know, but I’d still felt she had taken advantage of me.

It was then I realized how I started to notice I didn’t know where I stopped and she began. It scared me. Who is more closely Tayah? Tayah, guarded and conscious and clear? Or her? Is sloppy and honest more closely related to Tayah then the Tayah seen on a daily basis? Does she bring out the real Tayah or does she alter Tayah into something she is truly not? Is she me? Am I her? And then I saw my life flash before my eyes. I saw her running the show. I saw her creating children that would be taken away, mistreated, and hate me. I saw myself through others eyes, a drunken mess every day of the week, a lost cause to addiction. I saw the girl who took everything “Irish” and destroying my liver at a young age. All because of her. She was out for blood and so we went to war. Every day I ignore her, I keep her locked up inside and we stay separated. But she still beckons for me: weekends, holidays, social events with friends. But I won. And I fight her every day, I don’t drink, it’s a daily decision. Perhaps one day I will write about her, to show you this silent battle I have won.

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