September 11th, D.A.R.E., & Carrie Fisher's "Wishful Drinking"

The year is 2001, just a few days post September 11th and as the country is reeling from heartbreak, my fifth grade class is learning about drugs and alcohol abuse from the fine police forces of Prince William County, Virginia. I'm listening intently, furiously scribbling notes into my composition notebook, eagerly pushing up my purple wire rimmed glasses, taking in their every word. You see, I saw it as my Godly duty to learn, absorb, and exhibit all the traits the D.A.R.E. program had to offer. Why was I so passionate about this you may ask? Well, two reasons. Number one was that everyone in my class had to write a personal essay on what D.A.R.E. meant to them and the winner got to read their essay at the school assembly in November. I hated public speaking, but even at that young age, I knew what I lacked in charisma and confidence, i made up for in my bomb sentence structure and the ability to write copious amounts on any topic. I wanted my essay to win. Secondly, and most importantly, was because I felt my dad's life had been spared in the terrorist attacks and now I owed one to the big guy upstairs. September 11th was especially terrifying in my community because 80% (I did not do the math) of my classmates had parents who worked in the government in Washington D.C., many of them working in the Pentagon when it was bombed, my father included. A younger classmate of mine lost their father that day and I felt so blessed that my dad escaped the Pentagon unscathed that I owed it to God, the Universe, and whatever other forces were at work to be the best human I could possibly be. I began with a bake sale for the Red Cross (My local newspaper debut is above), but the next stop was world peace, no pressure for a 10 year old girl, right?

Fast forward to November 2001, I won the essay competition for my class and was preparing to read my speech to the entirety of my elementary school, when, I overheard a group of moms in the front row discussing Carrie Fisher. Now, I knew who Carrie Fisher was, my birthday party two years earlier was Phantom Menace themed (why didn't I do roller skating like other 8 year olds?) and I (my parents) took all the girls in my class to see it at the movie theatre. I was a long time Star Wars fan and immediately realized these moms were talking about Princess Leia. Years later, I would come to learn that they were discussing her cover on Psychology Today, in which she discussed her mental health problems, but more so her drug and alcohol addiction. I overheard this gossip and quickly realized that one of my childhood heroes was "an addict," "nutjob," "druggie," "depressed." The mom's words, not mine. I felt as if I had just been told Santa Claus wasn't real. The very thing I was devoting myself to abstain from, my childhood inspiration was giving in to. In that moment, I felt my naive heart break just a little as one my idols, Carrie Fisher, let me down.

Obviously I quickly realized I couldn't be a perfect human being and God was just going to have to be chill with that, so you would think that as the years went on, I would forget my resentment towards Carrie Fisher, but I couldn't! Not after having my first sip of alcohol, not after being diagnosed with a mental illness myself, I just couldn't forgive Carrie. It made no logical sense but up until even a week ago, if I heard her name, I became slightly irritated and judgmental. Guess that's what happens when the moms who pregame the school assembly trash your role model in front of you. However, as a lover of memoirs and non-fiction, I thought it was about time I read her book, Wishful Drinking, to see if I could ease the 17 year blow that still afflicted my heart. Per usual, I looked the book up on Good Reads and saw it only had a 3 out of 5 star rating which surprised me, especially because since her death it seemed people were putting her on a pedestal. However, I have no idea what those low raters were thinking because this book is perfection. Well, it's actually a very imperfect book to be honest...but that's what makes it perfect.

Anyway, George comes up to me on the first day of filming and he takes one look at the dress and says, "You can't wear a bra under that dress." So I say, "Ok, I'll bite. Why?" And he says, "Because... there's no underwear in space." I promise you this is true and he says it with such conviction too! Like he had been to space and looked around and he didn't see any bras or panties or briefs anywhere. 

The book is really ALL over the place, much like Carrie's mind at the time she wrote it (which she openly admits) and I absolutely love that. It feels like you're having a conversation with her and she's going off on tangents, not like you're reading a harrowing memoir of a depressed drug addict. Yes, she delves into her mental health struggles and addictions but she never makes it sound like she's complaining or that she wants your sympathy, she's simply laying it all out there. I loved the sporadic timeline, how the book jumps from time period to time period and first person to third (much like this blog post, amirite?). It feels eccentric and manic, just like Carrie. Also, having just read a memoir by a famous rapper which he obviously didn't write by himself (but hey, at least he included his ghost writer on the title page) I genuinely believed that Carrie wrote this book all on her own. It wasn't polished or very precise but it felt real and authentic. In fact, I have an old GMU grad school friend (shoutout Caitlyn) who works for Simon & Schuster Publishing, so maybe she can chime in on how much of this Carrie actually wrote, because I would guess almost all of it. I loved this book, I connected with this book and I related to the roller coaster of emotions Carrie described. I think it's safe to say, Carrie and I have finally worked out our issues from 2001.