Bucket Lists & Water Towers

Estimated read time: 14 min

Trigger Warning: This post discusses topics such as suicide, suicidal ideations, and self-harm. If you choose to continue reading please do so at your own discretion.

First of all, let’s all just get past the fact that I’m not special for having climbed a water tower while drunk. I know it. You know it… we all get it, right?

Okay, cool. So now, only most of you will roll your eyes, but hopefully, more of you will understand the moral of this story. The moral, by the way, is not me bragging about doing something that plenty of other people have done before (maybe it is kinda a little cool though, right?).

Imagine, if you will, 12-year-old me sitting at my antique wooden desk in my bedroom at my parent’s home in the North Georgia mountains. I had incredibly long hair back then, so it was probably styled in a customary manner for me at the time; wrapped up in a gigantic, bumpy, disheveled tower of a bun on top of my head– my Eiffel Tower bun as I used to call it.

My desk faced the exterior wall of the bedroom. Facing the front of the house from the driveway, you could see my bedroom window. My desk was not placed in front of the window, so, instead, my view was of an old quilt that was constructed by my great-great aunt, my great grandmother, and my great-great-grandmother way back when.

Imagine 12-year-old me hunched over my desk under a Pixar films style lamp, scribbling away in a little composition notebook, occasionally pausing to glance at a family-history quilt.

The page is full of chicken scratch. The left-hand margin has numbers down the side, and the top of the page reads “Bucket List.” Now to be quite honest I probably can’t remember 90% of what was on that particular edition of my bucket list (yes I still have one). I can remember a few though (in no particular order).

Learn German (hahahaha… no)
Go on a cruise (not YET)
Get a manicure (wedding day ✔️)
Dye my hair (it’s called anxiety okay, there’s too many colors to choose from)
Go Sky diving (ehh not sure about this anymore)
Get a tattoo (I’ll never tell)
Scuba in Great Barrier Reef (someday!)
Own a bloodhound (my wonderful floppy faced Molly-frog)
Fly on a plane (soon I hope!)
Travel to Ireland (stay tuned for updates!)

…Can I get a drumroll please

…

Climb a water tower

Sigh, yes, it’s actually true. No, I don’t think it makes me edgy or cool. So, no worries. My self-esteem is well in check here (Check out Stan’s post on Getting Rid of Special Treatment for a funny story on how to minimize character defects).

In all seriousness though, the desire to climb a water tower is something that goes back to my early childhood. I don’t know where it really stemmed from or why. One thing I do remember is that even up into my early teenage years, I liked to climb tall trees in the backyard, scale kudzu vines in the woods behind our house, or maneuver my way onto rooftops of houses and buildings.

Perhaps it’s because I have been vertically challenged, aka short, all of my life. Maybe it’s that being up high makes me feel safe and secluded; I don’t know guys, ask your therapists and let me know what they say, will ya?

Flash forward to my second summer of college. Yes, for those of you who may be wondering, this is the homeless, salmonella summer, but this came first and that is a part of a different story.

It had been an okay-ish summer. It was hot of course. It’s South Georgia. Find me a cool spot, I dare you (it’s not possible). Work had been decent, also hot, and I was living on campus while taking summer classes.

My drinking then, by most people’s standards, was pretty heavy, and quite possibly problematic under the right circumstances. But hey, no one with any authority was aware of my drinking habit, so I was safe to practice my alcoholism freely without fear of judgment or punishment.

I shared a dorm with two other roommates that particular summer. I commonly refer to these two individuals as “The Russian” (she was from Russia), and “The Dealer” (she was dealing drugs out of our room).

The Russian was nice and friendly. It took a bit of adjusting and figuring out the right balance of each of our personalities, personal boundaries, and cultural differences, but we got along well and hung out in the room on occasion.

The Dealer and I had a different relationship. Although it may come as a surprise, not only did we not get along, but I also despised her so much that it never even occurred to me to take advantage of the in-house goods she had available. I actually avoided her at all costs, making sure that we were never in the commons area together at the same time. She was a bit deranged, incredibly unstable, and to put it nicely…batshit crazy.

Despite having two roommates, and one who was very friendly and always had vodka, my primary complaint was that I was quite lonely. My shifts at work were pretty solitary; just me, my headphones, the cows, and machines.

The dorm situation was similar in a lot of ways. It was usually me to myself when I was there; my TV, my phone, and my thoughts. I’m normally a person who enjoys being alone, and can often do so without feeling lonely. Keep in mind, though, I had already been essentially alone for almost a year now.

Add to that the fact that the campus was empty for summer. I no longer even had the socialization through proximity anymore—to which I had grown accustomed during the standard fall and spring semesters.

I can’t speak for every college campus, but where I was, over the summer, the campus more closely resembled a ghost town than a lively college campus full of young people that one would typically picture in one’s mind’s eye.

If you or anyone you love has ever been diagnosed with depression, bipolar, PTSD, or anxiety disorder, then you are probably familiar with the cycling of highs, lows, and lower lows. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest, my “highs” ranked at about a 6, my lows at about a 2, and my lower lows, as I like to call them, couldn’t even register on the scale, much less a traditional zero.

If you have ever struggled with mental health, I don’t have to explain any further, you’ll understand this better than anyone. For that, and for you, I am grateful.

Throughout the course of the summer semester, I had sunken into a low and was terrified that another lower low was on its way if I didn’t do something soon. I so badly did not want to go down that particular road again. I was not all that far removed from the most recent rendition of that phase.

I needed a break. I needed to do something, anything, to prevent this horribly overwhelming feeling from consuming me all over again. Honestly, Jim, Jack, and Jose can only do so much, I needed to be pulling my weight, too. That was when it hit me, I needed a win.

From my dorm room window, I could see the water tower on campus. Now in my personal opinion, a college is a bit naïve to place such a temptation on campus, but what do I know. They don’t pay me for my opinion! I, however, was not so naïve. I looked at the water tower and daydreamed about climbing up there on a cool summer evening, maybe even on the 4^th of July to watch the city’s fireworks. I knew, though, that it was a horrible thought. My plan would have been thwarted before I could have even made it to the gate on the 12-foot fence that surrounded the base of the campus water tower. So that could not be my win… or could it?

“No. No Nina, you cannot climb the campus water tower.” I had this internal argument with myself for several hours one day, and probably on and off for the next few days after the initial thought occurred to me. I eventually gave up on the idea of climbing that water tower. It did however keep me optimistic for a few days and gave me a taste of hope that kept me willing to show up to class and work that week. So not a total loss.

A short time after that little funhouse mirror of thoughts, a new thought occurred to me as I was driving to the corner store to pick up my daily supply of cheap wine and slightly less cheap beer to replenish my stock. “There is more than one water tower in this town.”

I’m sure at this notion, a cheesy little grin crept across my face, and for the first time in a long time, I felt… excited.

It just so happens that on the way back from that corner store, I passed a water tower. Yes, it was on a main road, and yes, it was placed right between a Baptist church and an active fire station, but… it was not on campus, nor was it guarded by the campus police. Ideas started flowing. A plan was concocted, and I was biding my time until the plan, however foolish, could be set in motion.

At 7 a.m. the next morning, between groups of the bored dairy cows during my milk shift, I furiously texted anyone from campus who I could think of that may still be in town. I had a few numbers for people who had been friends with my friend, David (check out my post: Maid for Hire: No Experience Needed for the details behind that story).

Someone eventually replied–one of the most insane friends of David replied—but, considering I needed someone who was at least as foolish as I was, and not easily deterred by idiotic plans, this person would be the perfect candidate for my proposition.

If you have ever climbed a water tower, or even look closely at one, you know that the city has taken safety precautions to make it difficult for anyone to trespass and scale their precious water tower. There is often a locked metal cage that covers the first few feet of the ladder that reaches to the top of the tower, and the ladder itself is at least a good 3-5 feet from the ground. There is also a pad-locked, 12-foot chain-link fence around the tower’s base. I was going to need a partner for this activity.

I asked the guy if he was up for making some bad decisions later on in the night, and yes I understand how that sounds, but luckily for me, he knew me well enough to know that in no way was I suggesting we would be sleeping together. He said yeah, and I explained my plan.

The plan, by the way, was to wait until the sun was well below the horizon, drive to the Baptist church parking lot I told you about, and walk up to the fence that protected the base of the water tower. We would scale the fence, he would boost me up to the ladder, and I would crawl over the cage, and up the remaining part of the ladder to get to the top of the water tower. That’s exactly what we did.

I figure it goes without saying, but to answer your question, I had been drinking all day. I had kept to my usual drinking routine which involved drinking at work, at the dorm, and before we left campus to carry out this master plan. Of course, I had been drinking, I am an alcoholic, aren’t I?

The plan went seamlessly. We made it over the fence. I was boosted up above the metal cage, and I scaled the ladder all the way to the top of the tower. My inner child was ecstatic!

It should be noted that at some point during my ascent, a state patrolman posted himself up at the fire station next door to the water tower, and David’s friend decided to bail. Something about being afraid of going to jail– pansy ass.

It didn’t matter to me, though. I was on top of the world–well on top of a water tower, anyway.

It may sound crazy, but no sooner than I reached the top, I broke down and started bawling. I don’t mean the soft little tears that roll down your face during a touching movie scene. I mean the snotty bubbles, body shaking, blubbering, sobbing, type of crying. I got my win y’all, but it was not what I had expected it to be.

I stayed up there for a long while. Thinking about my life, my past, my current situation, and the thought occurred to me… I could decide right now if I wanted to have a future. It was actually a terrifying thought. “I could jump,” I thought, there’s surely no way I would survive that landing.

Not to minimize the seriousness of suicide, suicidal ideations, self-harm, or depression, but one might could say I was at the literal version of the jumping-off place that is talked about in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. I had a decision to make.

Obviously, since I am here four years later writing this post, I didn’t jump. I’m not really sure what made me decide to keep my feet firmly planted on the balcony of that water tower that night, but I did. I still sat up there for a good while after that, waiting for the state patrol car to move on so I could shimmy down the ladder and go home, but I made a conscious decision not to leap to my death. Kind of huge if you think about it.

I remember recounting this story to my counselor in rehab, during a rare one-on-one session that I was able to have with her. She was kind, sat back in her office chair, and listened quietly. She nodded her head, made all the right facial expressions at all the right times, and just listened.

After I was finished with my long and drawn drawn-out story, which was supposed to somehow answer some question she had asked of me. She didn’t say anything for a long time, and we sat there, in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, she asked me a question I’ll never forget. She said, “Did you want to die, or did you just not want to feel like that anymore?”

That feeling was the sadness, depression, anxiety, unmanageability, and out-of-control, feeling that I had experienced all my life. It was what fed my isolation, my internal conflicts, the guilt, shame, fear, and reckless disregard for my own life. Most of all, it was what fed my drinking.

Looking back, my need to climb the water tower that night was not just a drunken adventure decided on the fly to get a win. It was a calculated, premeditated, but subconscious, decision to help me determine whether I wanted to live or die.

I was correct in thinking I needed a win, too. But, I needed a much bigger win than crossing off an item on a bucket list. I needed a total change of mind, body, and spirit; a total cleanse, and a chance at creating a better life. I wanted to live and find a way to live where I no longer had to endure the pain that drove me up the water tower.

Sobriety has given me that life, and so much more. Now, I have a new bucket list of sorts, a bucket list for every day. Granted, it’s an incredibly short list, but so far, I have been able to cross every item off, each day since December 14, 2018.

My daily bucket list: