My first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in Norwich terrified me. The setting couldn’t have been more clichéd: a rainy day in a church filled with stale donuts and heavily sweetened coffee. I was the youngest by a generous 15 years. Dartmouth did not know I was there, nor did it care.
For those unfamiliar with AA, every meeting involves reading from the “Big Book,” which holds stories of miracles, encouragement and testimonies from people dealing with a common demon. This particular Sunday, we read Story 17 — the tale of a college student who drank heavily while attempting to cover his insecurities before falling out a second-story window headfirst into a concrete grate. The story spoke of how the school’s deans had failed him, how counseling hadn’t made a difference and how the school told him to go to AA or he would be expelled.
Finishing the story, the reader stood up and explained that this happened nearby and that the author’s sponsor was in attendance.
I explained my eerily similar history to the sponsor; he looked at me with an exhausted but sincere smile, and explained that he came to meetings for himself but also for the students who attended — yet few ever came.
Dartmouth has a problem, and it’s not necessarily drinking. It’s denial.
Dartmouth spends more time washing its hands than wringing them. In an interview with the New York Times last October, newly-inaugurated President Phil Hanlon asserted that drinking at Dartmouth is no worse than at peer institutions. I agree. But we are separated by our indifference. I was Good Sammed my freshman year with a BAC of 0.3. I spent the night in Dick’s House and walked home 12 hours later. No consequences, no follow-ups and nothing to worry about.
Aurora Matzkin, director of health promotions and student wellness, calls the decrease of high blood-alcohol cases “encouraging,” based on “high” levels defined as being above .25, more than three times New Hampshire’s .08 legal limit. I can raise a glass to that.
Dartmouth is dying a death of a thousand cuts; the creeping normalcy of frightening behavior makes the outcry of a single student seem just plain silly. So let’s make it real.
Say, after a long day spent drinking, you try to commit suicide one weekend (like I did). You don’t want to get the police involved, so you seek support elsewhere. In my case, the emergency phone number on the Dick’s House website had been disconnected (later, I was told that I must have made a mistake). So what do you do when you’re not suicidal during normal hours?
Under the stern hand of my adamant friends, I approached my dean, who, I must admit, had the best intentions. But how do you give your student the best advice when there is none? How do you direct them to the best options when all options are unacceptable?
Eventually I reached the head counselor of Dick’s House, who gave me few options and fewer recommendations. Like the student in Story 17, I felt I had to “get help or get out.” I didn’t consider on-campus options like the Drug and Alcohol Peer Advisors or entertain the possibility of resuming my education. From the beginning of counseling through my decision to leave, the attitude was not “What can we do for Heidi,” but “What will Dartmouth do with Heidi?”
I applaud the DAPAs. They provide a personal, confidential niche for individuals less cowardly than me. They are certainly the best resource here. But I didn’t want to serve my confidant coffee at Novack. I stayed in Hanover and visited DHMC for outpatient counseling. I completed rehab and ran away to New York for a long needed off term. I returned fresh-faced and sober.
I cannot ask Dartmouth to change for me. I cannot expect my old drinking friends to meet me for a sober lunch or my sorority to change its events to accommodate one sister.
But I do want to ask Dartmouth for options — real options. I am not going to an AA meeting that may also seat my professors. I am not going to wait a week for a counseling appointment. I am not going to applaud the absolute neglect of abuse prevention, nor the exclusive focus on curative programs. After being turned away from Dartmouth, I have found my own sober path — but what about the next student?
Heidi Illanes Meyers '14 is a guest columnist.
