dry
i finished a book today — dry, by augusten burroughs. i figured it would be worthwhile to read something about addiction. i have a friend who has been dealing with a pretty serious addiction of her own. sometimes i give up on her. sometimes i want to help. we’ll go weeks without talking. she won’t return my phone calls. i worry that she’s disappeared into her drug den of a home. and then, i get a frantically happy message from her and i can’t help but doubt its sincerity. she’s probably just in the middle of a bender, i tell myself.
i put the book down. place my headphones on my head and turn up the volume on teardrop (massive attack).
burroughs is a great writer. self-deprecating. clever. hilarious. and true to himself. he writes very openly and honestly about his experience with alcoholism, and his struggle to stay sober. i understand his addiction. i know what it’s like to need a drink, or something worse.
i walk in circles as i ask myself, over and over again, if i’m capable of being an alcoholic. does ones genetic make-up truly mean that they are predisposed towards something? is alcoholism really ‘in my blood?’
actually, it’s surprising that i drink at all, considering my father. he drank so much that i didn’t even see it. it was like some fathers had mustaches and some fathers had baseball caps and my father had a glass attached to his hand. it wasn’t strange. i didn’t think, oh, my dad’s an alcoholic. i just thought he was always thirsty.
– augusten burroughs
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