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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[...] – Augusten Burroughs – I already mentioned this (see previous post titled Dry), but this memoir of Burroughs’ struggle with alcoholism is unexpectedly fun, despite the [...]