my careless contagion

The author with a full-blown case of the Blatz circa 1978. You can tell when you're talking to a real alcoholic because they'll identify themselves as one, even after going years without drinking. The mechanisms that make them an alcoholic were there before they started drinking, as well. I consider myself an alcoholic who doesn't drink. My father was an alcoholic. Well, he still is. But he stopped drinking many moons ago. It's been said that people use alcohol as an excuse to do and say what they want to do and say; it's okay because they were drunk or buzzed and didn't mean it. It's like kids saying mean things on the playground and then, "Just kidding," making it even worse because why are you crying when I was just kidding? It's a one-two punch. Well, my dad was a womanizer, too. Swore like I've heard no one else swear. In fact, I've never seen anyone get as angry as my father. I thought he was going to kill one of my ...

Sometimes I think I'm going out of my mind, but I tell myself I'm doing just fine. There are so many people hurting in this world; who am I to complain?  I used to blow through my day, drink beer, have sex, fall asleep, and do it again the next day. My line was always, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I lived hard. I was brutal. I was mean. Who was harder than me? I was like a diamond phallus cutting holes in the sky, scraping big F-offs in the pristine, white clouds. I didn't just burn my candle at both ends, I broke the candle in half and lit both ends of the halves. My goal, it seemed, was to rampage through a short but chaotic life. I chose my chemicals, and then my chemicals chose me.   Something told me I had to change. I kept hearing that voice. My reply was always, "I'm doing just fine." When I blew out my knee, I made like it was nothing at all. When I stopped sleeping altogether, I started to worry. When I would l...