that I'm a part of it.
People who can readily accept being part of a group will take to 12-Step recovery much faster. Those who don't question the immediate help and friendship offered by the group will embrace the overwhelmingly positive parts of the program. It's a secure feeling to them that there are rooms full of people willing to help in nearly every capacity. But for you, You-Who-Do-Not-Fit-In, it's going to take some work. This book is for you.
Three Types of People
For our purposes, there are three types of people out there: Normies, Addicts, and Recovering Addicts. Normies are the normal people, who drink now and then and maybe tried drugs, but for some reason, they don't get addicted or overindulge. Addicts are people for whom drug and alcohol use supersede personal will. Recovering Addicts are addicts who no longer use and work to remove the obsession to use. This book is written for all three types, but mainly for someone who wants to move from the second group into the third.
Nature Versus Nurture
Why do some people get addicted and others don't? Is it genetic? Or is it a product of one's immediate culture? Are you born an addict or made into one? From a purely observational point of view, I think it's a combination of both. The only reason it matters is so that you see you shouldn't take an extended break from using or try to cut back. You have a lifetime of stimuli and a physiology that makes drinking and drug use entirely dangerous.
My point of view is this: You may start a Normie, but once you become an Addict, you can't go back to being a Normie, and once you become a Recovering Addict, you can't go back to being an Addict. People will fight me on the last part of this when they read it, but stay with me, I'll explain. This movement across definitions is an evolution of character. Once you make the successful transformation, you don't go back.
I started a Normie. I didn't touch a thing until I was seventeen. I didn't drink, smoke pot, or even smoke cigarettes until then. I drank when I had easy access to it and when it would not jeopardize my situation. I didn't go out of my way to find it, nor did I use it if I thought it wasn't prudent at the time. But when I did drink, I drank to get as fucked up as possible. That was a bad habit that led me to being an addict.
I come from a line of alcoholics, like many alcoholics do. On the nature side of things, I know that there was a history in my family. On the nurture side of things, while my father never drank, he was raised by a drunk, and therefore acted like one all the time, what we call a “dry drunk.” It's the way he learned how to deal with other people.
There were always a lot of people in my house. I have two sisters. There were usually cousins or a student of my father's living with us. During the summers, my mother's sister would come with her kids and stay with us. There were various members of my dad's church who came for indeterminate amounts of time. I bring this up because of our food situation and my lack of control around consumption.
There was always enough food for us, but never too much. If we had a box of cereal, the most I could get at was a bowl and a half. At dinner, there might be seconds of one dish or another, but not much more than that. If there was pie at dessert, we each got a tiny piece and then it was gone. I never went hungry as a child, but I never had to learn when to say no to food either. There were a couple of instances when this didn't happen, and they stick out in my mind.
Occasionally, my sisters would go off to church camp, and I'd be left alone like an only child, which seemed the grandest luxury in the world. Not only did I have my choice of television shows, but my choice of seat while watching the show. I could have friends over without us being terrorized by my older sisters and their friends. Best of all, I got to choose the restaurant we went to for lunch after church.
One such weekend, my sisters were gone, my dad was out of town, and there were no other people in tow. It was just my mother and I. She told me we could go wherever we wanted to go. It was either Bonanza or Sizzler, I don't remember which, but I remember the meal well. I got the steak with the all-you-can-eat shrimp. I ate the steak, and started in on the shrimp. I finished the shrimp and asked for more. The waitress brought me more and made some remark about that should do me. I was going to show her. I finished that plate and asked her for thirds. She made a big deal about me being able to eat a lot, which was probably an insult in her mind, but I thought it was great.
My mom was of the generation where a kid who eats a lot is healthy and growing. Besides that, anything that wasn't expressly candy or dessert was good for you, whether it was battered, fried, or whatever cut of meat—it didn't matter. Whatever Bisquick casserole she made I ate with reckless abandon. I routinely had eggs, bacon (what we called “fatback”), and pancakes for breakfast. Lunch was sandwiches grilled in butter, or hot dogs. Dinner was more ordinary Good Housekeeping kind of fare, but the side dishes were carb heavy and often a colored gooey Cool Whip mess she called Ambrosia. I think the only thing that saved me from a junior high heart attack was that a lot of the meat I ate at dinner was very lean wild game that my father killed in the fall and that we ate from the deep freeze all year-round. My point is that my mom was the last lady in the town who was going to tell me not to have thirds, or fourths, even, although she'd be strict with dessert.
I'm not sure how much I had, but finally I was coaxed into leaving. I remember the heat coming through the window of the station wagon warming my neck. It reminded me of the time at the county fair when I was convinced to get on the Tilt-A-Whirl. Oh no, I thought, I'm going to barf.
Barf I did. All that batter-fried shrimp was returned to the sea from which it came. I had never been sick from eating before. The good news is I got to stay home from school on Monday.
This was the only time I didn't go back to what made me ill, but there were many other instances of excess. As I got older and the house emptied out of people, I'd eat a box of cereal after school, from ripping open the lining to the golden powder pouring in the bowl. After two bowls, my gums were torn up and hurting, but I wouldn't stop until the bowl was empty. After it was gone, I'd try to eat dinner a few hours later with my gums cut and my tongue rubbed raw. The next week the same brand of cereal would be there, and I'd do it again. The only thing that stopped me when I started eating was running out.
There were nights when I couldn't stand up, but as I la yon the floor looking at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table, I'd think about how I wished I had another bottle.
I drank exactly the same way from the time I started. I never left a beer or a cocktail unfinished. I'd buy half-pints of vodka or whiskey in my younger days and drink the whole thing. That seemed to be enough for me until I started buying pints; then a pint of whiskey was what I had to drink before I passed out. The fifth bottle proved my nemesis for many years, as I would drink most of it before passing out. But soon enough, I found myself finishing those over three or four hours while watching TV. Somewhere around that time I'd find my way back to the liquor store completely wasted, but still wanting more. There were nights when I couldn't stand up, but as I lay on the floor looking at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table, I'd think about how I wished I had another bottle.
So is it a matter of my nature that I couldn't control my eating as a child, and therefore couldn't control my drinking as an adult? Or is it a matter of nurture that I was allowed to eat as much as I did, and was never taught self-control? Is self-control something that can be taught to another individual, or is it something we learn through trial and error? If we learn it ourselves, are there those of us who are incapable of learning it? I don't know the answers to these questions. But what I do know is clear: I have self-control issues when it comes to physical things that give me pleasure.
