Stories about excessive sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll always sound so cool and glamorous if you only listen to the first half of them. It’s always the second half where things go terribly arry and people realize a character’s inevitable demise.
Unfortunately, many of us hear how amazing the first part of these stories are and leave, mid-sentence, to go live our own mischievous adventure. We never stay and listen to how such-and-such’s fabulous tales of debauchery finished. They rarely finish well.
By the age of twenty-five, many of us have already been living out our stories for over ten years. Plots riddled with sex, drugs, booze and a certain kind of moral leniency. So, I have to wonder, isn’t this usually the point in the story where things start to head south? Shouldn’t we give up while we’re ahead? Are we ahead?
Some people have said that I drink like an alcoholic. The question is, does that necessarily make me one? At what point do alcoholics cross the line of no return? When do they decide that they can no longer control their urges and just give into their disease? Is it a disease? Or, is it something made up by society to make it easier to dismiss responsibility, like obesity; a myth we perpetuate until it is percieved as truth? Are you born an alcoholic or is it something you acquire with years of practice; like a PHd or first chair in the community center orchestra?
Have I crossed the line? It’s easy for me to say that I’ve lost control, but have I really? Isn’t there still time for me to exercise self-control? Perhaps, drink like a normal person, whatever that means? Am I doomed to live a life of total excess in one direction or the other? Will I continue a downward spiral, my drinking out of control, ruining my life? Am I even in a downward spiral? Isn’t that just something people say to confuse you? “Can’t you see that you’re in a downward spiral due to your gosh darn drinking!?” People get so passionate when they are addressing other’s problems.
We all go through slumps; downturns in the economy. I’m told that fifty-seven people in my building did not pay rent this month. I live in a decent building. If those people enjoy more than two drinks a night, should we label them alcoholics? What about the people who are stone sober, yet, still can’t pay their rent, raise their children, or get the high score on Beatles Rockband? Aren’t we a little too quick to throw the alcoholic label or any label, for that matter, on people?
If I’m to be percieved as successful, must I quit drinking altogether? How should we measure success? Someone who drinks like me can “never be trusted to drink in moderation,” according to several alcoholics annonymous meetings I attended as part of my research over the past year. So, will I be forced into a life of sobriety; a loss of the world’s all powerful social crutch; a weak person controlled by the things he consumes?
I always assumed that life was a party; a quest for satisfaction. Isn’t it supposed to be? If it isn’t hindering your life or the lives of others, shouldn’t you be able to indulge in whatever you like, as much as you please? Am I just too caught up in the first part of my own story; unwilling to accept that this is where things take a turn for the worst? Are they already turning? Have I been plumeting faster and faster, enjoying the thrill of the free fall so much that I’ve ignored the eventual splat that must occur on impact?
Posted via email from Jon Ray
