sobriety has kept me alive, of this I’m persuaded. Twenty years ago I was
actively addicted to any substance that would change my outlook, allay my panic
attacks, and give me some relief from the terrible angst that beset me daily.
On the other hand, I often wonder whether, with discipline, I could have led a
life allowing me to partake from time to time without due consequences.
and picked up someone else’s. It was an iced tea as well, but it had a generous
amount of vodka in it. The second occurrence happened when a hostess served me
what she thought was sparkling cider. It was champagne. Both times I made my
way to the kitchen and, as discreetly as possible, spit the liquids out.
relieves the discomfort caused by muscle injuries and, taken just before I went
to bed, it helped me get to sleep when no supine position was pain-free. In no
time at all I started obsessing about what I would do if I ran out of the drug.
Would I ever be able to sleep again? Surely the wise thing would be to get
another prescription filled quickly—I might lose the first one, and at any
rate, wouldn’t it be sensible to have some extra pills in case I hurt myself
again? If I didn’t need the Flexeril, I could always throw it away or pass it
on to ailing friends.
forgotten the first few times I drank or did drugs, and the pleasures derived
from such experiences. I will put aside the memories of the much more frequent
miserable times, the aching, trembling and vomitous feelings that came with
over-indulgence. I will forget the pain, the embarrassments, the costs in both
money and emotions.
remembrance is there, just under the surface. I suspect it will always be there.