Jim Atkinson wrote a very nice short memoir today in the New York Times; here is an excerpt. Click this link for the whole thing.
JANUARY 5, 2009, 9:00 PM
The Give and the Take
By JIM ATKINSON
I drank booze for a very long time, and I drank quite a lot of it. Interesting, but I never truly thought about why until I quit 16 years ago. There must have been reasons. But what were they? ?
In my early days of drinking, alcohol gave me something that nothing else in my life ? not relationships, not career ? could? Myself, I always felt that alcohol was the one thing that made me feel safe. And that gave me a particular kind of energy, a fortitude, really. I was more willing to stand up for myself and to take creative risks when I was packing a certain amount of alcohol in me?
I came to know alcohol as a form of self-medication. Once medicated, I felt, I could then pursue my chosen craft of writing with more confidence, verve and stamina. And it seemed to work?
I achieved a measure of success in my 20?s and 30?s as a magazine writer and as an author of two books? All of this gave booze the aura of a magic potion to me? I believed that a certain modicum of it was needed ? like food, water or oxygen ? for me to lead a happy and successful life. In retrospect, I knew that I was over-drinking by the time I was 30. But I figured that I was a ?high performance? alcoholic ? an interesting oxymoron, if there ever was one?
In time, my relationships with loved ones, especially my wife, my career, my health ? all began to spiral down in a death dive. Even though I knew booze was the culprit, I just ordered another because that?s what I did when I had a problem: I drank. At the root of this twisted thinking was the absurd belief that I?d just lost my touch when it came to the bottle, misplaced my ability to find that ?sweet spot? of inebriation where there?s a perfect balance between disinhibition and control, euphoria and calm. I just needed to get my swing back.
As with a marriage gone sour, I didn?t want to admit that my relationship with booze was suddenly doing me more harm than good. And like a battered spouse, I didn?t know whom else to be with.
If I?d been clear-headed enough to take stock, I could have seen what was going on very clearly: Feeling ?normal? was requiring progressively larger amounts of the stuff. And while it had become a kind of lifeblood to me, in the real world, alcohol was still basically just a poison (it?s what we put on a wound to kill invading bacteria, one of the most effective destroyers of human tissue known to biochemistry). The body and mind and spirit could handle a bit of it, even on a regular basis. But I was literally and figuratively drowning myself in it. While once it had given me things that nothing else could, now it was taking away the two things everyone needs to lead a life that even has a chance of being complete: my dignity and my good health.
In retrospect, like many drunks, I had reached a stage with alcohol where I was paralyzed, frozen in time, stuck in a tiny crevasse between what had been my best friend and what had become my worst enemy. I needed to find a true bottom before I could begin to regain control of my life.
It finally came one night in February, 1993, when I found myself in a drunk tank at the county jail with a bunch of guys you really wouldn?t want to meet, wondering how I?d wound up there.
I entered treatment a week after I hit bottom, on February 11, 1993. Alcohol had finally crowded me into a corner from which there were only two escapes ? sobriety or death? I finally grasped what the stakes were ? what they?d always been. And while, at the time, I still wasn?t sure what all this sobriety business would entail, where it would lead me ? whether, indeed, I could do it ? I did know that I didn?t want to die. That turned out to be enough of an epiphany, I guess, because I haven?t had a drink since.
JANUARY 5, 2009, 9:00 PM
The Give and the Take
By JIM ATKINSON
I drank booze for a very long time, and I drank quite a lot of it. Interesting, but I never truly thought about why until I quit 16 years ago. There must have been reasons. But what were they? ?
In my early days of drinking, alcohol gave me something that nothing else in my life ? not relationships, not career ? could? Myself, I always felt that alcohol was the one thing that made me feel safe. And that gave me a particular kind of energy, a fortitude, really. I was more willing to stand up for myself and to take creative risks when I was packing a certain amount of alcohol in me?
I came to know alcohol as a form of self-medication. Once medicated, I felt, I could then pursue my chosen craft of writing with more confidence, verve and stamina. And it seemed to work?
I achieved a measure of success in my 20?s and 30?s as a magazine writer and as an author of two books? All of this gave booze the aura of a magic potion to me? I believed that a certain modicum of it was needed ? like food, water or oxygen ? for me to lead a happy and successful life. In retrospect, I knew that I was over-drinking by the time I was 30. But I figured that I was a ?high performance? alcoholic ? an interesting oxymoron, if there ever was one?
In time, my relationships with loved ones, especially my wife, my career, my health ? all began to spiral down in a death dive. Even though I knew booze was the culprit, I just ordered another because that?s what I did when I had a problem: I drank. At the root of this twisted thinking was the absurd belief that I?d just lost my touch when it came to the bottle, misplaced my ability to find that ?sweet spot? of inebriation where there?s a perfect balance between disinhibition and control, euphoria and calm. I just needed to get my swing back.
As with a marriage gone sour, I didn?t want to admit that my relationship with booze was suddenly doing me more harm than good. And like a battered spouse, I didn?t know whom else to be with.
If I?d been clear-headed enough to take stock, I could have seen what was going on very clearly: Feeling ?normal? was requiring progressively larger amounts of the stuff. And while it had become a kind of lifeblood to me, in the real world, alcohol was still basically just a poison (it?s what we put on a wound to kill invading bacteria, one of the most effective destroyers of human tissue known to biochemistry). The body and mind and spirit could handle a bit of it, even on a regular basis. But I was literally and figuratively drowning myself in it. While once it had given me things that nothing else could, now it was taking away the two things everyone needs to lead a life that even has a chance of being complete: my dignity and my good health.
In retrospect, like many drunks, I had reached a stage with alcohol where I was paralyzed, frozen in time, stuck in a tiny crevasse between what had been my best friend and what had become my worst enemy. I needed to find a true bottom before I could begin to regain control of my life.
It finally came one night in February, 1993, when I found myself in a drunk tank at the county jail with a bunch of guys you really wouldn?t want to meet, wondering how I?d wound up there.
I entered treatment a week after I hit bottom, on February 11, 1993. Alcohol had finally crowded me into a corner from which there were only two escapes ? sobriety or death? I finally grasped what the stakes were ? what they?d always been. And while, at the time, I still wasn?t sure what all this sobriety business would entail, where it would lead me ? whether, indeed, I could do it ? I did know that I didn?t want to die. That turned out to be enough of an epiphany, I guess, because I haven?t had a drink since.
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