Alcohol Abuse
This is when you know you’ve got an alcohol abuse problem:
It’s 2 AM and your car is wrapped around a telephone pole. You are, somehow, unhurt. You weren’t wearing a seat belt…mostly because you couldn’t see straight enough to fasten yourself in. You have been, as you will learn later, thrown clear of the accident, and are at this point sitting on the ground staring at the wreck and thinking only and entirely of how much you’d like a drink.
This is alcoholism. This is when you know you’ve got an alcohol abuse problem. This is when you, if you have capacity for rational judgment left in you booze-wrecked brain, have got to at the very least consider the possibility that maybe it’s time to get alcohol treatment.
This is what you tell the cop who’s the first to arrive on this scene: this alcohol abuse confession. It is what you tell the paramedics on the way to the hospital, and the doctor who checks you out in the ER. It is what you tell your wife, when she shows up with red eyes and a blue parka over the pajamas with the ducks on them. It is what you tell the judge, and the court-appointed counselor, and the head tech at the alcohol rehab center to which you are sentenced by the state.
This is what you tell yourself, this recognition of alcohol abuse for what it actually is. This is what you repeat like a mantra, again and again and again and again, until you believe it, and until you become it. This is what you tell yourself, until alcohol treatment works, and until you get sober, and until you finally have the good goddamned sense to know alcoholism when you see it.








