Hello my name is...

Hello, my name is Jay, and I’m an alcoholic.

This is probably one of the truest statements about myself that I can make. It’s the one aspect of my life I know to be 100 percent real. It’s the one part of my personality, or image, or psyche, or whatever the hell you want to call it, that I haven’t fabricated over the years. The alcoholic in me helped to create all of those things, though. It helped to shape me into the person that I’m not, not the person I’m supposed to be. The alcoholic made me believe things I don’t believe. It helped me to make tough decisions in situations where there should have been only one choice. The alcoholic beat me down like a drill sergeant. It left me an empty shell, or rather, a bottomless pit. The alcoholic made me sink to new lows, only to find I could go lower still. This is because the alcoholic is extremely smart; smarter than I’ll ever be. It outwitted me time and time again. It’s patiently waiting to con me into a drink right now. It’s waiting until the one day my guard is down, and it can convince me that I ended up in rehab by accident. The alcoholic wants me to believe things just got a little out of control last time. It would have me believe I just lost my grip, but things won’t get that bad again. It’s trying to convince me, right now, that I was just going through a phase, a rough patch, and that I couldn’t really have a problem because I’m doing so well now. It has been relatively easy to stay alcohol free and get my life back on track in these past several months, and this is probably all part of the alcoholic’s plan to convince me I never needed to stop drinking in the first place. The alcoholic is probably helping me learn to live again. It is probably holding my hand every step of the way, as I grow to love life more and more. It is very smart, the alcoholic. Very good at what it does. And, if I slip up for one second, it will have me right back where I was, choosing death over life.

Hello, my name is Jay, and I’m an addict.

This aspect of myself I know to be 100 percent true, but at times I don’t believe to be 100 percent true. If that makes any sense to you, check yourself into rehab, you’re probably an addict. If it sounds completely insane to you, that’s because it is completely insane. The addict in me has me believe I’m not an addict, I just really like cocaine. The addict in me has me believe that I don’t pop pills addictively; they just don’t work as well on me as they do on the average person. The addict has me believe that doing any type of drug, even if it is just on occasion, is completely normal.

Doing any type of drug is not normal, no matter how you try to justify it, and I don’t just do drugs on occasion. This doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t do drugs. By all means do whatever you like. Shit, I love drugs. But, I can’t stop once I start, so I can’t start. If you, on the other hand can go to Vegas for your best friend’s bachelor party and do enough cocaine to make Tony Montana think you have a problem, but can come home and jump right back into the stream of life, you probably are not an addict. If, even though you’re a little tired, you can get up Monday morning, go to your place of employment, and put together a semi-productive day of work, you’re probably not an addict. You probably just like to have a good time. However, if you’re the person that supplied that other person with the mountain of cocaine, and yet, you had your own personal Mount Everest hidden in your pocket, you’re probably an addict. If you come home from a vomit inducing weekend, and the first thing you do is hunt down anyone you may know that might be out having a couple drinks on a Sunday night, you might want to take a long hard look at yourself. If Monday morning rolls around and you have vodka and cocaine for breakfast, and the only reason you call it breakfast is because you’re consuming it at the same time as the people who have gone to sleep the night before are now eating their eggs and bacon, you’re with out a doubt an addict. You are an addict.

That’s the beauty of the addict. It is one manipulative, crafty motherfucker. The addict instinctively knows how to take the guilt off of me, and gently place it on you. It helps me point out all of your faults, so I don’t have to look at mine. The addict will help me make you feel miserable about your life, and then slip in with a helping hand. The addict has the solution to all your problems. It will make everything all better. But, the addict will give you one, and take two for itself. It only pretends to care about you. The addict doesn’t give a shit about you and how you feel. It is looking out for its own ass, and it doesn’t care who it takes down with it. The addict really just doesn’t like to be alone.
In my case the addict never had to be alone, because the alcoholic was always there feeling sorry for itself.