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5 Substance Abuse OF ALL THE POPULAR “deviance” memoir genres, perhaps alcoholism elicits the least justificatory and the most redemptionist stance. Few alcoholics proclaim that they wish to remain compulsive, destructive drunks; nearly all, by the time they pen their life stories, have stopped their heavy drinking, most have stopped drinking altogether, and the great majority write that abstinence served as a salvation or redemption for which they are grateful. And the memoirs they produce bear testament to heavy alcohol consumption’s destructive power: ruined marriages ; wrecked careers; alienation from friends, family, and children; suicide attempts; car crashes and accidents of every conceivable description; bad sex; blackouts; unrecalled misadventures subsequently embarrassingly narrated by others; episodes entailing a loss of consciousness—these and countless other damaging consequences are litanized as if they constituted a catechism. But most memoirs of such undesirable events and conditions also recall the sense of adventure, friendship, conviviality, joviality , and warm spirits that drinking evokes, but the bad nearly always outweighs the good, both in frequency and in magnitude. Epidemiologists find that the heavy use of alcohol is statistically cooccurrent with risky, deviant behaviors, such as driving under the influence ; having an accident while driving; committing crimes; engaging in violence; becoming a victim of crime and violence; engaging in sex with multiple partners, unprotected sex, or sex with strangers; abusing illicit drugs; and committing suicide. This generalization is true whether we compare drinkers with non-drinkers, more intoxicated states with less, or Substance Abuse / 95 degrees of magnitude of intoxication during drinking occasions. This is true everywhere in the world, though the strength of the association varies by society, culture, and locale. Not only is heavy alcohol consumption a form of deviance; it is also likely to lead to a range of other deviant behaviors, both in strictly cause-and-effect terms—through disinhibition and discoordination— and through the influence of drinking companions, whose behavior, including the willingness to engage in drunkenness, is more likely to be unconventional than that of non-drinkers. These statistical relationships readily translate into the experiential realm and hence become woven into memoiristic narrative. Given that heavy drinking is related to significantly harmful consequences, it often becomes the fulcrum of the tale that recovered drinkers tell: I drank, I suffered, I made others suffer, I experienced an epiphanic event, I realized the error of my ways, I stopped drinking, and now I’m a different person—I’ve transformed and redeemed myself. Most such narratives are triumphalist or “feel good” accounts. Pete Hamill succumbed to the allure of drinking, suffered because of it and, in turn, left suffering in his wake, then sobered up, and, as a consequence, enlarged and enhanced his life. Consider one of the most famous of all “drunkalogues” of all time: John Barleycorn by Jack London, published in 1913. My drinking was the fault of my need to be convivial, he says, to be in the company of like-minded men, to share in their companionship and their rituals, to compete with them in drinking contests and generosity. “At every turn in the world in which I lived,” London tells us, “John Barleycorn beckoned. There was no escaping him. All paths led to him” (1913, pp. 10–11). I don’t particularly like alcohol, London tells us, but I like being with brave, hearty, “chesty” men, and I like to talk mantalk with them. “Drink was the badge of manhood. . . . Men . . . congregated in saloons, the poorman’s clubs, and they were the only clubs to which I had access. I could get acquainted in saloons. I could go into saloons and talk with any man” (pp. 28, 72). What is wrong with that? Life is an adventure, and talking about one’s adventures is one of life’s sweet masculine pleasures. “I drank because the men I was with drank, because my nature was such that I could not permit myself to be any less of a man than other men at their favorite pastimes” (pp. 97–98). Drinking alcohol serves functions that using other substances or engaging in any other activities does not; it relieves stress, assuages exhaustion, provides a mask for courage, soothes nagging doubts and insecurities, and lifts depression. Alcohol is a vehicle; it is also an instrument for other things. True, the insights it imparts are insidious, shocking, cynical, and gloomy—but you pay for what you get. Am I depraved, an evil person because I drink? London asks himself. Of course not. I...

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