| | I'm perplexed. It would seem that the only person who has spoken thus far with any first-hand experience with the phenomenon of alcoholism is Michael Stuart Kelly. The rest of you can barely credit its existence. There's also the notion floating around, all too common among the ignorant, that alcoholism exists at the far end of some behavioral continuum of "drinking habits;" full-blown alcoholism exists somewhere on the far side of "falling down drunk on a daily basis."
I've known literally hundreds of self-proclaimed alcoholics and heard hundreds of their stories over the years. The best argument for the existence of "alcoholism" is the stultifying sameness, the sheer repetitiveness of these stories. Hiding booze bottles is a proverbial indicator of alcoholism precisely because it is so unnervingly commonplace. As is the bizarre lengths folks will go to hide their problem.
My mom was an alcoholic, but my dad went through 17 years of marriage without finding out. She had her act down. When we'd go out to dinner, she would order a single manhattan. She'd take a sip, discuss the quality with my dad, perhaps compare it to the one she'd had years ago at Bardelli's, and pass it to my dad to finish. She never drank more than that in public.
Then one summer while she was away caring for her ailing father, my dad decided to surprise her by cleaning the kitchen for her. You see, the kitchen was her sanctum. When my father and mother argued, the argument would end when she went into the kitchen and slammed the door. Eventually we stopped even having meals in there and ate always in the dining room. So when my dad decided that we'd go in, it was by then unprecedented.
The place was filthy. My mother was a gourmet cook, the kind that could make saltimbocca from memory. Thing is, she always made enough food for at least 10 (ours was a family of four) and she always bought the ingredients fresh. So there were at least ten small bags of floor, and similar amounts of rice and sugar, all the ingredients for her cooking stuffed into the cabinets. All of them were infested with worms. So much food was simply rotting in cupboards. And underneath the sink and behind a couple rows of kitchen items in all the lower cupboards were at least forty empty fifths, vodka mainly, and gin. Coincidently, that night, my dad got a call from my mother's family's doctor (the first ever from this man) demanding to know why my father never got my mother the help she needed, "Didn't he know she was an alcoholic?" My dad never knew.
My parents got divorced soon after and a few years later, my mother was killed by a drinking buddy of hers in a fight with 0.4 alcohol level in her blood, enough to put a non-alcoholic in a coma if not kill them. And we might never have known.
I'm sorry if by posting this, y'all see me as some kind of Oprah-fied therapy apologist, but alcoholism is an ugly damn disease that wrecks perfectly decent people's lives by the millions. For anyone with any familiarity with its virulence, what Kilbourne and Branden did with the "drooling beast" episode was certainly worth the risks. Nobody who knows anything about the disease confronts a man they believe to be so afflicted without love. It's just not worth it otherwise.
-Kevin
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