So in-between my junior and senior years I was away from school and parents, in another state, in the constant company of serious drinkers. I learned to hold my liquor pretty well, I guess. I rarely drank to extreme excess, just the usual 3-5 oz. of hard liquor in the evenings, plus a bit of pot throughout the day. This was more or less functional drinking. When I had to do summer school to make up lost credits, I quit drinking, took up running and just smoked pot. When I needed to focus more on learning first-year French, I scored coke which really helped. But it was expensive and I couldn't afford to do it often, plus one of my deals went sour which stirred up problems with friends of friends, and thus the dubious associations I'd formed on my academic leave from college began to unravel.
I had the opportunity during that year to meet the famous Trungpa Rinpoche, the great teacher and unrivalled drinking prodigy of recent Buddhist history. I'd gotten myself invited to a cocktail party in his honor. I thought it would be cool to schmooze with all the drinking Buddhists and meet Trungpa, so I began to celebrate the night before with spicy shrimp and maybe a half-bottle of truly mellow whiskey. Then next day I was too hung-over to drive the 120 miles to make the cocktail party. Still, given the angry abusive behavior I witnessed among hard-drinking friends in that year, I was convinced that they, not I (the happy mellow drunk, or so I thought) had the real drinking problem.
I many times witnessed, for example, the swaggering grandstanding tirade, complete with claims of self-knowledge and enlightenment. Isn't that what we all want? It's what drunks often want to believe, because their drunkenness is an excuse, or rather an escape hatch, for profound insecurity. That is, for what my sponsor refers to frequently as "profound insecurity masked by a raging ego". For a while I found this sort of display seductive so I drank in order to participate in the raging mythos of the raging drunk, bursting at the seams with megalomaniacal ego, who picks apart other people's faults and resorts to rhetorical low-blows whenever it suits his agenda.
Incidentally, Mel Gibson isn't the only drunk who indulges anti-Semitic rhetoric when drunk and then wakes up, schmoozes with Jewish friends and seems to have no cognitive dissonance with what he said only hours before. If it's not anti-Semitism, it might as well be mysogyny, or homophobia, or racial bigotry of other forms. Alcoholic behavior is typified by acting-out of deep resentments, usually misplaced upon people or groups, in the form of tirades against real or imagined enemies. The alcoholic believes that only she is afflicted by her unique group of enemies, whom she paints one and all with the same broad strokes of rhetoric and logic as pathological liars, thieves, or as evil. In the worst case scenario this behavior spills over into senseless physical violence.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
How it progressed, II
By sixteen I was drinking at home whenever I lacked my drug of choice, which was cannibis. At seventeen I started going out with some friends and drinking beer on occasion, on a few occasions to excess.
I had my first blackout driving with friends in a custom van we called the "Fuck Truck". It had belonged to a professional football player of some repute and was painted to look like his jersey, number and all. (As for the number it is a natural prime, a proth prime, and a Fermat number whose first decimal place N is one less than the number's index in the series of natural primes. Go figure.) Anyway I remember one part of the blackout -- puking through the sliding door right next to a gas pump, while the FuckTruck refueled. My next day I had a driving lesson at eight A.M., and had to stop the car to puke my breakfast canteloupe. I was still a bit drunk and with a terrible headache but somehow I survived driving the beltway and got a B for the lesson.
The next big drunk I remember occurred at Columbia Country Club where the class valedictorian's parents threw an unlimited-booze party for us. I drove my parents' station wagon home (why wasn't I in my Firebird? Can't remember.) My vision was doubled so I aimed for the place just to the right of where the two double yellow lines crossed. I drove half the length of McArthur Boulevard in that state and made it home alive with no DUI. Unfuckingbelievable. Still I preferred herb but by this point the social "value" of drinking was becoming more apparent. It was goddamn fun.
On prom night I got distracted on Connecticut Avenue and rear-ended some guy's VW Rabbit on Connecticut Avenue. I had to explain my falsified driver's licence that I had altered using India ink to the officer, who amazingly let it go. I was seventeen anyway, not visibly intoxicated and went to a good prep school. So I got off. The insurance company covered me when the guy I rear-ended sued for personal damages (he claimed "whiplash"). I'd had only three beers that night so I wrote the accident up to being distracted, looking for a cross street to turn onto.
Before college I did art school for two months, which involved residency in another town and therefore, a lot of unsupervised drinking and drug use. I got busted for smoking pot, got off with a slap and an embarrassing phone conversation with my parents. Most of us were minors still. Discovered Southern Comfort then, but rarely got drunk. Mostly I smoked pot, when I could obtain it, and tripped acid once. At the end of art classes I once tried Meth, which I snorted (OUCH!). Great stuff but fortunately I didn't get hooked on speed then -- that happened much later in life, with a shrinks' blessing. Then I went to college and started tripping my brains out and smoking weed with a vengeance.
One night I went to keg party and took a Quaalude I'd copped from another student. I blacked out and woke up the next morning fully clothed on my bed, face down, my feet still in their shoes, which were on the floor next to the mattress. I have no idea how I got home but I did, unharmed. I didn't do a lot of drinking then, but I did do a lot of drugs, including a bunch of speed that I somehow obtained for free from a local girl, not a college student, whose parents were "massage therapists" that kept three-thousand count plastic jars of Methedrine, Dexedrine and Dexedrine Spansules in their kitchen cabinets. Handy for exam time, they were.
At this point I knew (as I'd long known) that I had a problem with pot addiction. I didn't see a big problem with some of the more outrageous usage I engaged in, like the night I drank acid punch at party with grain alcohol in it, smoked herb and also did a few lines of coke. I felt terrible when I got back to my dorm and the next day regretted it all, as I had the quaalude.
So I didn't do that kind of shit again, after those experiences. What I did do spring of my freshman year was MDA, a trippy relative of speed and Ecstasy that I quite enjoyed. Subsequently I also snorted mescaline (that's right, real mescaline. Had three degrees of separation from some shady CIA types back in those days). The usual fare -- daily herb, occasional drink -- typified the rest of my college career. After my junior year, though, I took a year off and lived with friends who drank a lot. That was when I got my first real glimpse of progressed alcoholism -- the raging drunks, the manipulation and lies that alcoholics tell themselves and others.
I had my first blackout driving with friends in a custom van we called the "Fuck Truck". It had belonged to a professional football player of some repute and was painted to look like his jersey, number and all. (As for the number it is a natural prime, a proth prime, and a Fermat number whose first decimal place N is one less than the number's index in the series of natural primes. Go figure.) Anyway I remember one part of the blackout -- puking through the sliding door right next to a gas pump, while the FuckTruck refueled. My next day I had a driving lesson at eight A.M., and had to stop the car to puke my breakfast canteloupe. I was still a bit drunk and with a terrible headache but somehow I survived driving the beltway and got a B for the lesson.
The next big drunk I remember occurred at Columbia Country Club where the class valedictorian's parents threw an unlimited-booze party for us. I drove my parents' station wagon home (why wasn't I in my Firebird? Can't remember.) My vision was doubled so I aimed for the place just to the right of where the two double yellow lines crossed. I drove half the length of McArthur Boulevard in that state and made it home alive with no DUI. Unfuckingbelievable. Still I preferred herb but by this point the social "value" of drinking was becoming more apparent. It was goddamn fun.
On prom night I got distracted on Connecticut Avenue and rear-ended some guy's VW Rabbit on Connecticut Avenue. I had to explain my falsified driver's licence that I had altered using India ink to the officer, who amazingly let it go. I was seventeen anyway, not visibly intoxicated and went to a good prep school. So I got off. The insurance company covered me when the guy I rear-ended sued for personal damages (he claimed "whiplash"). I'd had only three beers that night so I wrote the accident up to being distracted, looking for a cross street to turn onto.
Before college I did art school for two months, which involved residency in another town and therefore, a lot of unsupervised drinking and drug use. I got busted for smoking pot, got off with a slap and an embarrassing phone conversation with my parents. Most of us were minors still. Discovered Southern Comfort then, but rarely got drunk. Mostly I smoked pot, when I could obtain it, and tripped acid once. At the end of art classes I once tried Meth, which I snorted (OUCH!). Great stuff but fortunately I didn't get hooked on speed then -- that happened much later in life, with a shrinks' blessing. Then I went to college and started tripping my brains out and smoking weed with a vengeance.
One night I went to keg party and took a Quaalude I'd copped from another student. I blacked out and woke up the next morning fully clothed on my bed, face down, my feet still in their shoes, which were on the floor next to the mattress. I have no idea how I got home but I did, unharmed. I didn't do a lot of drinking then, but I did do a lot of drugs, including a bunch of speed that I somehow obtained for free from a local girl, not a college student, whose parents were "massage therapists" that kept three-thousand count plastic jars of Methedrine, Dexedrine and Dexedrine Spansules in their kitchen cabinets. Handy for exam time, they were.
At this point I knew (as I'd long known) that I had a problem with pot addiction. I didn't see a big problem with some of the more outrageous usage I engaged in, like the night I drank acid punch at party with grain alcohol in it, smoked herb and also did a few lines of coke. I felt terrible when I got back to my dorm and the next day regretted it all, as I had the quaalude.
So I didn't do that kind of shit again, after those experiences. What I did do spring of my freshman year was MDA, a trippy relative of speed and Ecstasy that I quite enjoyed. Subsequently I also snorted mescaline (that's right, real mescaline. Had three degrees of separation from some shady CIA types back in those days). The usual fare -- daily herb, occasional drink -- typified the rest of my college career. After my junior year, though, I took a year off and lived with friends who drank a lot. That was when I got my first real glimpse of progressed alcoholism -- the raging drunks, the manipulation and lies that alcoholics tell themselves and others.
How it progressed, I
Since I was effectively grounded by a full-leg cast, being caught (at age 15) boozing it up did not entail any significant punishment. Soon thereafter I was a regular ganja-freak anyway. I didn't want to be like the ra-ra crowd in my class anyway. Those were the really precocious drinkers I remember, some of whom were bona fide alcoholics by the time they graduated high school. At age sixteen my parents started allowing me a glass of wine at night, after I'd finished my work. Sometimes that became two, or perhaps three, which combined with the herb could make one pretty sloshed. That was as far as it went until I went on a ski trip with a friend and my parents. We did the same thing -- stole liquor from the rented chalet cabinet, and mixed it with coke, getting quite drunk. My friend was fine the next day and went skiing. I had my first bona fide hangover and spent the day recuperating. I said it was a stomach virus but my mom knew better. BUSTED!
How it all started
It all started when I decided to experiment with booze. I stole a little of this and a little of that from my parents' liquor cabinet and mixed them together in an applesauce jar, washing the foul swigs down with Coke. As I recall the contents included gin, vodka, whiskey, and vermouth, as those were the large bottles from which small amounts would not be missed. I was alone at home and the dog needed walking. I ran outside in the freezing air enthusiastically and slipped on an icy driveway, slightly fracturing my left tibia just above the ankle.
So what did I do...I came home in a full-leg cast, and did it again. This time I had a borrowed film projector at my disposal. Soon I found myself too drunk to thread a new reel through it and got caught by my mom, who noticed my slurred speech and total lack of coordination in the task.
So what did I do...I came home in a full-leg cast, and did it again. This time I had a borrowed film projector at my disposal. Soon I found myself too drunk to thread a new reel through it and got caught by my mom, who noticed my slurred speech and total lack of coordination in the task.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A certain river in Egypt...
Is where most of us have lived, once upon a time, as alcoholics, sober or unsober. It's not easy to face up to the facts of one's miserable, self-deceived life. The first thing we have to do (it seems to me -- I'm no expert) is learn to shut up and listen to what other people and the world are trying to tell us.
If my life is fucked up whose problem is it? Whose fault? Whose responsibility? The answers are never simple, but it comes down mainly to the man in the mirror. It is *mostly* my responsibility, no one else's.
If my life is fucked up whose problem is it? Whose fault? Whose responsibility? The answers are never simple, but it comes down mainly to the man in the mirror. It is *mostly* my responsibility, no one else's.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Heart+Head=Wisdom
At this point I'm a beginner sobering-up alcoholic and addict. The purpose of this blog is to provide a (possibly) public forum for my personal observations about alcohol and other substances, alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, sobriety, and various points of interest related to Twelve Step Programs.
In particular, I want to post any thoughts I have here that are verboten or "politically incorrect" at some (though not all) of the AA meetings I attend on a regular basis.
Tonight in my favorite Sunday meeting -- which is open to all, with discussion, no Big Book yadayada -- I introduced myself to one of the audience who commented on the evening's speaker. This gentleman like myself grew up in the mid-Atlantic states, in an upper-middle class household, albeit (unlike mine) one in which the father was murdered by the mother. Anyway, I liked what the gentleman said, plus he had 25 years of sobriety which I suppose I should respect and look up to.
So having introduced myself and chatted with him about the Chesapeake Bay, he proceeded to give me some advice. He said, first of all, give yourself a date for your sobriety even if you don't remember exactly what it was. OK, fair enough, I thought. I really should nail down the exact date, as a reference point.
Then he proceeded to tell me that it's all about working with the faith of the heart. True, I agree. To be sober, stay sober and get a better life in the future, I need to work on that. (Most of us need to, alcholics or not). So the gentleman was preaching to the converted at this point.
Then he said "It's not about intellect. Intellect is a defect of character..." and continued rambling on for another minute or so. Again, what he said, I liked for the most part. But then I said to him I took exception to the "intellect is a defect of character" part.
Upon reflection I concluded that, while the guy is sincere enough, he's still a wee bit full of himself after twenty-five years. Granted, there is a lot of wisdom there, but the lecture was redolent of the "foul stench of enlightenment", as it is called in Zen. It's like the smell of a rotting corpse -- it's sweet and not entirely unpleasant, but the more one smells it the more uncomfortable one becomes.
Now since my being a much younger man than he, and with less time sober, far be it from me to lecture this guy on where his attitude might have gone wrong, or how his enlightenment reeks like a two-week old striper in a hot bilge. Frankly, this stuff about bashing intellect is one of the things that sends newly sober alcoholics running for the hills, away from A.A. and possibly back to another drink. Alcoholics, that is, with highly developed intellects.
Viewing intellect as a defect of character makes about as much sense as viewing a penis as defect of character. True, some feminists for example might view penises that way, but that doesn't make it correct. In any case, the intellect is much more common than a penis. Roughly 50% of humans have penises, but everyone has at least one head. One has a head and one ought to use it, right? That's common sense. Alcoholics may over-use their intellect in the service of lies, denial and manipulation, but that doesn't make intellect per se a defect of character.
Whenever I hear "spiritual" people bashing the intellect or making light of people whom they disdainfully refer to as "intellectuals", I hear a cult mentality speaking. I espy a subtle fundamentalism of the heart.
The heart may be what makes us feeling and compassionate human beings, but it can also make us stupid. Haven't we all done some stupid things for love? And haven't most of us done some of those silly things while sober? So with that I could rest my case. The heart is essential but it is not inherently superior to the head. A heart without a head lies in a corpse.
Access to the heart's true feelings is broken or damaged by alcoholism, as by any other (non substance-abuse related) trauma in a person's life. The injury in the case of alcoholism is largely self-inflicted, of course. But what or who is it that needs to access and relate to those feelings constructively? It's the intellect.
A person with a big heart but no intellect is a dog, basically. I love dogs and God bless them for being all heart and no intellect, that is why they are man's best friend. We all need a break from our intelligence sometimes, a companion to bring us the newspaper of Gospel, the pipe of dreams and the slippers of soft-pedalling sensitivity. That's what dogs and heart-centered awareness are for.
On the other hand, intellect without heart is the defining characteristic of a sociopathic personality. Authentic human beings need both head as well as heart. Ergo, intellect is not a character defect, quod est determinatus.
It's no accident that cults are invariably founded by sociopaths. They understand the heart from a purely intellectual perspective which gives them the freedom from moral self-scrutiny as well as the natural talent necessary for manipulating people. And likewise, it is not accidental that cult leaders use all kinds of techniques to cause their followers to doubt the integrity of their own intellects and "keep their hearts open", i.e., to keep them in a state of emotional suggestibility which is also rather stupid and animalistic, not much different from a well-trained dog. If cult followers were taught and encouraged to use their heads as well as to listen to their hearts, the cult would cease to be a cult, and those cult followers would cease to be followers (Shravakas) and become independent, skillful Bodhisattvas, in deed if not necessarily in creed.
Discouraging critical thought (e.g., the use of intellect) is a cult technique. It is not part of the original A. A. ethos. Bill W. and Bob G. and a lot of the old-timers where well-educated men with fine intellects. How could they have convinced a number of prominent non-alcoholic scientists and clergyman to espouse their cause without being eloquent and intellectually coherent? How could they have attracted so many alcoholics and helped them stay sober, if not by an enlightened approach that was both clear-minded (intellectually or scientifically) as well as spiritually integrated (that is regarding the head and heart)?
There's nothing wrong with having a well-honed intellect. A.A. promotes that sort of intellect in people, regardless of their level of education. Emotional intelligence and intellectual sensitivity are not at odds as I see it. This is not my personal view of intellect, it is the only definitive and original view of what "intellect" really is. The word "intellect" means something akin to "reading between the lines". You need both a critical thinking head as well as as a sensitive, poetic heart to do that well, whether your reading material be a book, another person or God's ways.
The original sense of "intellect" in medieval scholastic philosophy was precisely that human faculty that allows one to know the mysterious ways of the Divine to some degree. The heart's faith allows one to perceive those ways, but it's the intellect that knows them. What could possibly be wrong with both in an equal and balanced measure?
In particular, I want to post any thoughts I have here that are verboten or "politically incorrect" at some (though not all) of the AA meetings I attend on a regular basis.
Tonight in my favorite Sunday meeting -- which is open to all, with discussion, no Big Book yadayada -- I introduced myself to one of the audience who commented on the evening's speaker. This gentleman like myself grew up in the mid-Atlantic states, in an upper-middle class household, albeit (unlike mine) one in which the father was murdered by the mother. Anyway, I liked what the gentleman said, plus he had 25 years of sobriety which I suppose I should respect and look up to.
So having introduced myself and chatted with him about the Chesapeake Bay, he proceeded to give me some advice. He said, first of all, give yourself a date for your sobriety even if you don't remember exactly what it was. OK, fair enough, I thought. I really should nail down the exact date, as a reference point.
Then he proceeded to tell me that it's all about working with the faith of the heart. True, I agree. To be sober, stay sober and get a better life in the future, I need to work on that. (Most of us need to, alcholics or not). So the gentleman was preaching to the converted at this point.
Then he said "It's not about intellect. Intellect is a defect of character..." and continued rambling on for another minute or so. Again, what he said, I liked for the most part. But then I said to him I took exception to the "intellect is a defect of character" part.
Upon reflection I concluded that, while the guy is sincere enough, he's still a wee bit full of himself after twenty-five years. Granted, there is a lot of wisdom there, but the lecture was redolent of the "foul stench of enlightenment", as it is called in Zen. It's like the smell of a rotting corpse -- it's sweet and not entirely unpleasant, but the more one smells it the more uncomfortable one becomes.
Now since my being a much younger man than he, and with less time sober, far be it from me to lecture this guy on where his attitude might have gone wrong, or how his enlightenment reeks like a two-week old striper in a hot bilge. Frankly, this stuff about bashing intellect is one of the things that sends newly sober alcoholics running for the hills, away from A.A. and possibly back to another drink. Alcoholics, that is, with highly developed intellects.
Viewing intellect as a defect of character makes about as much sense as viewing a penis as defect of character. True, some feminists for example might view penises that way, but that doesn't make it correct. In any case, the intellect is much more common than a penis. Roughly 50% of humans have penises, but everyone has at least one head. One has a head and one ought to use it, right? That's common sense. Alcoholics may over-use their intellect in the service of lies, denial and manipulation, but that doesn't make intellect per se a defect of character.
Whenever I hear "spiritual" people bashing the intellect or making light of people whom they disdainfully refer to as "intellectuals", I hear a cult mentality speaking. I espy a subtle fundamentalism of the heart.
The heart may be what makes us feeling and compassionate human beings, but it can also make us stupid. Haven't we all done some stupid things for love? And haven't most of us done some of those silly things while sober? So with that I could rest my case. The heart is essential but it is not inherently superior to the head. A heart without a head lies in a corpse.
Access to the heart's true feelings is broken or damaged by alcoholism, as by any other (non substance-abuse related) trauma in a person's life. The injury in the case of alcoholism is largely self-inflicted, of course. But what or who is it that needs to access and relate to those feelings constructively? It's the intellect.
A person with a big heart but no intellect is a dog, basically. I love dogs and God bless them for being all heart and no intellect, that is why they are man's best friend. We all need a break from our intelligence sometimes, a companion to bring us the newspaper of Gospel, the pipe of dreams and the slippers of soft-pedalling sensitivity. That's what dogs and heart-centered awareness are for.
On the other hand, intellect without heart is the defining characteristic of a sociopathic personality. Authentic human beings need both head as well as heart. Ergo, intellect is not a character defect, quod est determinatus.
It's no accident that cults are invariably founded by sociopaths. They understand the heart from a purely intellectual perspective which gives them the freedom from moral self-scrutiny as well as the natural talent necessary for manipulating people. And likewise, it is not accidental that cult leaders use all kinds of techniques to cause their followers to doubt the integrity of their own intellects and "keep their hearts open", i.e., to keep them in a state of emotional suggestibility which is also rather stupid and animalistic, not much different from a well-trained dog. If cult followers were taught and encouraged to use their heads as well as to listen to their hearts, the cult would cease to be a cult, and those cult followers would cease to be followers (Shravakas) and become independent, skillful Bodhisattvas, in deed if not necessarily in creed.
Discouraging critical thought (e.g., the use of intellect) is a cult technique. It is not part of the original A. A. ethos. Bill W. and Bob G. and a lot of the old-timers where well-educated men with fine intellects. How could they have convinced a number of prominent non-alcoholic scientists and clergyman to espouse their cause without being eloquent and intellectually coherent? How could they have attracted so many alcoholics and helped them stay sober, if not by an enlightened approach that was both clear-minded (intellectually or scientifically) as well as spiritually integrated (that is regarding the head and heart)?
There's nothing wrong with having a well-honed intellect. A.A. promotes that sort of intellect in people, regardless of their level of education. Emotional intelligence and intellectual sensitivity are not at odds as I see it. This is not my personal view of intellect, it is the only definitive and original view of what "intellect" really is. The word "intellect" means something akin to "reading between the lines". You need both a critical thinking head as well as as a sensitive, poetic heart to do that well, whether your reading material be a book, another person or God's ways.
The original sense of "intellect" in medieval scholastic philosophy was precisely that human faculty that allows one to know the mysterious ways of the Divine to some degree. The heart's faith allows one to perceive those ways, but it's the intellect that knows them. What could possibly be wrong with both in an equal and balanced measure?
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