Dancing with Death
An essay exploring an addict's thinking, and how I went crazy enough to get sober
The responses to my last essay were incredible. Some of you shared your experiences with addiction, whether personal or secondhand, i.e., watching a relative or close friend suffer through addiction’s vicious cycle. Others shared ways in which they could relate to my experiences without ever having fallen under addiction’s spell. We laughed; we cried; we restacked. I am more grateful than anybody will ever know for the appreciation you’ve all shown for my work. That my words have inspired many of you to write about your struggles inspires me. Thank you.
If you haven’t read the last essay, I recommend reading that first.
Dancing with Demons
Welcome. Step right in. Sit wherever you’d like. I’m glad you’re here. You don’t need to raise your hand. Go ahead. Right, so, November 19 is my sobriety date. As it approaches, I can’t help but ponder how I’ve made it six years without chemically altering my brain. This piece is a collage of thoughts and experiences…
»» Let’s Begin ««
When I left the doctor’s office that day, I’d been sober for nearly a week, was jobless, two months behind on rent, and had every intention of staying sober—tomorrow.
What did you expect?
An addict’s thinking is pernicious. Wrong and right don’t exist. Your mind doesn't work backward or forward but in every direction at once. Thoughts scatter and clash, spinning like pens lodged in Spirographs. Your perception has the stability of an Etch A Sketch. Nobody knows how the world works better than you. You live outside the crowd, where words never mean the same thing twice, and secret handshakes deliver chemicals to feed your self-deception.