The weekend of the killer tomatoes. There are jars and jars of tomato puree on shelves in the coolest darkest part of the kitchen. If I never see a tomato again, it will be too soon.
Last night we packed a wicker basket with cold roasted chicken, salad, ciabatta, juices and mineral water, then went off to a folk music concert in a large garden. Through the fronds of the old flamboyant tree above where the folk singer sat, we could see lines of scarlet fire running up and down the mountains and above that a swelling sickle belly of moon. It is too dangerous at night to send helicopters or firefighters into these mountains after nightfall, so the fires raged unchecked all through the night. This morning the valley is smoky with shreds of ash still falling.
A friend’s daughter sat with us and as usual drank far far too much. Her mother was embarrassed and exasperated. I don’t get exasperated with drunken people because it took me nearly 30 years to stop drinking and nobody made the slightest difference once I was in the grip of that compulsion.
I’ve written here before that the term ‘alcoholic’ is essentially a self-defining identity, that only the drinker can decide if she or he is alcoholic as opposed to ‘just overdoing it now and again’ or drinking because my husband doesn’t understand me’. Many of my university friends drank far more than I did, ended up in emergency casualty with alcohol poisoning, drove cars into garage walls while drunk, bungee-jumped into ravines while drunk, had black-outs and behaved extremely badly while drunk. And then they sobered up, got a life and assumed adult responsibilities, cut out the partying, drinking and wild antics. Others, like me, carried on quietly drinking to excess, and others still, who had never touched alcohol at university, began to drink when they found themselves alone with a child all day or going through the turmoil of divorce, or just because at 5pm the vodka was there.
It is also true that alcoholism is an open secret and most of us can tell when someone’s drinking is out of control. We may need to name that destructive irrational behaviour for our own sanity. All the same, unless that active alcoholic wants to get sober and wants it badly enough to ask for help or to make radical life changes, there is nothing to be done except to protect oneself and step away. In my experience, severe and chronic alcoholism is a messy business that takes no prisoners.
The wild fires in these mountains are known as runaway fires because they race out of control within an hour or two and will change direction according to the prevailing wind or the presence of volatile brush or timber, dead grasses, dry leaves, haystacks. Even when the wind drops, the fires will go on burning on blackened and scorched earth for days.
Driving home in the smoky moonlit heat, the lyrics of Bruce Springsteen on the car radio:
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
I’m on fire
My father was an alcoholic, Louisey, or so the story goes. Certainly he drank vast amounts of brandy and as little as a single drink could turn him into a monster. I know many people who drink too much, even today, myself included at times, but none of us are alcoholics. I have often pondered on this. What makes the difference? What turns drinking into a fire that rages through and destroys as opposed to a small incendiary that is easily controlled.
My mother used to say: ‘Sons of alcoholics become alcoholics and daughters of alcoholics marry them.’ I hated this . I hated the hopelessness of my future under the weight of what felt like an injunction. As it turns out of the nine of us, one of my brothers shows signs of alcoholism and none of my sisters, myself included have married hard core alcoholics, though occasionally we or our partners drink too much, but not in the way you describe, the way of someone who has lost control.
Thanks again for a beautifully written and profound post.
Elisabeth I’m with you on resisting the hardwired narrative around ‘doomed to drink’ etc or labelling others as alcoholics simply because they happen to abuse or self-medicate with alcohol at a particular time. Many of us do that and pull out of it, But yes, what I’m talking about is what I have sometimes called an ‘unstoppable trajectory’, a point of no return, where the drinking becomes life-threatening, flagrantly suicidal and in most cases ends in death.
You may not see this very often because in more developed countries like Australia or Europe or the US, interventions are more skilful and done earlier, there is a social infrastructure to help with rehabilitation and more awareness of the dangers of alcoholic drinking. Out here in the rural area where I live, the death rate from alcoholism is staggering — people drink for days until they go into convulsions and die. The Western Cape of South Africa has the highest figures of foetal alcohol syndrome in the world. Gradually the drug cartels are introducing alternative to rotgut brandy or cheap wine, but drug addicts still fall back on binge-drinking at times.
I am an alcoholic and it has defined my mid-life re-discovery of self and given me motivation to change for the better.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Alcoholism can be just the trigger for some revealing introspection and self discovery, if you take the opportunity and surrender to it.
Hi Bwendo –almost any major life crisis or self-destructive pattern can give us impetus to change. My feeling is that the alcoholism doesn’t go away — we just become more and more aware of the underlying difficulties that made it our primary ‘solution’.
Even after all these years of dealing with alcohol and it’s myriad of problems, I still have no idea how to define an alcoholic. What complicates that even more is that I have sat in meetings with people whom I believe aren’t alcoholic. What are they doing there? Is it mental illness? Codependency? So, it is true. Only the individual can make that distinction. After all these years I’m still not sure if my ex is alcoholic. But alcohol most certainly played a role in our separation.
I’m rambling. Have a great day, girlfriend.
Kristin, I hear you — and I hesitate to place any pathologising labels on others. At the same time I can look back on my mother’s chaotic life and suicide and say quite definitely that she was alcoholic (two bottle of vodka a day, drinking in the early mornings, passing out at family meals as a matter of course) and the alcoholism worsened her depression and caused her untold anguish.
I am so very grateful that my desire to get sober came from deep within my soul and not from the urgings of anyone else. Alcohol is the greatest persuader. But I don’t think we leave people alone long enough to get that desire anymore.
The “Born in the USA” album was just released when I got sober. To me, it is the sound track of early sobriety. “I’m on Fire” was my anthem.
Mary Christine, I also admitted my problem when the alcoholism brought me right to death;’s door. The saddest thing for me is that many die without getting sober and that haunts me —
The Boss was so popular out here in the 1980s, still getting airplay.
So many hide, trying to escape the fire, but it burns them nonetheless. I see so many that need help out there.
You’re right Syd — and it is hard for family and friends to just take a deep breath and walk away from someone who is determined to kill themselves by alcoholic drinking. For years it may seem nothing more than broken promises a or embarrassing incidents and volatile mood swings, selfishness — but what i am talking about here is the headlong plunge to wards death in alcoholism. Terrible to witness and nothing to be done unless the person wants to live.
I started drinking at around 13 years old. Hated the taste but loved the affects quieting the voices, and making home life bearable.Eventually It took away my life. I am grateful I got to the rooms.
This is a precious human life I was given not to be taken for granted.
Well said. I also like what Syd said. All true.