Scalzi linked to his post on why he doesn’t drink or do drugs here. His daughter Athena recently posted on the subject as well.
Disclaimer: I enjoy the occasional beer or glass of wine!
Unlike John, my parents were not in recovery. My mother did not have a drinking problem! She just hid half-drunk jugs of wine and vodka in random places around the house and sent her underaged daughter (me) out to buy her more wine because it’s not safe for her to go out and get more after she’s downed an entire bottle by herself! Yes, I illegally bought alcohol as a teen… for my mother.
My mother had an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, one that (infuriatingly) she asked for help with more than once. She had a brief stint of Valium abuse when my sister and I were babies, and also asked for help after her divorce and was allegedly told by a doctor, “I don’t like prescribing that stuff. If you’re tense and nervous, why don’t you and your teenaged daughter share a bottle of wine every night?” (Meaning my sister; I was living with my father at the time.) Assuming this is true–alcoholics often have a bad relationship with the truth–it’s possible that doctor killed her. Her death certificate lists “chronic alcoholism” as a cause of death, which, by the way, is kind of a shitty thing to do to their descendants, as you have to present that certificate over and over again and people try to keep neutral professional faces and fail. The bank lady all but sneered at us, radiating disapproval. One woman at the Georgia Department of Motor Vehicles was so upset that her hands shook and she completely screwed up my vehicle registration, leading to me being pulled over as a car thief. But apparently the state of New Mexico was trying to “raise awareness” or something. Cool.
My father didn’t have “a drinking problem,” he just consumed a large water tumbler of Scotch every night until he and my mother broke up and then he quit cold turkey. Mayyyyybe a small glass of wine with dinner for a special occasion.
I also remember my sister having loud, dramatic showdowns, demanding Mom stop drinking and then walking out to sleep on the apartment floor of a woman who wouldn’t let her store her food in the fridge. I… went with the flow, and therefore was actually surprised by the death certificate despite things like opening the linen closet to look for a fresh towel and finding a five gallon jug of wine tucked behind the towels, half-consumed. Or the time she got so drunk we had to physically restrain her from going to work in that state. (I called in sick for her.)
Mom would hate that this story is about her: Underworld. I’ll hasten to say that she did not date married men (she would be horrified for you to think that). That said, DIONysus is the God of Wine, and had to go into the Underworld to rescue his mother. Also, there is some unhealthy alcohol use in Immortal Gifts, but apparently vampirism prevents alcoholism, or something. (It’s kind of a cure-all in my universe, a sort of super-aggressive immune system that even cures aging, so that’s not surprising.)
So, uh. Sure. Buy me a beer. But–fortunately or unfortunately–not when I’m sad. It feels fine while I’m still under the influence, but the next morning all those un-coped-with feelings are like an avalanche holding me down in the bed, where I wish I could just decompose, and curse the cruel deity that caused me to survive the night. (I’m not talking about hangovers! I’m talking about waking up plagued with intrusive suicidal thoughts and black sadness that dissipate as I actually deal with the problem instead.) Special happy occasions only.
