An Asshole by Any other Name ….

I know my way around alcoholics. I grew up with a couple, married a couple, worked with more than a couple and may have spawned one (jury is still out on that one.)

What I know is that they are all the same in their wonderful, individual ways. What I mean is that they don’t come in the same package, with the same backgrounds or the same chips on their shoulders but they act the same. I have learned that if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck …. It’s an addict.

But Nancy, you proclaim, not ALL addicts are the same, how can offer such a blanket opinion? ‘Cause I’ve sat in the rooms of the people who have loved them, been parented by them, or given birth to them and they have all been hurt by the same things; lying, cheating, stealing and rampant narcissism.

For a long time I used lots of different labels to categorize the ones I know and love. My mother has narcissistic personality disorder, my father was a depressive (from the depression, no less), my sister is bi-polar, and my ex has borderline personality disorder. But I finally figured out that an asshole by any other name is …. An ASSHOLE.

 I don’t care what is wrong with you, FIX IT! 

Oh, I know denial is not just a river in Egypt. I’ve cruised that river on both banks. I’ve been in denial about everyone, but mostly about myself. Am I an addict? I don’t drink or do drugs. Am I an addict? If it walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck…. It’s fucking poultry!

When I had finally become sick and tired of being sick and tired and starting working the steps with a sponsor I identified three addictions that were making my life unmanageable; eating, working and screwed-up relationships.  Did those addictions cause me to lie, steal, cheat, etc.? You betcha’. Though I never stole money, I stole a couple of friend’s boyfriends. I lied about what I did, why I did it and to whom I did it to. And I cheated myself out of my own respect. There are still things only my sponsor knows about me. And it’s going to stay that way –I’m not that crazy.

Suffice it to say that I did enough rotten things that I lost people who meant a lot to me. And I lost myself.  That’s the funniest part about being a narcissistic addict –we are the piece of shit around which the world revolves.

I know what you bleeding hearts are saying right now –“But Nancy, addicts can’t help themselves, it’s genetic.” Yes and NO. There is choice. I know it’s not popular to mention it but there is always a choice. With all the information out today, the anti-drug campaigns, the free rehab centers, the AA meetings on every corner –you can’t say we don’t know what’s bad for us. 

And somewhere along the way some of us choose to wake up and smell the giblets (in keeping with my poultry theme.) Why we do is the mystery. But I am damn lucky to be one of them and I look at people on the street every day and say “there but for the grace of God.” 

I’m going to end this little upbeat missive with a story –a personal one –that is why I am sure there is always a choice and that genetics does not damn us to a life of pain and vomit in our beds.

I was once in love with a boy named Jim. He had an identical twin named Joe. Identical. Totally. They were the last of seven brothers. When I met them 2 of the brothers had already died of alcoholism and another had hit AA big time. There was no denial in this family of what was in their genes. Both twins developed drinking and drug problems but at one point one of them decided to stop and the other didn’t. Maybe you’re saying that the one who stopped had life better than the other but you would be wrong. They were both married to people they loved, both had beautiful children, both were bright and engaging.  But one stopped and one died. At the age of 42.

Remember when I said denial was a killer. I wasn’t yanking your chain. We do have a choice and frankly it doesn’t matter what you call the chaotic person in your life, what label you give them, they will die if they don’t choose not to.