My dad always called alcoholism "the gift" when he referred to it within the family. A couple people in my family have the gift, myself included- with extra paper, ribbons, and a personalized note.
When I was young I thought it was a positive. My dad use to say we were blessed with a boundless capacity. A seemingly insatiable appetite to imbibe. I was a hit at parties in college, I could drink more and longer than anyone I knew. I would do just about any crazy thing that came into my head, I drank beyond reason, and that was fun and exciting. Time passed , things changed.
Things started to go bad gradually-a missed day of work here, a familial disappointment there- then gained momentum. Like gravity. At first keeping a job was a struggle then an impossibility. Friendships started becoming difficult, they'd fade, then vanish. Relationships were on a collision course with emotional turmoil from the very beginning. When my life was desperate and sour and the walls were closing in I realized. Ah-ha. My dad was being ironic. The gift was a disability, the blessing-a curse. Time passed, eventually I got help.
As a sober person I've discovered my defining flaw is a gift. I wrecked my life so completely I had to put it all together again, take stock, hit bottom so thoroughly I had to start from square one and there was no where to go but up. A lot of people have problems, sometimes those problems are mild or manageable so people live with them. They never have to take a searching look at who they are or how they act because their lives aren't in total shambles. I'm grateful for my disease because it's gotten me to where I am. If it hadn't been so bad, so painful, so destructive I wouldn't have done any work on myself, wouldn't have done what was necessary to attempt to lead a healthier, happier life. Sometimes harmony can only come from catastrophe.
The meaning I derive from my dad's pet name for my particular affliction will continue to evolve. But right now I take it at face value.
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