After our dessert tonight, my Granny and I talked on the topic of addiction over coffee. Smoking was what started us off. I heard the story of her ubrupt and unforseen quitting of smoking. The history of alcoholism in our family was dug deeper into and as I listened I though of the alcoholism on my father's side of the family, too. ...This is all more than I thought.

She told me of one time when my Aunt drank. My Aunt told my Granny that she knew she should never drink again and she told her simply why this was. Both my Aunt and I share the exact same words: "I liked it too much." When I said this myself I though that maybe I was being silly. I thought it wouldn't be understood. In fact, though, it is a feeling, a knowing, shared by at least one other.

I starred down into my half empty cup of coffee, eyes burning with tears, as my Granny spoke of how she felt when she drank and what she thought, in retrospect, it all meant. I remembered myself setting in the back of that old car with empty bottles at my feet, and larger, unoppened bottles beside them. I remembered my serious contemplations of asking if we might open them, too. I remembered the change in my personality when I was intoxicated. I remembered my confidence. I remembered my laugh and my running mouth. I remembered my lust and my comfort. I remembered intensely wanting more, because I loved it. I remembered this all being all there was. I remembered much of this which is so contrary to my true person because my Granny unknowingly reminded me as she spoke of herself, and of my great grandmother. I remembered, mostly, all the times I sat alone in my room thinking, and thinking to myself that I am addicted to this alcohol. An alcoholic? I could feel it. How could that be possible, though? What a disgustingly weak thing to think... unless it was only that I knew. At least, if I am not, I would be.

I have said before that just because something makes sense does not mean it is right or true. I say now too that what is right and true may not make sense. We may not understand how or why... it only is, as we may have to settle to understand it.

Still I question myself in this, but then... so often we say, "do not resign yourself to such dark conclusions! Weak, pitiful, false... ignorant! It is no good. Know better! Know this!: You are mistaken." I only know what is true for me. I have contemplated the possibilites of which I am aware and I fanally do know something. No one can argue me on it: I liked it too much. I do not know if it is in my genes. I do not know if it is purely in my mind. Anyway, it is no matter to me where it is in those respects. What would it benefit me if it was only in my head and I could overcome it? The drink? And then, what that? I am resigning myself to no conclusions as to why I am "addicted" to this this way. I am settling definately only on the one fact I have for myself: alcohol is not for me. I recently began using mouthwash since I have been here visiting my grandparents and even in that I find delight...

Although this may all sound silly and ignorant to some, I know that I am only the fool if I indulge despite knowing this of myself. Other's experiences are what they are, and I have mine, too.

I will leave off with my defense here because I suddenly feel it uncessary and stupid, maybe even contradictory. Let it rest here.

... Why indulge in what you know to be a bad thing?

P.S.

I read this card from the PostSecret blog today and was startled by how easily I could imagine someone I know writing this of me some day...