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A review by kimberlyf
Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp
5.0
This book pains me so deeply emotionally because I see so much of myself within these pages. Imagine me, sitting on my couch reading this book, constantly flipping back to the front cover to confirm it wasn’t me who wrote it.
“Alcoholism, after all, is a progressive illness; it sneaks up on you so subtly, so insidiously, that you honestly don’t know you’re falling into its grip until long after the fact.“
I can relate to drinking in response to every emotion. I can relate to making promises and really trying to stick with them. I can relate to rationalizing just one more. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I can relate to losing all of the skin on my knee in a drunken fit (and I still have the patchy skin to prove it). I can relate to bringing an extra bottle to my parents house incase what they had wasn’t enough. I can relate to feeling the stress that wherever I was might run out of alcohol and then what would I do. I can relate to hiding my volume of intake. So well, in fact, my ex never knew the extent of my drinking because I didn’t want him to. I can relate to the “fear of life”. I can relate to the feelings of fraudulence. I can relate to looking towards someone else, someone worse off, as a beacon of hope: I’m not that bad. I can relate to eyeing everyone else’s drink to make sure that I’m not drinking too fast. I can relate to finding an excuse to go out to my car—Oh shoot, I think I left my wallet in my car—just to take a couple inches off the bottle hiding under my seat. I can relate to letting others define me because I had no core sense of self. I can relate to leading a double life. I can relate to drinking alone to avoid the company of others and the company of myself. I can relate to the selective memory justifying my need to return to drinking—My drinking wasn’t that bad. I exaggerated. I can moderate. I can relate to the denial. Oh, how I can relate to the denial—I’m too young. I still have a job and pay my bills. Sure, I’ve completely blacked out and forgotten where I parked my car but who hasn’t? And sure, there was that one time where I had gotten really drunk at home then drove to a bar, parked like an asshole so I came back to a towed car where I was then “saved” by a policeman who put me in to the back of his car to drive me to my car and then waved at me in my rearview as I drove off, still drunk. But I’m in my 20s! It happens! I can relate to hiding my bottles in what I thought were the most conspicuous places. I can relate to being a passive participant in my own life. I can relate to stopping and finally, after many years, having a sober night and feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin because it was so uncomfortable. I can relate to the anger that I can’t just be “normal” like other people. I can relate to the exhaustion of sobriety. I can relate to painfully, slowly, but gratefully, healing. One day at a time.
“Alcoholism, after all, is a progressive illness; it sneaks up on you so subtly, so insidiously, that you honestly don’t know you’re falling into its grip until long after the fact.“
I can relate to drinking in response to every emotion. I can relate to making promises and really trying to stick with them. I can relate to rationalizing just one more. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I can relate to losing all of the skin on my knee in a drunken fit (and I still have the patchy skin to prove it). I can relate to bringing an extra bottle to my parents house incase what they had wasn’t enough. I can relate to feeling the stress that wherever I was might run out of alcohol and then what would I do. I can relate to hiding my volume of intake. So well, in fact, my ex never knew the extent of my drinking because I didn’t want him to. I can relate to the “fear of life”. I can relate to the feelings of fraudulence. I can relate to looking towards someone else, someone worse off, as a beacon of hope: I’m not that bad. I can relate to eyeing everyone else’s drink to make sure that I’m not drinking too fast. I can relate to finding an excuse to go out to my car—Oh shoot, I think I left my wallet in my car—just to take a couple inches off the bottle hiding under my seat. I can relate to letting others define me because I had no core sense of self. I can relate to leading a double life. I can relate to drinking alone to avoid the company of others and the company of myself. I can relate to the selective memory justifying my need to return to drinking—My drinking wasn’t that bad. I exaggerated. I can moderate. I can relate to the denial. Oh, how I can relate to the denial—I’m too young. I still have a job and pay my bills. Sure, I’ve completely blacked out and forgotten where I parked my car but who hasn’t? And sure, there was that one time where I had gotten really drunk at home then drove to a bar, parked like an asshole so I came back to a towed car where I was then “saved” by a policeman who put me in to the back of his car to drive me to my car and then waved at me in my rearview as I drove off, still drunk. But I’m in my 20s! It happens! I can relate to hiding my bottles in what I thought were the most conspicuous places. I can relate to being a passive participant in my own life. I can relate to stopping and finally, after many years, having a sober night and feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin because it was so uncomfortable. I can relate to the anger that I can’t just be “normal” like other people. I can relate to the exhaustion of sobriety. I can relate to painfully, slowly, but gratefully, healing. One day at a time.