I didn’t know she had died until Mr. Rilch showed me the squib in Time magazine.
I’m taking this very hard. Harder than I’ve taken the death of someone I didn’t know in a long time.
I only knew her through Drinking: A Love Story, but I felt that was enough. I saw so much of myself in her story, so much of others, and so much that was unique. I never got to the point of stashing alcohol, like she did; in fact, I think I can safely say I’m one of the ones who “matured out of it”, like she said, but I read her book when I was still actively drinking, and boy did it hold up a mirror. My psychiatrist pushed me into AA. I didn’t feel I belonged there. That’s one thing among the many that I learned from Ms. Knapp: only the individual can say when they’ve hit bottom. Or if they really want it to come to that.
“Bad things didn’t happen every time I drank, but every time something bad did happen, drinking was involved.”
I thought, and still do, that her book, The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson (not the movie; it is powerful, but a children’s story compared to the novel) and Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far On Foot, by John Callahan, are the essential library for active or recovering addicts.
She went through so much, and survived. She mentioned, towards the end of the book, that she was only one of two people from her “graduating class” in rehab who didn’t relapse. Why didn’t she get a rest of her life? Why did she get such a short time sober and healthy? All that, for only eight more years? One day at a time. But why did she get so few one days?
It almost makes me want to say, “Why should anyone quit drinking? If you’ve abused your body so much you’ve already worn it out, sobering up won’t save your life. Mght as well die an active drunk; you’re on borrowed time either way.”
Now I really want to bitchslap Elizabeth Wurtzel for sneering, “The worst thing she ever did was fall down while holding a toddler! BFD!” Sorry her addiction wasn’t dramatic enough for you.
Godspeed, Alice K.