I drink regularly. Not normally to excess, but once in a while yeah. Say maybe 1-2 times a month. Most evenings are a beverage or two.
In my youth, until I was about 23 (Ok, June 16th, 1983), I had spent the better part of the last couple years shoving peruvian marching powder into my nose in whatever form I could. That day, I stopped. It’s a long sad story but the bottom line is I had seen in the month just previous: the murder of a guy I had been buying from the year before, the OD of a friend of a friend, and a near fatal crash with a friend directly related to his own use.
That afternoon, my best friend and I sat in his living room and lied through our teeth to each other. I knew he had some left he wasn’t sharing, he knew I did, but we just ignored that. I went home and spent the night wired, and I’m sure he did the same after I left.
That night, I finished my last bit, and tossed the base pipe, the glass, and all my toys into the neighbors trash. never had another line. This snow had been a major part of my life for the past two years more than daily, almost constant.
But I kept smoking dope until July 26, 1995. I had a job crisis, a ten year old and a new house and quit smoking that out of necessity. Again, my constant companion had been the G-Graphics 18 inch bong since I was 19.
Was I addicted? Certainly psychologically, probably physically. I’ve never had the need or the driving urge to stop drinking. Could I? Hell yeah. Would it be easy? Hell. No. Neither of those other experiences were, and I don’t pretend that I could split a joint and be satisfied, I know if that started, I’d be right into it again.
I hear, and I believe that addictions can’t be beat without help. Don’t think from my quick story that I did this on my own. In the first instance, my friend quit the next morning. It was the buddy system, learning new friends, and new patterns.
In the second I had a great wife and outside pressure to stay clean (I gotta piss in what?).