Kudzu Queen

By Tamara Ducote

The Big Book, which is the veritable Bible of the alcoholism recovery set, compares practicing alcoholics to tornadoes. We whirl through peoples’ lives, leaving chaos, misery and destruction in our wake.

We commit all manner of heinous acts against our fellows while in the service of our addiction. We are assholes of the first magnitude. Lying, cheating and stealing are all in a day’s work. We put our loved ones through seven shades of hell. About the only thing I can say in our defense is that our screw-ups generally aren’t personal, malicious or pre-meditated. We’re just colossal dumbasses, for the most part.

Believe it or not, there is a subset of folks whose moral compass is even more skewed than alcoholics’. And no, I’m not dissing crackheads here. Even crackheads have the right to condescend to the moral bottom-feeders I’m talking about.

Let me explain it by way of a true personal narrative.

Many moons ago, I was dating this dude who watched me struggle with alcoholism. I’d do well for a while, relapse, recover, re-relapse, re-recover, re-re-relapse, etc. Over and over. One would suppose he would become as tired of the cycle as I was. Let it be known for the record that he was entirely free to check out of the whole situation at any time. Nothing on earth COMPELLED him to stick around and demonstrate behavior that is clearly more reprehensible than anything an addle-brained wet drunk could concoct.

Alcoholics/addicts are slaves to the disease of addiction. We work for a dark master. This dude could not claim that excuse.

Part of our relationship dynamic was that I’d get drunk, and he’d relate things to me that I’d said or done. As time went on, I couldn’t help but notice that the things I allegedly said and did while inebriated tended to nicely dovetail with this fellow’s wants and needs.

“But Tam, you said you’d lend me your car for two weeks. You PROMISED. I guess you don’t remember because you were drunk. Anyhow, you don’t live THAT far from work. And it’s nice weather for walking. But if you want to be the kind of person that goes back on their word, hey, go ahead.” Or,

“Oh, by the way, Tam, thank you for agreeing to clean my apartment this Saturday. That is so wonderful. You don’t remember saying that? Gosh, you sure were drunk. You probably also don’t remember agreeing to let me date other girls. You swore you wouldn’t mind. I guess old John Barleycorn was talking, again. But if you really want to be the kind of person who goes back on their word, hey, who am I to stop you?”

I’d generally be feeling so guilty and remorseful just for the mere act of drinking alcohol that I’d take the bait, even though a part of my mind was skeptical. I mean, no matter how drunk I got, I couldn’t imagine ever volunteering to clean up after even my own self. Forget cleaning up after someone else. It just didn’t ring true. But remorse and self-recrimination were driving me. The dude saw an opportunity and hitched a ride on my guilt.

I began to doubt my sanity. I mean, more than I usually do. Surely I couldn’t be saying these unbelievable things, but also, surely my man would never lie to me.

So I quit drinking, and I did not tell anyone. I was tired of announcing new beginnings to my circle of folks, only to fail again and again. I decided to keep this one new beginning to myself. If I succeeded in staying sober, I’d make a victory speech later. If I failed yet again, nobody could condemn me or feel sorry for me or hold me in thinly veiled contempt.

He didn’t know I had quit drinking. The “You were so drunk that you don’t remember that you promised this…agreed to that…you said you’d…” stories continued. I sat back and collected the stories, amazed at his audacity. I wondered how long he’d been doing it. I was afraid to think too hard about it, lest I become murderous.

In talking to other alcoholics, I’ve discovered that this reprehensible behavior is not unusual. Bob tells me that his ex-wife used to unilaterally plan family trips to visit his out-of-town in-laws. She would tell Bob on the morning of the trip, “Oh, don’t you remember? No? I guess you were too drunk. Again.”

How Bob caught her was that he quietly quit drinking. His blackouts stopped, but her stories of his blackout behavior continued, unabated.

All I have to say about all that is this: My God, haven’t these terrible non-alcoholics ever heard of Al-Anon? Jesus Christ, they are some sick bastards. They need a program, badly. Come to think of it, these people are probably too far gone for Al-Anon. These folks need way more than 12 steps. They need a program with about 600 steps.

First part of the program would involve standing these people up at the top of the 600-step staircase. Second part would involve a vigorous push from behind.

I’m not championing the stupid stuff alcoholics do when we’re drinking. I’ve done some stuff that would make my own grandmother disown me. But one thing I’ve never done is plot, in a clear-headed, calculated fashion, to take personal advantage of another person’s affliction. Unfortunately, some folks can’t say that.

Contact Tamara Ducote at TDDucote6@aol.com.

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