Why I don’t call myself an alcoholic
I used to be a smoker. I smoked a pack a day for roughly ten years. I started buying brands with lower and lower tar and nicotine levels to try to minimize my addiction and the pain I felt in my lungs. The discomfort was especially bad the day after having consumed some speedy narcotic because I would end up smoking twice as much. The last couple of years that I smoked, I hated it. I tried to cut back, but the nicotine and routine of smoking had me chained to cigarettes. I had to have two on the way to work, two or three smoke breaks during work, two more at lunch, and so on. I was always self-conscious about how I smelled and hated the taste it left in my mouth. But despite all the things I disliked about it, I still couldn’t shake it. I thought it would be something I’d have to deal with for the rest of my life.
I had also built an identity around it. Going on a smoke break during work was something to look forward to. So was congregating outside a bar with a cigarette in hand with all the “cool kids.” I was always the “Zippo guy.” I had my trusty side piece everywhere I went–quickest draw in the west, lighting people's cigarettes with the clack of steel and some nifty trick I had perfected. I even had a sweet monogrammed silver cigarette case in which I’d keep my coffin nails. That’s right–I was one of those dorks. How was I to let everyone down by not being the first at their lips with flame when they needed a light? Who would spark their smoke if I were to quit!?
I finally got so fed up that I didn’t care about losing my self-imposed “cool” image or the few moments I still actually enjoyed a cigarette. I wanted to quit! I tried nicotine gum and patches, but they didn’t work. I tried cold turkey, but I would always break. I finally did some research on hypnosis and came to the conclusion it would be my way out. I had always believed in the human mind's extraordinary powers and thought this method would suit me best.
After one session, poof! My habit was gone! I walked out of there, a non-smoker. The hypnotist had programmed me to reach for a toothpick or piece of gum every time I’d usually spark a butt. It worked like a charm. If I was feeling overly anxious, he suggested that I go jogging–something that wasn’t a part of my usual exercise regime, but sure enough, I became a jogger. I still am to this day (eighteen years later). Even while drinking or doing drugs (the times that I would smoke the most), I stayed smoke-free. I was cured!
My addiction to cigarettes (nicotine) isn’t considered a disease or disorder, yet smoking was something I couldn’t control and compulsively did against my better judgment. It cost me money, not only for the cigarettes, but for all of the ruined clothes, furniture, carpets, and car upholstery I destroyed from ashes, smoke, and burn holes. It was ruining my health and ability to breathe normally. I was helpless when it came to smoking–I had a physical dependence on it. I would forgo money for food to make sure I had enough to buy a pack. It altered my behavior, turning me into an anxious, hair-triggered prick if I was having nicotine withdrawals. I became an unhinged fiend if I was drinking and doing blow and ran out of smokes.
But a few months after my hypnosis session, I no longer thought about cigarettes. I didn’t believe I’d ever be rid of smoking or want to be rid of it, and yet there I was… a non-smoker. There was no particular terminology or moniker for me to exclaim that announced my past addiction. I didn’t tell people I was now “smokeless” or practicing “smokelessness.” I was not a “smokeaholic” or “problematic smoker” because I couldn’t control my cigarette intake. I didn’t smoke uncontrollably because of a “disease.” I’m not currently in a neverending state of recovery to refrain from smoking. I don’t need to go to daily meetings to reminisce about old smoking stories or listen to others reflect on theirs. There is nothing in my daily language or actions that smoking casts a shadow on. You wouldn’t know I used to smoke if you hung out with me now. I used to smoke. I quit. That’s the end of the story.
I view my twenty-year drinking problem in the exact same way. The only difference between smoking and drinking for me was that I needed professional help to quit smoking. I lost jobs and relationships due to alcohol. I went to jail on several occasions and crashed a couple of cars from alcohol. I suffered countless injuries and threw out a ton of money on alcohol. I squandered an enormous amount of time and potential because of alcohol. I nearly got killed by other people and by myself because of alcohol. Yet, I walked away from it: no program, no rehab, no meetings.
I am not an alcoholic, problematic drinker, diseased, or an addict. I am not sober, practicing sobriety, or in recovery. I simply do not drink alcohol anymore.
I equate my drinking to being on fire. When I drank alcohol, it was like being engulfed in flames. I was burning alive and couldn’t seem to put myself out. Once I decided that I didn’t want to be a raging inferno anymore, I extinguished the flames and chose to never be on fucking fire ever fucking again! And not even a little bit. I didn’t want to cut back on being on fire or try to control my burning by just being on fire a little. Maybe just on the weekends? NO! How about just a little Bic lighter to your arm or hot coal on your toes? FUCK NO! And ever since I haven’t been on fire, I have never thought about it, nor do I need to be reminded that I was ever on fire in the first place.
There is absolutely no part of me that wants to drink again. I never had the notion of trying to “cut down” on drinking because I knew that I couldn’t do it. I either wanted none of the drinks or all of them. There’s no in-between. But I don’t need any special adjectives to remind me of my past. I don’t find it necessary to associate myself with names and phrases that point to questionable past behaviors or moral failings for others to pass judgment on. I know that I have problems when I drink alcohol. And I no longer drink alcohol. Therefore, I no longer have alcohol-related problems. I don’t think about it–I don’t want it.
My name is Joshua Deen, and I used to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes, and now I don’t. That’s the end of the story.
National Library of Medicine
“Terms such as “alcoholic,” “addict,” and “abuser” may well reinforce the belief that individuals with alcohol or substance use disorder are immoral, blameworthy, and undeserving.”
Why language matters in alcohol research: Reducing stigma
National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism
“How certain words are used to describe alcohol-related problems and the people who are affected by them perpetuate stigma. Stigma is a significant barrier in many people’s willingness to seek help for alcohol problems. It can affect how they are treated in all aspects of life, including availability and quality of care. Reducing stigma is a step toward addressing these problems.”
When It Comes to Reducing Alcohol-Related Stigma, Words Matter
Psychology Today
“Stigma is a problem with many health conditions, and we continue to see it with addiction. Stigma can truly hurt people coping with substance use-related difficulties in many ways. Research has shown that fear of stigma is one of the top reasons people choose not to get treatment for substance use.”
