Under the scrutiny of our un-empathizing and rather judgmental morality, some addictions take away the humanity of the human who is addicted, while others exaggerate the humanness of the person in pursuit of it. The former addictions are the commonly known and easily judged ones: drugs, sex, gambling, etc. Whether one sees an opioid addict or one who is always looking for opportunities of getting laid, the first and also lasting impression we have of them is contempt, followed a vengeful opinion that they’ve got what they deserved.
Because it is drugs, or any other ‘bad addiction’, one cannot help but be angry about their eventual condition that they are suffering from: they must’ve started with curiosity and carelessness, and then even after being aware of the consequences, continued to do it until they became an addict. Very swiftly, swept under the monologue of hate, we make out a story about these addicts which unfairly removes any sign of them ever being loving and mattering human beings: like when they were a baby who made others smile, or a young child with dreams and ambitions, or a someone in love. Addiction robs us, and also, they themselves, from factoring in these humanizing sides of the addicts when so readily judge them for who they’ve become.
The latter of these addictions, whether we call it the ‘modern addictions’ or ‘harmless addictions’, do not at all get their due contempt from the society. Since they are mass addictions, and since they’ve become so normalized with our ways of living, they’re hardly ever scrutinized for their subtly damaging impacts on the individual and the society.
The addictions I’m talking about here are varied: from our addiction to focus on ‘appearing’, with the power of social media, rather than ‘being’, to our constant strive for more success, more achievements, and just more of everything. We’re so hooked to these deeply incorporated activities in our lives that we hardly ever notice them; and to shy away from the bitter reality of never being able to eliminate, or at least manage, these addictions, we’ve turned them into virtues of sorts. More followers and likes hints towards the popularity, niceness, or likeability of the person, and the more successful someone is, the more he’s admired and is deemed worthy of life and its blessings.
Frey’s addiction is, unfortunately, one of the former addictions, damn-worthy. Being both the author and first-person narrator of this memoir, Frey tells his irresistibly painful and pitiful recovery story after he’s gone through a fatal accident caused due to a hangover as the book opens. After succeeding to be alive through an unwantedly miraculous happenstance, Frey is then admitted to a rehabilitation center, where he meets other addicts and crackheads, and makes himself some new friends and even a lover.
Most of this unnecessarily thick memoir is just Frey telling a story, his story, through his honest, cussing, and inviting narration. A few moments when the book does get ‘real’ are either his acute details of his recovery pain, his longing for drugs and alcohol, or the stories of the people gets to know, which works as the samples of empathy that we need before judging any addict.
Most of the time, their ‘bad’ addiction was the best choice they had of
continuing to live, and even if we believe they had other choices, we cannot
lie to ourselves by looking at our guilty choices – they too made human choices
like us, and unfortunately found themselves at dire consequences. Empathy and forgiveness,
then, are the only pathways that can connect our disjointed lives.
Ratings: 2.5/5 ** January 28, 2022_