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ALCOHOLISMORBEGINNERS

M,n"-.is Marionand I'manalcoholicand

drugaddict,"saysLow-EsteemMarionas shelooksatthe twoplumphands nherlap."Hi,Marion,"chantshecircle."l'mrightwhereIneedto be,"saysMariontothe hands."You'reright whereyouneedo be,"echoeshecircle."lfeelmyfeelingsandsharehernwith others.""Youfeelyourfeelingsandsharehenrwithothers."Marionlooksacrosshe roomata memberof thecircle.briefly,beforelookingaway."Ilovemyself.""Youloveyourself,"affirmsthe group."AndIam somebody.""Andyouaresomebody,"he roomsays nunison.Abrief,small smilepassescrossMarion'slips,hercheeks lushwithcolorandshewipesthe palmsof herhandsacrosshelegsofherjeans,urningto the personsittingto herright.

69BAUGUSTEN URROUGHS"Myname s Paul,Alcoholic," saysPregnantPaul. "Hi,PaulAlcoholic," says veryone verbatim, ncluding Mar-ion who is now able o look directly atPaul,who himself ooks atthefloor and represses nervous smile."l'magood person.""You'rea goodperson," promisesheroom."lwill get well," saysPaul optimistically."Youwill get well," promise the addicts."l'lllose my spare ire andfinda cuteboyfriend," grins Paul."Youwill lose your spare ire and find a cute boyfriend," singthepatients."AndI am somebody,"hesays,andsclasped crossisbelly."Andyouare somebody,"sayseveryone,except me.As was explained by a counselor thismorning, Affirmationsare a timewhen we affirm in ourselvessomething we would liketo strengthen.For example,f I feel I am fat, I would say,lamthin,"and the group would affirm this inme."Youare hin."It'sas simple as that.And you always end with the phrase,lamsomebody."Funny, but similar a{firmations haven'tworked for me inthepast. Idorecall manytimestellingGreer,"l'mnot drunk. Iwould never show up to work drunk."And hertellingme,"Bull-shit,you lying fuck."When the circlefinallycomeso me, there's a brief momentof silence, ecausehavestoppedpaying attention to the afiirma-tions, and am instead magining how it wouldfeelto walkintoajewelrystorein downtown Minneapolis and buy an expensivewatch to replace he one thatI gavetothe ex-copaftersex onenight during a blackout n my apartment.There is a clearing of a throat. All eyesslidenryway."Myname s Augusten and I'm an alcoholic," Igrumble."Hi,Augusten," says he room."I'mglad to be here," I lie."You'reglado behere," they repeat.DRY"lwon'tcheck out after lunch,"I say."Youwon'tcheck out after unch,"theyaflirm.There,lhink. Done."And.. . ?"somebodv avs."Andwhat?""Andyou AREsomebody," threeor four peoplesay withsomehostility.JesusFuckingChrist."AndIan somebody,"saysarcastically."Anilyouaresomebody,"hey overemphasize.When Affirmationsare over, I gostraight intoGroup. Today,nice David isnot the counselorof the group,but insteadhere'sRae.Rae's a big woman.And to addan exclamationpointto thisfact, she wearsa loud floral print; giganticblossomsallover herbody.There's something nher voicethat makesmethink I won'tget away withanything, that Ishouldn'teven try. I feel prettyconfidentRae's clubbed morethan her fairshareofbabysealsnherlife."Todaywe're goingtotalk about consequences.heconse-quencesof our drinking. Doeseverybodyknow whatconse-quencesare?"Nobody says worc.She looks aroundthe room, stareseach and every persondirectly inthe eyes, ncluding me.This takesa while. I feelashiverpasshroughme.'Worse,Ithink, than makingeye contacton thesubway with someoneyou suspectbelongs toagangbecausehey are wearinga Halloween masknJune.Rae givesa bloodthirsry grin."Oh,I see.Noneof you haveexperiencedany consequencess a resultof your drinking.Myohmy, what a lucky groupof alcoholicsyouare."Theonly thingthat I can think is,Oh shit.Still nobodysays nything. Peopleustsortof shift around ntheirseats, e don't even ookeach other. Isensewe areall look-ingat our shoelaces,oncentratinghardon the knot."Okaythen, et me tell youwhat a consequences. Aconse-

7l0ATIGUSTENURROLICHSquence s when you'rea drunk and you meet another drunk at abar.Andyou andthisother drunk start a relationship.Every nightyou drink together.And every night this drunk that you hookedup with beats he shit outof you.Andevery morning, he apolo-gizes.Andyouforgive him.So what if he breaks our bones nyour face?You haveplenrymore."Shepauses.My hands are sweating. I havethe sensationofascendingon arollercoaster."Whenyour friends tell you that you arc crazyto staywiththis man, you tell them that it's noneof their business. ventually,youloseyourfriends. Butyou don't care,because ou haveyourbooze and you haveyour man. But that'sustanexample."Shepauses.Ofcourse,a consequence ould also be losingajobbecause f your drinking, or losingafriendship,or even os-ingyour self-respect.Maybe lettingthe dishespileup in yoursink until you can't seeyour sink anymore."Abellrings. I think of myapartment.t'smy deepest, arkestsecret.Thefactthat I drink is not a secret.The fact that I'm usu-ally alreadydrunk when I meetJim for drinks is not a secret.My apartment s rny secret. t's filled withenpty liquor bot-tles.Notfive or six. More like three hundred. Three hundredone-liter bottles of scotch, occupyingallfloorspacenotalreadyoccupied by a bed or a chair. Sonetimes I myself am stunnedbythe visualpresentation.nd the truly oddpartisthatI reallydon'tknow how they got there.You'd think I'd have akeneachbottledownto the trash oom when itwas empty.sut Ilet two collect.Andbecause wois nothing, I letthree collect. And on it went.The ironic thing is that I'm not the kind of person whosavesthings. I don't have boxes illed witholdpostcardsrom friends,cherishednlementos romchildhood. My apartment s clean andmodern indesign,indof what you'd think a New YorkCityadguy's apartmentwould look like. I even spent half my paycheckone monthon asinsleend table.t] RYExceptthere are bottleseverywhere.And magazinesll overthefloor.Everytinte I've removedthebottles frommy apartment,prornisedmyself itwould neverhappenagain, t alwayshappensaeain.Andwhen I usedo drinkbeerinsteadofscotch, hebeerbottleswould collect.I countedthe beerbottles once:one thou-sand, ourhundredand fifry-two.You have notfelt anxiefyunrilyouhave carriedaplastictrash bag stuffedwith a fewhundredbeerbottles downthe stairs nthemiddleofthenight,tryingnotto makea sound.Quickly,before Ican change nrymind, I speakup."Some-thingyoujustsaid,can relateo that." Already,1"statements.Shelooksat nre, foldsher armsacrossherchest and nods."Goon."I tell herabout the bottles.And howbecausef them, I neverinviteanybody overto my apartment.Actually,wheneverhearsonrebodynthe hallway, freezencase hey knockon my door,so I can pretend'm not home."I feelapangofsadness,nd t'sactually or rnyself.Whywouldsornebodyivethat way? Ialso feel like Ihave brokena confi-dence.So this is whatI say.lt'sfunny,butadmitting thisoutloud,I feel reallystrange,ike I'msayingsomethingI shouldn't."She claps her handstogether."Exactly!What you are doingis'tellingon youraddict.'You need o visualizeourown inter-naladdict. Thinkof it asa separatebeing'that ivesnsideof you.Andit wantsnothing morethan foryou to drink.When youdon'tdrink, t says,'Ohcome on,justone.'Youraddictwantsouallto itself.Sowhenyou talkabout thebottles,or anyother con-sequencef drinking,youare n effect,'tellingon youraddict."'I play along.try to ir-nagilrenasry ittleman livinginsidemyfbrehead,kicking thebacks of myeyeballs ortelling. ThenIimaginenryselfwearing the hospitalslippers."Ofcourse, ouraddict is not reallya separatendry within