Furious Love : Drunk In Public

We like to hold on to our illusions of control and hate to let these things go.

In early summer of the past year, I finally got it into my mind to reach out for real help. No more "cutting back," no more "I don't have a problem"; my drinking, always prone to insanity, had descended into a new and even deeper circle of Hell. I was constantly, perpetually drunk--usually in a state of walking blackout--and my entire life was being washed away by the torrential downfall of beer, liquor and alley wine.

Now, with all of this said, when I called Roxbury Treatment Center to inquire about rehabilitation, I nonetheless had questions.

I had concerns.

And never mind my condition at the time--one that I was, in my clouded and alcoholic way, beginning to grasp was dire--I wanted answers to these important concerns.

The woman I spoke with on the phone was very kind, very cordial; more power to her given the fact that I can only half-remember the conversations I had with her and the quality of my own telephone etiquette during these conversations.

When you call a rehab facility, and when "you" are the alcoholic seeking treatment, the answers you're given are vague but reassuring. I can understand why; despite the fact that I desperately needed help, I believe I would have turned down in-house treatment if I had been given a straight answer on some of these oh-so important questions. Questions like:

"I play guitar. Will I get to play guitar there?"

"How long will I have to play guitar? Do I get to watch tv? How long do I get to watch tv?"

Yes, I was allowed to play guitar--I could have also watched tv, if I had wanted to. I could do both of these things for one hour a day...and two hours on Saturday.

If I had been told this directly, I know that I would have balked at the idea of in-house rehabilitation. Never mind the fact that, as low as my drinking had laid me, I was no longer playing guitar or singing when I had a good 14-or-so waking hours a day to spend doing it outside of Roxbury. Never mind again that, for the most part, there's nothing but horse shit on tv anyhow--and that, as my drinking was then, I enjoyed my tv watching time in a state of alcoholic blackout, chain smoking cigarettes and yelling at the actors onscreen.

I would have turned down help over these insignificant queasies--and the kind-voiced woman I spoke to on the phone knew these things, I'm sure. I would have turned down treatment at Roxbury, turned down rehabilitation, turned down awareness and acceptance of my alcoholism; I would have turned down my own life. Because I could only play guitar or (not "and," OR) watch tv for one hour a day I would have continued to not play guitar at all and sit in front of the tv, comatose-drunk.

Well, I did go to rehab.

I could only play guitar or watch tv for one hour a day (I opted for the guitar) and I did begin to address my alcoholism.

While doing this, I was introduced to a documentary along with the rest of the resident alcoholics and addicts. This film was called "Drunk In Public" and it tells the story of one Mark David Allen, a man entirely ensnared and destroyed by alcoholic insanity.

Seven months later, I ordered the DVD from filmmaker David Sperling's website and rewatched it.

To recant the impact the film had on me, and the importance I feel it carries, I'll transcribe an email I sent to David Sperling below:

Mr. David Sperling,

Hi Dave.

I'm a recovering alcoholic and I, like many alcoholics, was first introduced to your film while in rehab.

Despite some of us being fresh out of detox and unable to keep down more than crackers and water; despite some of us flip-flopping between those two conflicting questions that run through all addicts heads in very early recovery (those questions being, "Why am I even doing this?" and "What happens if I go out there again?); despite the fact that some of the folks who watched the film AMA'd the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that; despite all of that, the reaction the film had on myself and the rest of the group was profound.

We laughed, we shook our heads, we groaned--but the most telling part is how often we were all silent. Watching. Feeling. Looking at Mark on the screen and in him seeing ourselves; the larger picture of what alcoholism does to a person who, at their core, is essentially good.

In my own journey through addiction and recovery, researching addiction and alcoholic pathology as well as keeping my ears and mind open to the experiences of others, I've come to believe that while there are some circumstantial elements to addiction that are as diverse as the people that suffer them, the core psychological element is always the same: there is a lack of ability for self-respect or self-love.

Mark displays (displayed?) a great deal of sensitivity, of creativity, of empathy and the ability to care for the feelings of his family and loved ones. His capacity for, and squandered potential to further develop, these very rare and very wonderful traits is what makes his descent into alcoholic insanity heart breaking.

Sure, there are scenes in the movie that are funny; even an alcoholic can laugh at a guy stumbling around drunk, a guy who says "about fifteen minutes" twice in a row when asked how long he's been in the drunk tank. That's just being human--not necessarily mean or unsympathetic. Hell, if he was still able to follow such things, I think Mark himself would even find certain scenes funny in a slapstick, Three Stooges kind of way.

And, again, I don't think there's anything wrong with any of that; it injects a kind of humanity into the film. It makes it more than just another dry, soulless video about addiction to put recovering folks in rehabs to sleep.

The humanity of the film is what makes it work: what makes it powerful.

The fact that there are times where you can see the potential man Mark could have been, and not just see him as a stumbling, ranting drunk is what brings that power--that hushed silence that washes over the room as I mentioned earlier.

Because, to me, the core of this movie is simple: the core of this movie is that addiction is real--call it a disease, call it what you will--it is real and without awareness and acceptance it destroys those that are afflicted by it. On every level: mind, heart, soul, body.

It systematically and completely fucking destroys a human life.

And the only thing that can possibly combat the power of addiction, the condition of addiction, is awareness of addiction. For addicts like myself, recovering or otherwise, that means self-awareness as well as outward awareness. Hell--getting honest and letting go of the defense mechanisms and false ways of feeling/living is one of the hardest parts of recovery--especially if you've relied on alcohol as a mechanism for coping for a long, long time as I did.

How people find this is individual to each of them--recovery is a personal experience. Some find it in religion, in the Rooms, in alternative 12-step programs, in atheistic sobriety groups--in the end it doesn't matter. It all boils down the same two things: awareness of alcoholism and yourself as an alcoholic and acceptance over these indisputable truths--acceptance that only in sobriety you're capable of maintaining.

This film is another way of bringing about that awareness. It carries that power just as a self-help book, a medical document on alcoholic pathology, the AA Big Book, the SOS manuals or any of the other plethora of material available. The power it has that none of those very important sources have, however, is that it puts a human face on the lessons--on the truths. It's so hard--impossible, in my own opinion--for an active addict to truly see their own faces. In early recovery, in rehab, in the psych wing of a nearby hospital, your own face is still distorted to your eyes. Your own thoughts and feelings are distorted to your own mind. Because of this film, during those hard and uncertain times, those brave and fortunate souls embarking on sobriety have a face to focus on: Mark's. You can see the ravages of alcohol in his sad eyes; in his lack of any real self awareness; in his misery. And, during that fragile time of early healing when you are only beginning to "see" yourself, these souls embarking on recovery can see themselves in Mark's face. They can see themselves in Mark's face before they are yet capable of seeing themselves in their own.

Thanks for doing what you do, Dave.

Sincerely,

Zane Neumann

If you have not seen the film and feel so inclined, please visit David Sperling's website at www.FURIOUSLOVE.com and order a copy.

If you have seen the film and feel that it is a valid and powerful tool for elucidating the reality and severity of alcoholism, please use the link below to email the fine folks at The Oprah Show.
http://www.oprah.com/ownshow/plug_form.html?plug_id=215

Dave is trying to raise awareness of his film; the majority of the responses he receives seem to be of the curt, "we-believe-awareness-of-alcoholism-is-important-but-we've-done-our-quota-of-alcoholic-sob-story-shows" variety.

But importance never dissipates; like life, it keeps rolling back around like a wheel. Yesterday's active drunks are today's sober thinkers (or at least, some of them are--sadly not Mark David Allen, for one) and today's alcoholics seeking sobriety are as thirsty for knowledge and help as any ever were before.