The One Difference Between Them And Me

Around the time I started to drink, I started to think about what it would be like when I got locked up. It wasn’t if—it was when. Drunk driving had to happen, I thought--how else could I get around? The cops had a tendency to show up at the same parties as me when I was drunk, because I had a tendency to get loud enough to disturb the neighborhood. Maybe I could laugh that off, because my disease told me people just didn’t know how to have my kind of fun--but what about the time I woke up with someone’s blood on my hand, and no real idea where it came from? What about that rage I’d feel building when I drank, and the blackout when it could have exploded at anyone? What about not knowing for sure if I had ever hit someone, ever killed someone, behind the wheel? Alcohol made me like a wild animal--and wild animals get locked up. Wasn’t that on the way, if I didn’t die first?