http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Stress is never easy to deal with, and few of us can cope alone. We need help and should not be afraid or embarrassed to ask for it;ironically, when we most need help the human ego so fears rejection that it will often go for self-destruct.
There are no quick fixes, and drug abuse of any kind is never the answer.
Too many
people are far too complacent about their daily alcohol intake. I am not unsympathetic.
Even so, alcoholics, like all drug addicts ruin not only their own lives but effectively take family and friends more than part of the way with them.
Why do people become addicts.More often than not it is the old cause-and-effect syndrome. Discover why, and there is a chance the addict may yet be saved from the worst.
The modern world is fast and furious. Not everyone can keep up. We need to understand once and for all that there is no shame in asking for help. Some fool once commented to me that asking for help is a coward's way; on the contrary, it is heroic.
Oh, and never think for one minute that alcohol is not a drug.
Alcoholics Anonymous is an international organization that can help alcoholics help themselves. Here in the UK, call 0800 9177 650 (for free) or email: help@aamail.org NOW. If you think or know you have a serious drink problem, taking this small first step is a giant leap towards getting your life back.
ALCOHOLIC
ANONYMOUS
Like a
fish out of water gasping for air,
clinging
on for dear life to a cheap
can of
beer, almost past caring any more,
glad to
let myself fall though unwilling
to take
you with me (you deserve better)
flailing,
half-dead, but left to my own
meagre
devices. May survive or may not,
each to
our own choices, whether it be
win,
lose, drift along woebegone, food
for
fishes or some poor fisherman casting
a line
from posterity’s shelf, shades
of myself
before I went looking for more
(in a can
of beer) bored with the sheer
predictability
of family, job, hooks reeling
me into a
limbo now serving me up
on a
plate of a street where friends seem
to have
forgotten who I am so I don’t
try to
catch their eyes any more, doesn’t
come as
any surprise any more, don’t
even want
to think beyond the next drink ,
avoid
local bars in case someone sees
(Just one
more, bartender, PLEASE…)
Floating
face down in a sea of algae,
not a
smile to cling to, no hint of caring
in dead
eyes staring straight ahead,
waves of
indifference crashing on me,
putting
me down, hauling me up, only
to toss
me back with all the contempt
of a
fisherman for minnows competing
for
Angler of the Year, a title bringing
fame and
beer (for years) at the local pub
where I
used to drink my fill; too often
some
would say - and how I find myself
here, as
good as dead in the water
[Note: A
slightly different version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of
Time by R. N. Taber,
Assembly Books, 2010; 2nd ed. in preparation.]