Genetic Roulette

I used to drink. A lot.

When I drank, I drank to get drunk.

I liked it. A lot.

When I was fifteen, a shrink told my parents that I was going to be an alcoholic. Up to that point, I had had two drinks in my life, both at a friend's house on New Year's Eve. But there was this fat frigging know-it-all (seriously, this guy looked like Jabba the Hut with glasses) prophesizing about the rest of my life. He had my parents (okay, my mother) convinced I was going to be the biggest alkie going.

Guess what?

I'm not.

Because no matter how much I like to drink, and no matter how much fun I used to have while I was drinking, in the end I counted the cost. It was fun to drink, but expensive. I liked how I felt while drinking, but not how I felt the next day. I liked unwinding with a glass in my hand and making great conversation with my friends. But I didn't need the glass in my hand to unwind or make friends.

I have (or have had) the following alcoholics/addicts in my family: two grandfathers, one grandmother, my father, his brother, umpteen cousins (Dad's side) and my half-brother. My guess is that I am genetically predisposed to be addicted to something.

And I am.

Man, I really just can't stop reading. Boy, it's awful... almost ruining my life, ya know?

Some diseases may really be more about mind over matter.

I could be wrong.

But I don't think so.