They’ve been racked by withdrawal pangs, their throats parched, their brains beset by terrors and hallucinations. How can I compare myself with them? Will it feel like I’m slumming? How can I mention my petty dysfunctions alongside the tales of affliction I’m likely to hear tonight? What right do I have to claim even the dubious distinction of being a real addict? Calling myself an addict in such company may be nothing more than an attempt to excuse my selfishness and lack of discipline.
