Beyond Addiction

So what about this notion that it is possible to be a "high-functioning" alcoholic?

That's the question getting a lot of attention right now because of a new book, appropriately called "Understanding the High-Functioning Alcoholic." It's by Sarah Allen Benton, a mental health professional who has been in recovery for five years from her own battles with alcoholism. I have yet to read the book. But I have been following the debate in the media, and I must confess that it seems as if it's much ado about nothing new.

Why? For one thing, I think most alcoholics are remarkably resilient and thus, by extension, "functioning." Call it a defect of character or a character-building asset, but the alcoholics I know all seem headstrong and filled with a reserve of self-will that is not only a key ingredient to success but also useful for fending off the truth with an adept two-step shuffle of deception or a bullheaded charge of outright denial.

Benton cites the examples of astronaut Buzz Aldrin, actress Mary Tyler Moore, country singer Keith Urban, Betty Ford and even George W. Bush, though I am not sure the former president ever considered himself an "alcoholic" in the way it typically is understood. At least, his public policies never really endorsed the "disease concept" of addiction. The failure of politicians to recognize that concept has led to our nation's failed war on drugs.

We know their stories. They "functioned" and accomplished much professionally and personally while they drank or took drugs to excess, sometimes over the course of decades. Benton's case focuses less on them and more on people who live and work out of the public spotlight. By her estimate, about half of alcoholics succeed in whatever they do in their lives despite their hidden battles.

"The story of the (high-functioning alcoholic) is seldom told," she writes, "for it is not one of obvious tragedy, but that of silent suffering."

Yet who truly can function — in the purest sense of the word — if his life is chained to the weight of shame forged from that very silence and secrecy that is endemic to an alcoholic's existence, whether he makes millions on Wall Street or lives homeless on Main Street? Early in treatment, alcoholics learn that they are only as sick as their secrets. And to possess such secrets takes not only twisted talent but also an amazing amount of energy and ends up extracting a terrible toll, often at the expense of the alcoholic's family and the alcoholic's own peace of mind. It's obvious that people who are either unwilling or unable to turn inward and face their alcoholic demons can hardly be benchmarks for functionality.

I know this from my own experience. In the 1980s, I was a top-notch young newspaper reporter on a trajectory to a growing salary and a bigger career. I owned a home, two cars, sang in the church choir and paid my taxes on time. And I used large quantities of illegal drugs and drank to excess. I may have been functioning and successful by society's standards, but I was a mess inside. And when I finally came apart, it was obvious that I never really had been functioning at all because of the secrecy of my fear and shame spawned by the illness that nearly killed me more than once.

And that's the point: To me, the only way to define a high-functioning alcoholic is when and after he gets sober, because if he doesn't recover, he dies, and then whatever he might have accomplished in his life is moot because he stopped functioning altogether.

William C. Moyers is the vice president of external affairs for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. Please send your questions to William Moyers at William@WilliamMoyers.com. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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