While I didn't get the family addiction full force, it's ridiculous to think that I didn't get it at all. I've struggled with it my entire adult life, but frankly the beast I wrestled with wasn't nearly as big and brutal as the one my father and brothers wrestled with. 

I got off easy. I somehow got the addiction in its least virulent form, which means that I've never been free of it but have never actually fallen into it. I walk at the edge of addiction—a jagged crater as big as a hockey rink—asking myself "Do I belong in there?" and always answering "No." 

I'm confident that for whatever reason, be it genetic balance or getting scared straight by the examples of my kinsmen, the answer will continue to be no. But I've spent a great deal of my life skirting the edges, perhaps in an extended test of myself—and an extended temptation of fate. It's as if I had to tell myself a thousand times If you're really an addict, now's the time to show it. 

I never could jump into that crater. I tried falling into it, though, and gave addiction plenty of chances to grab me. Many times I slept right at its edge, wondering if I'd roll in or it would pull me in. 

But it never pulled, and I never rolled. Blessed and lucky, I guess. Not meant for that fate, I guess. Here's the story of those nights at the edge, those wrestling matches. 

1. MY VARIOUS ATTEMPTS AT BEING A DRUNKARD
2. MY VARIOUS ATTEMPTS AT BECOMING A POTHEAD
3. PILLS!
4. FEARS FOR THE KIDS