
(editor's note: I originally wrote this back in August.)
It was 2:30 pm on a ridiculously hot Saturday two weeks ago. I logged onto my computer and was greeted with the news that Amy Winehouse, the British soul singer whose bluesy voice and boozy life made her both famous and infamous, was found dead in her London home. She was only 27.
Damn. I hate it when the demons win.
I wasn’t shocked that she died. Anybody who followed the trainwreck soap opera that was Amy Winehouse knew that girl was living on borrowed time. But the news of her demise was heartbreaking nonetheless. A mother and a father just lost a daughter. And the world just lost a voice so beautiful, and so filled with anguish that you can easily imagine her crying in the studio while she recorded her songs.
Let her cry, if the tears fall down like rain/Let her sing, if it eases all her pain - Hootie and the Blowfish
And let’s be honest. Most of what passes for popular music in today’s world is utter garbage. Our musical landscape is a wasteland populated by autotuned pop starlets, fake gangsta rappers, and castaways from American Idol.
Not a whole lot to get excited over.
And along comes a beehived white girl from London singing like a modern-day Etta James, over a jazz-flavored hip-hop beat, all the while looking like the fourth member of the Ronettes. She was a critical and commercial success. And like Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison before her (the famed 27 Club), she died while her musical story was still in its infancy.
I guess I needed to know how other people felt about her passing. So I decided to check out what people were saying on the message boards.
Good Lord! Why on Earth did I do that?
After about 10 minutes of tasteless jokes and people passing judgment, I had had enough. Even in the event of tragedy people on the internet still find a way to expose their inner tool. I got so pissed at all those perfect little people who live perfect little lives casting stones.
Where was the empathy? Where was the compassion? Miller Williams wrote a poem about compassion that I wish people would not just read, but would allow the words to soak through their skin and settle into their souls.
Have compassion for everyone you meet
even if they don’t want it. What seems conceit
bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen
you do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone
There were numerous wars going on inside Amy Winehouse. On one hand she was a musical genius. But on the other hand she was an addict, addicted to crack cocaine and alcohol. People who suffer from addiction drive their friends and families down a road that leads straight to hell.
And there is no worse feeling than standing helplessly ashore, while the person you love drowns in the murky waters of addiction.
I should know. I’ve seen it firsthand.
I have two fathers. One is named Sam. He adopted me when I was a wayward 19-year-old. He died last year, but not before instilling an understanding of what it meant to be a responsible adult.
My biological dad is named Melvin. Our relationship is complex. I wasn't raised by him. My biological mom raised me as a single parent. My biological dad lived in Richmond, and I lived in North Carolina. He married a woman named Freida and he lived with their three kids. He was by all means a responsible adult. He worked hard, he paid the bills, and he provided for his family.
Every summer I would stay a couple of weeks with my dad, my stepmom, and my stepsisters. We were the black Brady Bunch. And my childhood with them was one that was filled with a lot of great memories.
But after 12 years of marriage something happened. My dad met a guy named David who at the time was dating my dad’s sister-in-law Pam. And David was my dad’s exact opposite: unemployed, immature, and reckless.
David would drink, do drugs, and get into vicious fights with my Aunt Pam. He could be charming one minute and a sociopath the next. To this day I don’t know what it was my dad saw in David, but whatever he saw, he liked. He and David soon became inseparable. Although my dad always used to hang out on the weekends, this was different. All of a sudden my dad was hanging out a lot more than usual, and with some really suspicious people. And his personality changed. He became more combative towards my stepmom and more neglectful of his kids. And my dad’s old friends, guys he had been cool with for years, began dropping like flies.
Then came the breakup.
A child will never forget when his parents divorce. For me it was April 1994. I was visiting my dad and my stepmom during my high school Easter break. Me and my stepmom had just left the house. After about a couple of blocks, she pulled the car over and laid a bombshell on me.
“Keith, there’s something I have to tell you. Me and your dad are getting a divorce.”
I was stunned. I had just turned 18 and I had already decided that I was going to move to Richmond after I graduated from high school. And I was going to move in with my dad and my stepmom (whom I adored).
“But … why?”
“It’s hard to explain … but your father has changed. He’s no longer the man I married. I don’t know who he is … I’ve asked him to move out. I’m sorry … I know this is hard for you.”
I nodded. And then I quickly turned my head and looked out the window. I didn’t want my stepmom to see me cry.
What exactly happened to my dad?
I moved in with him a couple of years later and got a bird’s-eye view of his downfall. We lived in Mosby Court, a rough housing project about a mile east of downtown. When I was younger my dad was always a clean-cut, clean-shaven guy who took pride in his appearance. But now he looked a mess. His hair was never combed and his clothes were all raggedy.
When I was a kid I liked all of my dad’s friends. But now, he only hung out with people who looked like they belonged in a police lineup.
And dad was hardly ever sober. I never knew exactly what he was doing because he never brought it around me, but I ain’t stupid. I knew he was doing something!
I would ask him, "Hey man. Are you alright?" And his answer was always the same: "Yes!"
He was hardly at home. He stayed gone. We would often argue and his behavior was erratic. One night at around 3 o'clock in the morning, he fell asleep while frying some chicken. The force of my coughing woke me up. And that's when I noticed the smoke. I dashed towards the kitchen banging my foot against everything because I barely see where I was going. I turned off the stove and threw away the food. Then I opened every window in the apartment. That's when I noticed my dad asleep on the couch. And all I could think was "how in the world can anybody sleep through all of this?" If I hadn't been there he literally could have died.
I woke him up and told him what happened. And the first thing he did was yell at me for throwing away the chicken.
And dad kept getting into trouble with the police. I will never forget the Sunday morning I picked him up from the city jail. He walked out and I barely recognized him. He had lost his wife, his job, and his self-respect. He had hit rock bottom. The metamorphosis was complete. Bruce Banner had turned into the Incredible Addict.
It was around this time that I met Sam, who was a coworker of mine at the library I worked part-time at. He would later introduce me to his wife Brenda (who later became my adopted mom), and his little daughter Samone (who later became my adopted sister). Like every kid who grew up in a single parent home, I fantasized about how cool it would be to live in a two-parent household. And I would find that two-parent household, not with Melvin and Frieda, but with Sam and Brenda.
Life is funny that way.
A few months after meeting Sam’s extended family, one of my dad’s “friends” stole my entire CD collection while my dad slept in the next room.
That was the last straw. I moved in with Sam and his family shortly after that.
After I left, my biological dad still couldn't keep it together. My stepsister Nicole told me that she had heard about how far our dad had fallen. So she and my stepmom went over to his apartment unannounced.
This is what she told me:
“When I looked into dad’s eyes that day I knew. And then I looked around and the apartment was a mess. And I just started crying, and crying, and crying. And the sight of me crying hit him hard. He looked at me and he apologized. He kept saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll do better.”
Me and Nicole had that conversation in 1996. It’s 15 years later, and my dad is still trying to do better.
Addiction occurs when you need more of a drug to get you high and you suffer withdrawal symptoms when the drug level in your body drops. Addiction causes a change in the brain. When that change occurs, you lose control over your urges. You lose control over your behavior. And not only do you change mentally, but in most cases, you change physically as well.
Here in America millions of people are coping with addiction. And the number of different things we are addicted to is astounding: sedatives (alcohol, Quaaludes, valium), stimulants (ecstasy, cocaine, crystal meth), narcotics (heroin, oxycontin, vicodin), psychedelics (LSD, PCP), antidepressants (Prozac, Zoloft), hydrocarbons (inhalants, nitrates), anesthetics, and steroids.
And addiction is even worse for young adults. Statistics show the younger you are when using drugs, the greater chance you have at becoming addicted. If a teen uses alcohol regularly at age 13, there’s a 43 percent chance he or she will become an alcoholic. By comparison, there’s only a 10 percent chance for those who start at age 21. When teens use drugs and/or alcohol, their still-growing brain confuses these substances with the natural neurotransmitters that influences our mood, our sleep, and our appetite.
Not to make excuses, but being a teenager today is no walk in the park. I don’t miss being a teenager one bit. The peer pressure was off the charts. And I remember being in a constant state of confusion, anxiety, and depression.
And I remembered being offered drugs, a lot.
And because I tend to look at everything through pop-culture lenses, I decided to check out how many celebrities have died as a result of their addiction to drugs and/or alcohol. The list was staggering. Here are some of the more famous names (excluding the members of the 27 Club since I already mentioned them): John Belushi, Lenny Bruce, Richard Burton, Truman Capote, Dorothy Dandridge, DJ AM, Chris Farley, Judy Garland, Billie Holiday, Michael Hutchence, Michael Jackson, Heath Ledger, Bruce Lee, Gerald Levert, Frankie Lymon, Anna Nicole Smith, Marilyn Monroe, Brittany Murphy, River Phoenix, Elvis Presley, movie producer Don Simpson, and Ike Turner.
Yes. A drug addiction can kill you. But addictions aren’t just limited to drugs. We're also addicted to gambling, sex, pornography, people, love, food, work, and computer and video games.
But how do you know if someone has fallen prey to addiction? What are the warning signs?
I can tell you from experience, those warning signs aren’t hard to notice. All you have to do is pay attention.
Does your friend or loved one:
Turn up late for functions or dates?
No longer follow through on his or her commitments?
Appears to be sick often?
Has problems at work?
Withdraws from friends and family?
Has unexplained absences in his or her schedule?
Has new “friends” whom you’ve never met?
Has lapses of concentration or memory?
Stays out late frequently and sleeps in more during the day?
Appears surprisingly secretive about specific aspects of his or her life?
If you answered yes to more than one of these questions, then it might be time to confront this person. But if you’re going to confront them, don’t half-ass it. Be firm and direct. Expect them to get angry. And expect denial. And be prepared to be empathetic – make a sustained effort to understand what it’s like to feel so out-of-control, so miserable, so lonely, so frustrated, and so tormented by the past that alcohol and drugs are the only reliable ways to feel good.
When it comes to addiction, here are two things I believe: Number one, I believe addiction is a disease. That’s why reading those comments about Amy Winehouse made me so upset. A lot of people played the “personal responsibility” card. They said she could’ve stopped at any time if she really wanted to.
Not true. Addicts can’t stop any time they want to. Addictions are like diseases of the brain because they control what you think and they control how you feel. And because most addicts don’t think they’re addicts, they can't muster up the strength to walk away on their own.
And number two, 12 step programs don’t work for everyone. The percentage of successful recoveries is modest. According to a survey from Alcoholics Anonymous, nine out of 10 people drop out within the first year.
Quitting is HARD. And it takes baby steps. We all know of family members and friends who have overcome addiction. These people live “one day at a time.” And each day represents yet another step towards recovery.
My dad left Richmond several years ago and now lives back in my tiny hometown with my grandmother. That's the good news. The bad news is that he's not exactly in recovery. It’s shocking how different he now looks. After years of putting poison into his body, his hair is now completely white (he's in his early fifties). And he’s missing some of his teeth. And to add insult to injury, his addiction to alcohol appears to be worse than ever. We often get into arguments when I’m home because he wants me to drive him around town so he can get his drink on, so he can "waste away in Margaritaville" at seven o’clock in the damn morning!
A couple of years ago he nearly died from a brain aneurysm. He was hospitalized for four months. I looked at him in his hospital bed and I wondered if his near-death experience would be enough to make him quit drinking.
It wasn’t.
My biological mom tells me to pray for him. But I’ve been praying for him for 17 years. And I think I’m done. I’m waving the white flag. I’m tired.
On the Saturday I learned of Amy Winehouse’s death, I set my ipod to my “Somber Station”, which is a playlist of melancholy songs. The first song my ipod played was Angel by Sarah McLachlan. How appropriate. That song, which is the most haunting song I’ve ever heard, was inspired by the fatal overdose of Smashing Pumpkins keyboardist Jonathan Melvoin. The “angel” symbolizes the drugs the addict gives in to repeatedly. The first time I heard this song I immediately thought of my dad. Now when I hear it, I think of Amy Winehouse.
To all of the addicts out there who are reading this, to all of the addicts who are “in the arms of the angel,” may you find the help you so desperately need.
Your family and friends are rooting for you.







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