Inspired by: http://eliglasman.com/2014/05/11/why-im-against-recreational-drugs/
My drug of choice was mostly alcohol. And I wrote a LOT of fiction while drunk. Some of it was a little off-centre, and I’m not sure I would have found the exact same story sober. But I’m also not sure if that slightly different sober story would have been better or worse. Some of my drunk writing still stands the test of time.
However, I don’t clearly remember writing much of it, and I’ve re-found more than a few stories (including longer pieces) that I can’t recall writing at all. Complete blank. Which, I think, defeats an important part of the positive side of writing, of creating, which is being in that moment, enjoying it, being inspired by it. And those moments simply don’t exist for those stories. I know I wrote them because they are my style and I see my voice, and some of them make me happy that I wrote them because I still think they are good, but I don’t feel connected to them in the same way as those where I fully remember bathing in the process.
I think the same is true for a lot of my real life during the times I was drunk – I may have been aware I was there in the moment, and may well have enjoyed myself in that cut-off instant, and I may still have some vague recollections, but the specific memories don’t exist, so the remains of those parts of my life are much less than they could have been.
Moments of occasional magic, maybe, but also moments of strange losses and friendships soured.