Reading this story broke my heart and stirred up all kinds of feelings. I’m torn about how I feel about the wet house concept. On the one hand, they do provide a sense of belonging and humane treatment to a population considered to be social pariahs. On the other hand, there is a part of me that agrees with the idea that there is always hope of recovery.

When I read this article, there is a part of me that is uncomfortable with the objectification of these people. People suffer from alcoholism. Alcoholism is a disease that is systemic in nature. It harms not just the individual, but anyone close to him or her. Alcohol serves to soothe the pain of existential problems - loneliness, lack of meaning in life, physical conditions. I know first hand because my father has been self-medicating with alcohol for as long as I can remember. In the last year, I have finally been candid with him about how alcohol has affected our family and my concern for his health. I pleaded with him to consider giving up drinking so that he could increase the chances of walking me down the aisle or meeting his future hypothetical grandchildren. All he could do was apologize and say, “I’m sorry, my darling. This is how I am. It’s my disease.” My heart broke for the thousandth time, but at least we had an understanding. 

This piece bothers me because it talks about providing these people with humane treatment, yet the characterization provides little insight into who they really are as people. Who is Mr. Britton if you take the label “alcoholic” out of the picture? What were his hopes and dreams? Who mattered to them before this current life of isolation? I would have liked more information on the demographics of these facilities, which seem to be overwhelmingly occupied by men….which in itself is an issue worthy of dissection.

People often wonder why I am always at the Vegas Lounge. It’s a townie bar with lots of older folks who are there almost every day and almost always drunk. The other night, even I had had enough as I tried to have a conversation with a gentleman that kept going in circles because he was clearly too intoxicated to know right from left. You’ll find people who are drunk at any old bar in Northeast, but at the Vegas Lounge…there are the drunk people who also really love to sing. It doesn’t take Freud to make the connection with my own original karaoke idol, my father. When my father is singing, I don’t think about the familiar Heineken smell in the air or all the times that he couldn’t come to one of my choir concerts because he was drinking. I hear the sadness in his voice as he sings about love lost. I feel the power harnessed in a Neil Diamond tune that is not possible in his every day life where he is reminded that he is an immigrant and does not belong in this country. That is humanity.

For all those who feel that these institutions enable alcoholism, sure that’s true if you’re simply looking at the behavior and taking a completely individualistic “the person is the problem” approach to the disease. From a more holistic, humanistic point of view, I think they’re doing more good than harm. The people who work at the wet houses have incredible compassion. Given my history, I don’t think I could ever work in that setting. 

Well, I didn’t intend for this to become a personal confession. But that’s what the piece set off for me. Wow, this is like TMI Tuesday.