I had an acquaintance in college, a roommate of a friend of mine, who reminds me a bit of someone in the news recently.
He was a regular guy, a bit shy but friendly—most of the time. Every few months he would load up on something very alcoholic and drink himself nearly into unconsciousness. At those times we all learned to keep away from him because he was a very different person. He would become combative and several times got into a fight. When confronted about this later, he would be mystified, as if it happened to someone else.
My own father had a drinking problem at the time, later cured by liberal applications of AA, but at the time I was concerned for both of them, so I approached my acquaintance. He was surprisingly forthright.
“Why do you drink like that?”
“It’s the only time I can do what I want, to have some fun.”
He had grown up in a very strict religious home. His life had been circumscribed by an endless series of rules guiding correct behavior and thought, and he conformed to the teaching like a good son. Since the classes he needed for his major could only be found at a public institution, he had left religious schools, and I met him.
“But how do you know that you had any fun if you can’t remember it?”
“Yeah, but at least I don’t have to confess any of it.”
He seemed to think that if his actions were buried in an alcoholic haze, they didn’t count— that there was no responsibility.
Does this remind you of anyone?