what it means to survive, a guest post by Amanda Montei

"you could've died," my mother said and I wasn't sure if she meant from the drinking or from the men

The following is a special guest post by Amanda Montei, one of my favorite living writers and the author of the forthcoming book, Touched Out, a book I have been fortunate enough to read in galley form. A genre-redefining masterpiece . Amanda is one of the reasons I started this substack — as hers had such a profound effect on me. She also happens to be the best interviewer I have ever met. Please do yourself a favor and subscribe to her newsletter. And then pre-order her book. And follow her on Instagram.

My mother has always made death her business. When celebrities die, my mother texts me as though she’s lost a dear friend. Sometimes she mentions loose connections she had to these figures, from the days she spent working as an agent in Hollywood. “Famous people die all the time,” I say, brushing her off. When someone dies from an overdose, she’s even more taken by the news. Many years sober, my mother often does what a lot of people in recovery do: she talks of how close she once came to dying.

I don’t think my mother came close to dying, but it’s not really for me to say. Though I was there when things got hard, I was a girl, and I know there are things about her inner life I will never understand, and things I don’t ask about, because I don’t really want to know.

Recently, I let my mother read a book I wrote that covers in part my own decision to quit drinking. “You could’ve died,” my mother said, and this unsettled me. I had never thought of my own drinking as taking me to the brink of death, even if I knew it had taken me to the edge of losing myself and becoming someone I did not want to be. Quietly and alone, I had wondered what would happen if I never stopped. I had visions of my liver turning yellow or crashing cars, but mostly after drinking I awoke in shame for what I couldn’t remember, not for memories I had of nearing death.

“You could’ve died,” my mother said, and I wasn’t sure whether she meant from the drinking or from the men I drank with.

For many women, the threat of death and men hang in close proximity in the mind. There’s a scene in my book my mother was referring to, in which I detail an encounter with a man who, it took me years to realize, attempted to rape me. Was she implying that he could have killed me, or that I could have killed myself when I was young, drinking so much?