Long before I became addicted to—or had even tasted—alcohol, I was hooked on music. Ever since discovering classical music’s mood-altering effects at the age of ten, while listening to the “Lacrimosa” from Mozart’s “Requiem,” I had abused it like a hardened junkie, turning to it constantly to regulate moods over which I had increasingly little control. This was especially useful during the storms of adolescence: Beethoven for heartbreak, Bach for grief, Shostakovich for fear of a world spinning out of control.
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