Tweak is a memoir of Nic Sheff’s early young adulthood as a crystal meth addict. He recounts his spiral through addiction and his very lowest points, to his turn toward rehab and the twelve steps and back time and again. From relapse to recovery, Sheff is forced to face the worst of himself and dig to the root of his addiction in the hopes that he can finally get clean, stay clean, and live his life. Trigger warnings (pretty much everything): death, addiction, drug use, overdose, withdrawal, needles, severe injury/illness, body horror, violence, guns, hospitals, prostitution, mental illness, self-esteem issues, self-loathing.
This is a difficult read for its subject matter, and it’s twice as difficult if it happens to be familiar. Whether you are the addict or you’ve had one in your family, so much of the memoir rings true, from the way Sheff casually throws everything in his life away again and again to his own bitter self-loathing while simultaneously wanting everyone to like him. Some readers might find it comforting to know they’re not the only ones facing those challenges, but it’s far from a perfect book or even an exceptional memoir. That Sheff has a story to tell is undeniable, but that it’s the best way to tell it isn’t as clear.
The first half is a struggle just watching him repeatedly make bad decisions as an addict, where the main goal is always scoring drugs and never any kind of plot or character development. Recovery is better since at least Sheff has something to fight for, but the cycle takes up pretty much all of the book. I think the thing that surprised me most about it was how quickly relapse happened. There was usually never anything to set it off, no prolonged thinking about it; everything is gone, just that fast.
Sheff is a difficult character to like, in part because his addiction is, realistically, always his first priority, but also because he’s a little stuck up. His recovery friends tease him about his tendency to name-drop, and it’s true. He’s preoccupied with fame and prestige to a damaging level, which makes sense given that most of the book takes place in Hollywood. While Sheff as a writer is unflinching about his faults and his mistakes, it seems like the one thing he doesn’t acknowledge is how privileged he is, even as an addict. He’s from an upper-middle class family who cares about him and can afford to send him to rehabilitation centers more than once, which is hardly typical for a lot of addicts.
The ending is abrupt, and I think less time on the addiction cycle and more on the last recovery would have smoothed out some of the pacing issues as well as given us a better sense of Sheff’s character development. He blows through a couple revelations in the last section, but it’s hard to know what (or how much) those realizations mean to him without more explanation. It’s a book to read for its content, not because it’s necessarily well-written or structured. Beautiful Boy is on my shelf for later in the year.
I review regularly brightbeautifulthings.tumblr.com.