I officially died twice: once when I, was seven, drowning in the surf of Rockaway, and the second time when I was eighteen, pronounced dead by EMTs from heat exhaustion. Neither experience translates well into words. When I discovered the Mystics at twenty (and I see Buddhism as a starved version of that path), it resonated far better than my Cradle Catholicism. But I was not convinced. Taught by the Jesuits, I questioned everything. I decided on the path of bubbly oblivion and became a drunk. 

Like the saint, the addict becomes more and more faithful to the object of their devotion, the revered choice of drink or drug (or wealth or power or fame or other worldly pursuits).  
Like the saint, the addict becomes less and less interested and attached to other things in their world.  He or she will lose their car, house, teeth, family, and reputation yet never despair of or turn away from this “Beloved.”  
Like the saint, when--if--the addict finally reaches a bottom, he or she is almost zenfully clean of worldly trappings, all "fetters."  The addict has found renunciation through over-indulgence, non-attachment through over-dependence: a reverse (even perverse) yet nonetheless saintlike discovery about true freedom.
Yet in one aspect, the saint and the addict are the same: both are self-destructive (only the addict has a more literal interpretation of this vital spiritual practice).

"A living sacrifice": this is our moment to moment path. To live, we must die. This is where we need to place our greatest emphasis. This is our basic sacrement and ritual. This is to eat and drink of Christ. It is not about what we know but where we are: self-centered or God-centered.