Bigbook Personalstories PartII

Part II

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THEY STOPPED IN TIME

Among todays incoming A.A. members, many havenever reached the advanced stages of alcoholism, thoughgiven time all might have.

Most of these fortunate ones have had little or no ac-quaintance with delirium, with hospitals, asylums, andjails. Some were drinking heavily, and there had been oc-casional serious episodes. But with many, drinking hadbeen little more than a sometimes uncontrollable nuisance.Seldom had any of these lost either health, business, family,or friends.

Why do men and women like these join A.A.?The seventeen who now tell their experiences answer

that question. They saw that they had become actual or po-tential alcoholics, even though no serious harm had yetbeen done.

They realized that repeated lack of drinking control,when they really wanted control, was the fatal symptomthat spelled problem drinking. This, plus mounting emo-tional disturbances, convinced them that compulsive alco-holism already had them; that complete ruin would be onlya question of time.

Seeing this danger, they came to A.A. They realized thatin the end alcoholism could be as mortal as cancer; cer-tainly no sane man would wait for a malignant growth tobecome fatal before seeking help.

Therefore, these seventeen A.A.s, and hundreds of thou-sands like them, have been saved years of infinite suffering.They sum it up something like this: We didnt wait to hitbottom because, thank God, we could see the bottom.Actually, the bottom came up and hit us. That sold us onAlcoholics Anonymous.


(1)

THE MISSING LINK

He looked at everything as the cause of his unhap-pinessexcept alcohol.

W hen i was eight or nine years old, life sud-denly became very difficult. Feelings began toemerge that I did not understand. Depression creptinto my life as I started to feel alone, even in crowdedrooms. In fact, life didnt make much sense to me atall. Its hard to say what sparked all of this, to pinpointone fact or event that changed everything forever. Thefact of the matter was, I was miserable from early onin my life.

It was all very confusing. I remember isolating onthe playground, watching all the other children laugh-ing and playing and smiling, and not feeling like Icould relate at all. I felt different. I didnt feel as if Iwas one of them. Somehow, I thought, I didnt fit in.

My school marks soon reflected these feelings. Mybehavior and attitude seemed to become troublesometo everyone around me. I soon began spending moretime in the principals office than in the classroom. Myparents, perplexed by such an unhappy son, beganhaving difficulties. My house was soon filled with thesounds of arguments and yelling about how to handleme. I found that running away from home could sup-ply me with some sort of temporary solace. Until of

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course, the police would find me and bring me back tomy house and my worried parents.

About that time I started seeing therapists and spe-cialists, each with a different theory and a different so-lution. They conducted special tests and interviewsdesigned to get to the root of my troubles, and cameto the conclusion that I had a learning disability andwas depressed. The psychiatrist started me on somemedication, and the problems in school started toclear up. Even some of the depression began to easeup for a bit. However, something still seemed funda-mentally wrong.

Whatever the problem, I soon found what appearedto be the solution to everything. At age fifteen, I trav-eled with my family to Israel. My brother was to bebar mitzvahed atop Masada. There was no legal drink-ing age, so I found it quite easy to walk into a bar andorder a drink. New Years Eve fell in the middle of thetrip, and since the Jewish calendar celebrates a differ-ent New Year than the Gregorian calendar, the onlycelebration was being held in the American sector ofa university. I got drunk for the first time that night. Itchanged everything.

A stop at a local bar began the evening. I ordered abeer from the waitress and as I took the first sip,something was immediately different. I looked aroundme, at the people drinking and dancing, smiling andlaughing, all of whom were much older than I.Suddenly, I somehow felt I belonged. From there, Imade my way to the university, where I found hun-dreds of other Americans celebrating New Years Eve.Before the night was over, I had started a fight with anumber of college-aged drunken fellows and returned

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to the hotel stinking drunk and riddled with bruises.Ah yes, what a grand evening it was! I fell in love thatnightwith a beverage.

Returning to the States, I was determined to con-tinue with my newfound love affair. I found myselftrying to convince my friends to join me, but I wasmet with resistance. Still determined, I set out to findnew friends, friends who could help me maintain thisfantastic solution to my most desperate problems. Myescapades started as a weekend pursuit and pro-gressed into a daily obsession. At first, it took severalbeers to get me drunk to my satisfaction. However,within three years, it took a fifth and a half of vodka, abottle of wine, and several beers in an evenings timeto satisfactorily black me out. I would obtain alcoholby any means necessary. That meant lying, stealing,and cheating. My motto was, if you felt like I did,youd have to get drunk too.

As the feelings of hopelessness and depression pro-gressed, so did my drinking. Thoughts of suicide camemore and more frequently. It felt as if things werenever going to change. Progress with my therapistcame to almost a complete halt. The hopelessness wascompounded by the fact that the one thing that wasbringing me relief, the one thing I counted on to takethe pain away, was ultimately destroying me. The end,I feared, was close.

My last semester in high school marked my bottom.It was everyday drinking then. Since I had alreadybeen accepted at college, I consciously decided tomake that last semester one big party. But it was nofun at all. I was miserable. I graduated narrowly andtook a job at a local garage. It was difficult to manage

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my drinking and a job since they were both full time,but I concocted all kinds of lies to ensure that nothingwould interfere with my drinking. After being repeat-edly reprimanded at work for being late in the morn-ings, I made up a story to hide the fact that I wasalways hung over. I told my manager that I had cancerand needed to go to the doctor for treatment everymorning. I would say whatever I needed to say to pro-tect my drinking.

More often, I was having these little moments ofclarity, times I knew for sure that I was an alcoholic.Times when I was looking at the bottom of my glassasking myself, Why am I doing this? Something had togive, something had to change. I was suicidal, evaluat-ing every part of my life for what could be wrong. Itculminated in one last night of drinking and staring atthe problem. It made me sick to think about it, andeven sicker to continue drinking it away. I was forcedto look at my drinking as the chief suspect.

The next day I went to work, late as usual, and allday long I could not stop thinking about this very realproblem. I could go no further. What was happeningto me? Therapy hadnt fixed my lifeall those ses-sions; I was still miserable. I might as well just kill my-self, drink my way into oblivion. In one last desperatefight for a solution, I reviewed my life, searching forthe missing link. Had I left out some crucial bit of in-formation that would lead to a breakthrough, makingit possible for life to become just a little more bear-able? No, there was nothing. Except of course mydrinking.

The next morning I went to see my therapist. I toldhim Id decided to quit therapy, because after eight



years, it wasnt working. But I decided to tell him howI had been searching through my life for that missinglink and had come up with only one thing I had nevertold him: that I drank. He began asking me ques-tionshe asked about quantities, frequency, what Idrank. Before he was even halfway through, I brokedown and began sobbing. I cried, Do you think Ihave a problem with drinking? He replied, I thinkthat is quite obvious. I then asked, Do you think Iman alcoholic? And he answered, You are going tohave to find out for yourself. He pulled a list ofAlcoholics Anonymous meetings out of his deskdrawer; he had already highlighted the young peoplesmeetings.

He told me to go home and not drink at all for therest of the day. He would call me at nine p.m. andwanted to hear that I hadnt taken a drink. It wasrough, but I went home and locked myself in myroom, sweating it out until he called. He asked if I hadhad a drink. I told him I had not and asked what Ishould do next. He told me to do the same thing to-morrow, except tomorrow I should also go to the firstmeeting on the list he had highlighted. The next day Iwent to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Iwas eighteen years old.

In the parking lot, I sat in my car for about fifteenminutes before the meeting started, trying to work upthe courage to go in and face myself. I remember fi-nally working up the nerve to open the door and getout, only to close the door, dismissing the notion ofgoing into the meeting as ridiculous. This dance of in-decisiveness went on about fifty times before I went



in. Had I not gone in, I believe I would not be alivetoday.

The room was very smoky and filled with appar - ently happy people. Finding a seat in the back, I satdown and tried to make sense of the format. Whenthe chairperson asked if there were any newcomerspresent, I looked around and saw some hands go up,but I certainly wasnt ready to raise my hand and drawattention to myself. The meeting broke up into severalgroups, and I followed one group down the hall andtook a seat. They opened a book and read a chapter titled Step Seven. After the reading, they wentaround the table for comments, and for the first timein my life, I found myself surrounded by people Icould really relate with. I no longer felt as if I was atotal misfit, because here was a roomful of people whofelt precisely as I did, and a major weight had beenlifted. I happened to be in the last chair around thetable to speak and, confused by the reading, all I couldsay was, What the heck are shortcomings?

A couple of members, realizing I was there for myfirst meeting, took me downstairs and sat down withme and outlined the program. I can recall very little ofwhat was said. I remember telling these members thatthis program they outlined sounded like just what Ineeded, but I didnt think I could stay sober for therest of my life. Exactly how was I supposed to notdrink if my girlfriend breaks up with me, or if my bestfriend dies, or even through happy times like gradua-tions, weddings, and birthdays. They suggested Icould just stay sober one day at a time. They explainedthat it might be easier to set my sights on the twenty-four hours in front of me and to take on these other



situations when and if they ever arrived. I decided togive sobriety a try, one day at a time, and Ive done itthat way ever since.

When I entered Alcoholics Anonymous, I had donesome damage physically, had a bouquet of mentalquirks, and was spiritually bankrupt. I knew I waspowerless over alcohol and that I needed to be open-minded toward what people suggested for recovery.However, when it came to spirituality, I fought itnearly every step of the way. Although raised in anethnic and religious Jewish household, I was agnosticand very resistant to anyone and anything that I per-ceived to be imposing religious beliefs. To my sur-prise, Alcoholics Anonymous suggested somethingdifferent.

The idea that religion and spirituality were not oneand the same was a new notion. My sponsor askedthat I merely remain open-minded to the possibilitythat there was a Power greater than myself, one of myown understanding. He assured me that no personwas going to impose a belief system on me, that it wasa personal matter. Reluctantly, I opened my mind tothe fact that maybe, just maybe, there was somethingto this spiritual lifestyle. Slowly but surely, I realizedthere was indeed a Power greater than myself, and Isoon found myself with a full-time God in my life andfollowing a spiritual path that didnt conflict with mypersonal religious convictions.

Following this spiritual path made a major differ-ence in my life. It seemed to fill that lonely hole thatI used to fill with alcohol. My self-esteem improveddramatically, and I knew happiness and serenity as Ihad never known it before. I started to see the beauty



and usefulness in my own existence, and tried to ex-press my gratitude through helping others in whateverways I could. A confidence and faith entered my lifeand unraveled a plan for me that was bigger and bet-ter than I could have ever imagined.

It wasnt easy, and it has never been easy, but it getsso much better. Since that first meeting, my life hascompletely changed. Three months into the program Istarted college. While many of my college classmateswere experimenting with alcohol for the first time, Iwas off at meetings and A.A. get-togethers, becomingactive in service work, and developing relationshipswith God, family, friends, and loved ones. I rarelythought twice about this; it was what I wanted andneeded to do.

Over the last seven years, nearly everything Ithought I could not stay sober through has happened.Indeed, sobriety and life are full of ups and downs.Occasionally depression can creep back into my lifeand requires outside help. However, this program hasprovided me with the tools to stay sober through thedeath of my best friends, failed relationships, andgood times like birthdays, weddings, and graduations.Life is exponentially better than it ever was before.Im living out the life I used to fantasize about, and Ihave a whole lot of work still in front of me. I havehope to share and love to give, and I just keep goingone day at a time, living this adventure called life.



(2)

FEAR OF FEAR

This lady was cautious. She decided she wouldntlet herself go in her drinking. And she would never,never take that morning drink!

I didnt think I was an alcoholic. I thought myproblem was that I had been married to a drunkfor twenty-seven years. And when my husband foundA.A., I came to the second meeting with him. Ithought it was wonderful, simply marvelous, for him.But not for me. Then I went to another meeting, andI still thought it was wonderfulfor him, but not forme.

That was on a hot summer evening, down in theGreenwich Village Group, and there was a little porchout there in the old meeting place on Sullivan Street,and after the meeting I went out on the steps for someair. In the doorway stood a lovely young girl who said,Are you one of us souses too? I said, Oh, goodness,no! My husband is. Hes in there. She told me hername, and I said, I know you from somewhere. Itturned out that she had been in high school with mydaughter. I said, Eileen, are you one of those peo-ple? And she said, Oh, yes. Im in this.

As we walked back through the hall, I, for the firsttime in my life, said to another human being, Imhaving trouble with my drinking too. She took me bythe hand and introduced me to the woman that Im

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very proud to call my sponsor. This woman and herhusband are both in A.A., and she said to me, Oh,but youre not the alcoholic; its your husband. I said,Yes. She said, How long have you been married? Isaid, Twenty-seven years. She said, Twenty-sevenyears to an alcoholic! How did you ever stand it? Ithought, now heres a nice, sympathetic soul! This isfor me. I said, Well, I stood it to keep the home to-gether, and for the childrens sake. She said, Yes, Iknow. Youre just a martyr, arent you? I walked awayfrom that woman grinding my teeth and cursing undermy breath. Fortunately, I didnt say a word to Georgeon the way home. But that night I tried to go to sleep.And I thought, Youre some martyr, Jane! Lets lookat the record. And when I looked at it, I knew I wasjust as much a drunk as George was, if not worse. Inudged George next morning, and I said, Im in, andhe said, Oh, I knew youd make it.

I started drinking nearly thirty years agorightafter I was married. My first drinking spree was oncorn liquor, and I was allergic to it, believe me. I wasdeathly sick every time I took a drink. But we had todo a lot of entertaining. My husband liked to have agood time; I was very young, and I wanted to have agood time too. The only way I knew to do it was todrink right along with him.

I got into terrific trouble with my drinking. I wasafraid, and I had made my mind up that I would neverget drunk, so I was watchful and careful. We had asmall child, and I loved her dearly, so that held meback quite a bit in my drinking career. Even so, everytime I drank, I seemed to get in trouble. I al-



ways wanted to drink too much, so I was watchful, al-ways watchful, counting my drinks. If we were invitedto a formal party and I knew they were only going tohave one or two drinks, I wouldnt have any. I wasbeing very cagey, because I knew that if I did take oneor two, I might want to take five or six or seven oreight.

I did stay fairly good for a few years. But I wasnthappy, and I didnt ever let myself go in my drinking.After my son, our second child, came along, and as hebecame school age and was away at school most of thetime, something happened. I really started drinkingwith a bang.

I never went to a hospital. I never lost a job. I wasnever in jail. And, unlike many others, I never took adrink in the morning. I needed a drink, but I wasafraid to take a morning drink, because I didnt wantto be a drunk. I became a drunk anyway, but I wasscared to death to take that morning drink. I was ac-cused of it many times when I went to play bridge inthe afternoon, but I really never did take a morningdrink. I was still woozy from the night before.

I should have lost my husband, and I think thatonly the fact that he was an alcoholic too kept us to-gether. No one else would have stayed with me.Many women who have reached the stage that I hadreached in my drinking have lost husbands, children,homes, everything they hold dear. I have been veryfortunate in many ways. The important thing I lostwas my own self-respect. I could feel fear coming intomy life. I couldnt face people. I couldnt look themstraight in the eyes, although I had always been a

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self- possessed, brazen person. Id brazen anything out.I lied like a trooper to get out of many scrapes.

But I felt a fear coming into my life, and I couldntcope with it. I got so that I hid quite a bit of the time,wouldnt answer the phone, and stayed by myself asmuch as I could. I noticed that I was avoiding all mysocial friends, except for my bridge club. I couldntkeep up with any of my other friends, and I wouldntgo to anyones house unless I knew they drank as heav-ily as I did. I never knew it was the first drink that didit. I thought I was losing my mind when I realized thatI couldnt stop drinking. That frightened me terribly.

George tried many times to go on the wagon. If Ihad been sincere in what I thought I wanted morethan anything else in lifea sober husband and ahappy, contented homeI would have gone on thewagon with him. I did try, for a day or two, but some-thing would always come up that would throw me. Itwould be a little thingthe rugs being crooked, orany silly little thing that Id think was wrongand offId go, drinking. And sneaking my drinks. I had bottleshidden all over the apartment. I didnt think my chil-dren knew about it, but I found out they did. Its sur-prising, how we think we fool everybody in ourdrinking.

I reached a stage where I couldnt go into my apart -ment without a drink. It didnt bother me anymorewhether George was drinking or not. I had to haveliquor. Sometimes I would lie on the bathroom floor,deathly sick, praying I would die, and praying to Godas I always had prayed to Him when I was drinking:Dear God, get me out of this one and Ill never doit again. And then Id say, God, dont pay any atten-



tion to me. You know Ill do it tomorrow, the verysame thing.

I used to make excuses to try and get George offthe wagon. Id get so fed up with drinking all aloneand bearing the burden of guilt all by myself, that Idegg him on to drink, to get started again. And then Idfight with him because he had started! And the wholemerry-go-round would be on again. And he, poordear, didnt know what was going on. He used to won-der when hed spot one of my bottles around thehouse just how he could have overlooked that partic -ular bottle. I myself didnt know all the places I hadthem hidden.

We have only been in A.A. a few years, but nowwere trying to make up for lost time. Twenty-sevenyears of confusion is what my early married life was.Now the picture has changed completely. We havefaith in each other, trust in each other, and under-standing. A.A. has given us that. It has taught me somany things. It has changed my thinking entirely,about everything I do. I cant afford resentmentsagainst anyone, because they are the build-up of an-other drunk. I must live and let live. And thinkthat one important word means so much to me. Mylife was always act and react. I never stopped to think.I just didnt give a whoop about myself or anyone else.

I try to live our program as it has been outlined tome, one day at a time. I try to live today so that to-morrow I wont be ashamed when I wake up in themorning. In the old days I hated to wake up and lookback at what last night had been like. I never couldface it the next morning. And unless I had some rosypicture of what was going to happen that day, I

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wouldnt even feel like getting up in the morning atall. It really wasnt living. Now I feel so very gratefulnot only for my sobriety, which I try to maintain dayby day, but Im grateful also for the ability to helpother people. I never thought I could be useful to any-one except my husband and my children and perhapsa few friends. But A.A. has shown me that I can helpother alcoholics.

Many of my neighbors devoted time to volunteerwork. There was one woman especially, and Id watchher from my window every morning, leaving faithfullyto go to the hospital in the neighborhood. I said to herone day when I met her on the street, What sort ofvolunteer work do you do? She told me; it was sim-ple; I could have done it very easily. She said, Whydont you do it too? I said, Id love to. She said,Suppose I put your name down as a volunteerevenif you can only give one or two days? But then Ithought, well, now wait, how will I feel next Tuesday?How will I feel next Friday, if I make it a Friday? Howwill I feel next Saturday morning? I never knew. I wasafraid to set even one day. I could never be sure Idhave a clear head and hands that were willing to dosome work. So I never did any volunteer work. And Ifelt depleted, whipped. I had the time, I certainlyhad the capability, but I never did a thing.

I am trying now, each day, to make up for all thoseselfish, thoughtless, foolish things I did in my drinkingdays. I hope that I never forget to be grateful.



(3)

THE HOUSEWIFE WHO DRANKAT HOME

She hid her bottles in clothes hampers and dresserdrawers. In A.A., she discovered she had lost nothingand had found everything.

My story happens to be a particular kind ofwomans story: the story of the woman whodrinks at home. I had to be at homeI had two babies. When alcohol took me over, my bar was mykitchen, my living room, my bedroom, the back bath-room, and the two laundry hampers.

At one time the admission that I was and am an alcoholic meant shame, defeat, and failure to me. Butin the light of the new understanding that I havefound in A.A., I have been able to interpret that de-feat and that failure and that shame as seeds of vic -tory. Because it was only through feeling defeat andfeeling failure, the inability to cope with my life andwith alcohol, that I was able to surrender and acceptthe fact that I had this disease and that I had to learnto live again without alcohol.

I was never a very heavy social drinker. But duringa period of particular stress and strain about thirteenyears ago, I resorted to using alcohol in my home,alone, as a means of temporary release and of gettinga little extra sleep.

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I had problems. We all have them, and I thoughta little brandy or a little wine now and then could cer-tainly hurt no one. I dont believe, when I started,that I even had in mind the thought that I was drink-ing. I had to sleep, I had to clear my mind and free itfrom worry, and I had to relax. But from one or twodrinks of an afternoon or evening, my intake mounted,and mounted fast. It wasnt long before I was drinkingall day. I had to have that wine. The only incentivethat I had, toward the end, for getting dressed in themorning was to get out and get supplies to help meget my day started. But the only thing that got startedwas my drinking.

I should have realized that alcohol was getting holdof me when I started to become secretive in my drink-ing. I began to have to have supplies on hand for thepeople who might come in. And of course a half-empty bottle wasnt worth keeping, so I finished it upand naturally had to get more in right away for thepeople who might come in unexpectedly. But I wasalways the unexpected person who had to finish thebottle. I couldnt go to one wine store and look theman honestly in the face and buy a bottle, as I used todo when I had parties and entertained and did normaldrinking. I had to give him a story and ask him thesame question over and over again, Well, now, howmany will that bottle serve? I wanted him to be surethat I wasnt the one who was going to drink thewhole bottle.

I had to hide, as a great many people in A.A. havehad to do. I did my hiding in the hampers and in mydresser drawers. When we begin to do things like thatwith alcohol, somethings gone wrong. I needed it,



and I knew I was drinking too much, but I wasnt conscious of the fact that I should stop. I kept on. Myhome at that time was a place to mill around in. Iwandered from room to room, thinking, drinking,drinking, thinking. And the mops would come out, thevacuum would come out, everything would comeout, but nothing would get done. Toward five oclock,helter-skelter, Id get everything put away and tryto get supper on the table, and after supper Id finishthe job up and knock myself out.

I never knew which came first, the thinking or thedrinking. If I could only stop thinking, I wouldntdrink. If I could only stop drinking, maybe I wouldntthink. But they were all mixed up together, and I wasall mixed up inside. And yet I had to have that drink.You know the deteriorating effects, the disintegratingeffects, of chronic wine-drinking. I cared nothingabout my personal appearance. I didnt care what Ilooked like; I didnt care what I did. To me, taking abath was just being in a place with a bottle where Icould drink in privacy. I had to have it with me atnight, in case I woke up and needed that drink.

How I ran my home, I dont know. I went on, real-izing what I was becoming, hating myself for it, bitter,blaming life, blaming everything but the fact that Ishould turn about and do something about my drink-ing. Finally I didnt care; I was beyond caring. I justwanted to live to a certain age, carry through withwhat I felt was my job with the children, and afterthatno matter. Half a mother was better than nomother at all.

I needed that alcohol. I couldnt live without it. Icouldnt do anything without it. But there came a

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point when I could no longer live with it. And thatcame after a three-weeks illness of my son. The doc-tor prescribed a teaspoon of brandy for the boy tohelp him through the night when he coughed. Well, ofcourse, that was all I neededto switch from wine tobrandy for three weeks. I knew nothing about alco-holism or the D.T.s, but when I woke up on that lastmorning of my sons illness, I taped the keyhole on mydoor because everyone was out there. I paced backand forth in the apartment with the cold sweats. Iscreamed on the telephone for my mother to get upthere; something was going to happen; I didnt knowwhat, but if she didnt get there quick, Id split wideopen. I called my husband up and told him to comehome.

After that I sat for a week, a body in a chair, a mindoff in space. I thought the two would never get to-gether. I knew that alcohol and I had to part. Icouldnt live with it anymore. And yet, how was Igoing to live without it? I didnt know. I was bitter, living in hate. The very person who stood with methrough it all and has been my greatest help was theperson that I turned against, my husband. I alsoturned against my family, my mother. The people whowould have come to help me were just the people Iwould have nothing to do with.

Nevertheless, I began to try to live without alcohol.But I only succeeded in fighting it. And believe me,an alcoholic cannot fight alcohol. I said to my hus-band, Im going to try to get interested in somethingoutside, get myself out of this rut Im in. I thought Iwas going out of my mind. If I didnt have a drink, Ihad to do something.



I became one of the most active women in the com-munity, what with P.T.A., other community organiza-tions, and drives. Id go into an organization, and itwasnt long before I was on the committee, and then Iwas chairman of the committee; and if I was in agroup, Id soon be treasurer or secretary of the group.But I wasnt happy. I became a Jekyll-and-Hyde per-son. As long as I worked, as long as I got out, I didntdrink. But I had to get back to that first drink some-how. And when I took that first drink, I was off onthe usual merry-go-round. And it was my home that suffered.

I figured Id be all right if I could find somethingI liked to do. So when the children were in schoolfrom nine to three, I started up a nice little businessand was fairly successful in it. But not happy. Be -cause I found that everything I turned to became asubstitute for drink. And when all of life is a substi -tute for drink, theres no happiness, no peace. I stillhad to drink; I still needed that drink. Mere cessationfrom drinking is not enough for an alcoholic while theneed for that drink goes on. I switched to beer. I hadalways hated beer, but now I grew to love it. So thatwasnt my answer either.

I went to my doctor again. He knew what I wasdoing, how I was trying. I said, I cant find my middle road in life. I cant find it. Its either all work,or I drink. He said, Why dont you try AlcoholicsAnonymous? I was willing to try anything. I waslicked. For the second time, I was licked. The firsttime was when I knew I couldnt live with alcohol.But this second time, I found I couldnt live normallywithout it, and I was licked worse than ever.

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The fellowship I found in A.A. enabled me to facemy problem honestly and squarely. I couldnt do itamong my relatives; I couldnt do it among my friends.No one likes to admit that theyre a drunk, that theycant control this thing. But when we come intoA.A., we can face our problem honestly and openly.I went to closed meetings and open meetings. AndI took everything that A.A. had to give me. Easydoes it, first things first, one day at a time. It wasat that point that I reached surrender. I heard onevery ill woman say that she didnt believe in the sur-render part of the A.A. program. My heavens!Surrender to me has meant the ability to run myhome, to face my responsibilities as they should befaced, to take life as it comes to me day by day andwork my problems out. Thats what surrender hasmeant to me. I surrendered once to the bottle, and Icouldnt do these things. Since I gave my will over toA.A., whatever A.A. has wanted of me Ive tried to doto the best of my ability. When Im asked to go out ona call, I go. Im not going; A.A. is leading me there.A.A. gives us alcoholics direction into a way of lifewithout the need for alcohol. That life for me is livedone day at a time, letting the problems of the futurerest with the future. When the time comes to solvethem, God will give me strength for that day.

I had been brought up to believe in God, but Iknow that until I found this A.A. program, I had neverfound or known faith in the reality of God, the realityof His power that is now with me in everything I do.



(4)

PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF!

Psychiatrist and surgeon, he had lost his way untilhe realized that God, not he, was the Great Healer.

I am a physician, licensed to practice in a west-ern state. I am also an alcoholic. In two ways Imay be a little different from other alcoholics. First,we all hear at A.A. meetings about those who havelost everything, those who have been in jail, thosewho have been in prison, those who have lost theirfamilies, those who have lost their income. I neverlost any of it. I never was on skid row. I made moremoney in the last year of my drinking than I made inmy whole life. My wife never hinted that she wouldleave me. Everything that I touched from grammarschool on was successful. I was president of my gram-mar school student body. I was president of all of myclasses in high school, and in my last year I was pres-ident of that student body. I was president of eachclass in the university, and president of that studentbody. I was voted the man most likely to succeed. Thesame thing occurred in medical school. I belong tomore medical societies and honor societies than menten to twenty years my senior.

Mine was the skid row of success. The physicalskid row in any city is miserable. The skid row of suc-cess is just as miserable.

The second way in which, perhaps, I differ from301


some other alcoholics is this: Many alcoholics statethat they dont particularly like the taste of alcoholbut that they liked the effect. I loved alcohol! I usedto like to get it on my fingers so I could lick themand get another taste. I had a lot of fun drinking. I enjoyed it immensely. And then, one ill-defined day,one day that I cant recall, I stepped across the linethat alcoholics know so well, and from that day on,drinking was miserable. When a few drinks made mefeel good before I went over that line, those samedrinks now made me wretched. In an attempt to getover that feeling, there was a quick onslaught of agreater number of drinks, and then all was lost. Alco -hol failed to serve the purpose.

On the last day I was drinking, I went up to see afriend who had had a good deal of trouble with alco-hol and whose wife had left him a number of times.He had come back, however, and he was on this pro-gram. In my stupid way I went up to see him with theidea in the back of my mind that I would investigateAlcoholics Anonymous from a medical standpoint.Deep in my heart was the feeling that maybe I couldget some help here. This friend gave me a pamphlet,and I took it home and had my wife read it to me.There were two sentences in it that struck me. Onesaid, Dont feel that you are a martyr because youstopped drinking, and this hit me between the eyes.The second one said, Dont feel that you stop drink-ing for anyone other than yourself, and this hit mebetween the eyes. After my wife had read this to me,I said to her, as I had said many times in desperation,I have got to do something. Shes a good-naturedsoul and said, I wouldnt worry about it; probably



something will happen. And then we went up theside of a hill where we have a little barbecue area tomake the fire for the barbecue, and on the way up Ithought to myselfIll go back down to the kitchenand refill this drink. And just then, something did happen.

The thought came to meThis is the last one! Iwas well into the second fifth by this time. And as thatthought came to me, it was as though someone hadreached down and taken a heavy overcoat off myshoulders, for that was the last one.

About two days later I was called by a friend ofmine from Nevada Cityhes a brother of my wifesclosest friend. He said, Earle? and I said, Yes. Hesaid, Im an alcoholic; what do I do? And I gavehim some idea of what you do, and so I made my firstTwelfth Step call before I ever came into the program.The satisfaction I got from giving him a little of whatI had read in those pamphlets far surpassed any feel-ing that I had ever had before in helping patients.

So I decided that I would go to my first meeting. Iwas introduced as a psychiatrist. (I belong to theAmerican Psychiatric Society, but I dont practice psy-chiatry as such. I am a surgeon.)

As someone in A.A. said to me once upon a time,there is nothing worse than a confused psychiatrist.

I will never forget the first meeting that I attended.There were five people present, including me. Atone end of the table sat our community butcher. Atthe other side of the table sat one of the carpenters inour community, and at the farther end of the table satthe man who ran the bakery, while on one side sat myfriend who was a mechanic. I recall, as I walked into

PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF! 303


that meeting, saying to myself, Here I am, a Fellowof the American College of Surgeons, a Fellow of theInternational College of Surgeons, a diplomate of oneof the great specialty boards in these United States, amember of the American Psychiatric Society, and Ihave to go to the butcher, the baker, and the carpenterto help make a man out of me!

Something else happened to me. This was such anew thought that I got all sorts of books on HigherPowers, and I put a Bible by my bedside, and I put aBible in my car. It is still there. And I put a Bible inmy locker at the hospital. And I put a Bible in mydesk. And I put a Big Book by my night stand, and Iput a Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions in my lockerat the hospital, and I got books by Emmet Fox, and Igot books by God-knows-who, and I got to reading allthese things. And the first thing you know I was liftedright out of the A.A. group, and I floated higher andhigher and even higher, until I was way up on a pinkcloud, which is known as Pink Seven, and I felt mis-erable again. So I thought to myself, I might just aswell be drunk as feel like this.

I went to Clark, the community butcher, and I said,Clark, what is the matter with me? I dont feel right.I have been on this program for three months and Ifeel terrible. And he said, Earle, why dont you comeon over and let me talk to you for a minute. So hegot me a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, and sat medown and said, Why, theres nothing wrong withyou. Youve been sober for three months, been work-ing hard. Youve been doing all right. But then hesaid, Let me say something to you. We have here inthis community an organization that helps people, and



this organization is known as Alcoholics Anony mous.Why dont you join it? I said, What do you think Ivebeen doing? Well, he said, youve been sober, butyouve been floating way up on a cloud somewhere.Why dont you go home and get the Big Book andopen it at page fifty-eight and see what it says? So Idid. I got the Big Book and I read it, and this is whatit said: Rarely have we seen a person fail who hasthoroughly followed our path. The word thoroughlyrang a bell. And then it went on to say: Half measuresavailed us nothing. We stood at the turning point.And the last sentence was We asked His protectionand care with complete abandon.

Complete abandon; Half measures availed usnothing; Thoroughly followed our path; Com -pletely give themselves to this simple program rangin my swelled head.

Years earlier, I had gone into psychoanalysis toget relief. I spent 5 12 years in psychoanalysis and pro-ceeded to become a drunk. I dont mean that in anysense as a derogatory statement about psychotherapy;its a very great tool, not too potent, but a great tool. Iwould do it again.

I tried every gimmick that there was to get somepeace of mind, but it was not until I was brought tomy alcoholic knees, when I was brought to a groupin my own community with the butcher, the baker, thecarpenter, and the mechanic, who were able to give methe Twelve Steps, that I was finally given some sem-blance of an answer to the last half of the First Step.So, after taking the first half of the First Step, andvery gingerly admitting myself to Alcoholics Anony -mous, something happened. And then I thought to



myself: Imagine an alcoholic admitting anything!But I made my admission just the same.

The Third Step said: Made a decision to turn ourwill and our lives over to the care of God as we un-derstood Him. Now they asked us to make a deci-sion! Weve got to turn the whole business over tosome joker we cant even see! And this chokes the alcoholic. Here he is powerless, unmanageable, in thegrip of something bigger than he is, and hes got toturn the whole business over to someone else! It fillsthe alcoholic with rage. We are great people. We canhandle anything. And so one gets to thinking to one-self, Who is this God? Who is this fellow we are supposed to turn everything over to? What can He dofor us that we cant do for ourselves? Well, I dontknow who He is, but Ive got my own idea.

For myself, I have an absolute proof of the exis-tence of God. I was sitting in my office one time afterI had operated on a woman. It had been a long four-or five-hour operation, a large surgical procedure, andshe was on her ninth or tenth post-operative day. Shewas doing fine, she was up and around, and that dayher husband phoned me and said, Doctor, thanksvery much for curing my wife, and I thanked him forhis felicitations, and he hung up. And then I scratchedmy head and said to myself, What a fantastic thingfor a man to say, that I cured his wife. Here I amdown at my office behind my desk, and there she isout at the hospital. I am not even there, and if I wasthere the only thing I could do would be to give hermoral support, and yet he thanks me for curing hiswife. I thought to myselfWhat is curing thatwoman? Yes, I put in those stitches. The Great Boss



has given me diagnostic and surgical talent, and Hehas loaned it to me to use for the rest of my life. Itdoesnt belong to me. He has loaned it to me and I didmy job, but that ended nine days ago. What healedthose tissues that I closed? I didnt. This to me is theproof of the existence of a Somethingness greater thanI am. I couldnt practice medicine without the GreatPhysician. All I do in a very simple way is to help Himcure my patients.

Shortly after I was starting to work on the program,I realized that I was not a good father, I wasnt a goodhusband, but, oh, I was a good provider. I neverrobbed my family of anything. I gave them everything,except the greatest thing in the world, and that ispeace of mind. So I went to my wife and asked her ifthere wasnt something that she and I could do tosomehow get together, and she turned on her heel andlooked me squarely in the eye, and said, You dontcare anything about my problem, and I could havesmacked her, but I said to myself, Grab on to yourserenity!

She left, and I sat down and crossed my hands andlooked up and said, For Gods sake, help me. Andthen a silly, simple thought came to me. I didnt knowanything about being a father; I didnt know how tocome home and work weekends like other husbands;I didnt know how to entertain my family. But I re-membered that every night after dinner my wifewould get up and do the dishes. Well, I could do thedishes. So I went to her and said, Theres only onething I want in my whole life, and I dont want anycommendation; I dont want any credit; I dont wantanything from you or Janey for the rest of your life



except one thing, and that is the opportunity to doanything you want always, and I would like to startoff by doing the dishes. And now I am doing the darndishes every night!

Doctors have been notoriously unsuccessful in help-ing alcoholics. They have contributed fantasticamounts of time and work to our problem, but theyarent able, it seems, to arrest either your alcoholismor mine.

And the clergy have tried hard to help us, but wehavent been helped. And the psychiatrist has hadthousands of couches and has put you and me onthem many, many times, but he hasnt helped us verymuch, though he has tried hard; and we owe theclergy and the doctor and the psychiatrist a deep debtof gratitude, but they havent helped our alcoholism,except in a rare few instances. ButAlcoholics Anon -ymous has helped.

What is this power that A.A. possesses? This cura-tive power? I dont know what it is. I suppose the doctor might say, This is psychosomatic medicine.I suppose the psychiatrist might say, This is benevo-lent interpersonal relations. I suppose others wouldsay, This is group psychotherapy.

To me it is God.



(5)

MY CHANCE TO LIVE

A.A. gave this teenager the tools to climb out of herdark abyss of despair.

I came through the doors of Alcoholics Anony -mous at age seventeen, a walking contradiction.On the outside, I was the portrait of a rebelliousteenager, with miles of attitude to spare. On the in-side, I was suicidal, bloodied, and beaten. My stridespoke of a confidence I didnt feel. My dress was thatof a street-tough kid you didnt want to mess with.Inside I was trembling with fear that someone wouldsee through my defenses to the real me.

If you saw who I really was, you would turn awayin disgust or use my many weaknesses to destroy me.One way or the other I was convinced Id be hurt. Icouldnt allow that to happen, so I kept the real meveiled behind a force field of rough-edged attitude.How I got to this place is still a mystery to me.

I grew up in a loving middle-class home. We hadour problemswhat family doesnt? But there was noabuse, verbal or physical, and it certainly couldnt besaid my parents didnt do the best they could by me.My grandfathers were alcoholic, and I was raised onstories of how it had ravaged their lives and the livesof those around them. Nope, I didnt want to be an al-coholic.

In my early teen years I began to be bothered by309


feelings that I didnt fit in. Until this point, I had ignored the fact that I wasnt one of the in crowd. Ithought if I tried hard enough I would fit in sooner orlater. At fourteen I stopped trying. I quickly discov-ered the soothing effects of a drink. Telling myself Iwould be more careful than my unfortunate grandpar-ents, I set out to feel better.

Drinking released me from the suffocating fear, thefeelings of inadequacy, and the nagging voices at theback of my head that told me I would never measureup. All of those things melted away when I drank. Thebottle was my friend, my companion, a portable vaca-tion. Whenever life was too intense, alcohol wouldtake the edge off or obliterate the problem altogetherfor a time.

Blackouts became my goal. Though it may soundstrange, they never frightened me. My life was or-dered by school and by home. When I blacked out, Isimply went on autopilot for the remainder of the day.The thought of going through my teen years without asingle memory of its passing was very appealing.

I hadnt given up on life, just childhood. Adults hadit made. They made all the rules. Being a kid stunk.If I could hold out until I was eighteen, everythingwould turn around. I had no idea at the time how truethose words would prove to be.

Diving headfirst into what remained of the subcul-ture left over from the sixties, I took party till youthrow up to new levels. I liked drinking. I liked theeffect alcohol had on me. I didnt like throwing up atall. I soon discovered there were other substances Icould take that would help me control my drinking.



A little bit of this or that, and I could nurse a drink allnight. Then I had a good time and didnt throw up.

In no time at all I had arrived, or so I thought. I hada bunch of friends to hang around with. We did excit-ing things: skipping school, taking road trips, drinkingwere all a part of this new life. It was great for a while.Getting hauled into the principals office or beingquestioned by the police, things I would have beenashamed of before, were badges of honor. My abilityto come through these events without giving away in-formation or being unnerved brought me respect andtrust among my peers.

Outwardly I was a young woman who was comfort-able with herself. Yet ever so slowly these actions thatI knew deep down were wrong started eating holes inme. My first reaction was to drink more. The outcomewasnt what I expected. I continued to raise my intakewithout the desired effect. Blackouts became few andfar between. It didnt seem to matter how much Idrank or in what combination with other substances;I could no longer find the relief I sought.

Life at home was falling apart around me. Everytime I turned around Id done something to make mymother cry. At school they were looking for ways to berid of me. The vice principal made it a point to explainhis position to me in no uncertain terms: Straightenup, or you are out on your ear. For good.

I started the painful spiral to my bottom a scant twoyears into my drinking career. Knowing I had to grad-uate, I made adjustments to my lifestyle to stay inschool. I watched as my friends continued to have fun.A depression settled over me, encasing me in a grayhaze. I couldnt skip school anymore; my boyfriend

MY CHANCE TO LIVE 311


came home from boot camp with another girl; mymother was still crying, and it was all my fault.

There were several attempts at suicide. Im gratefulto say I wasnt very good at it. Then I decided since Iwasnt having fun anymore, Id quit drinking andusing. I mean, why waste good booze if youre goingto feel just as bad drunk as sober? I held no hope forfeeling better when I stopped. I just didnt want towaste the booze.

It never occurred to me that I couldnt stop. Everyday I concocted some new method of staying sober: IfI wear this shirt, I wont drink. If Im with this person,or in this place, I wont drink. It didnt work. Everymorning I woke up with a new resolve to stay sober.With few exceptions, by noon I was so messed up Icouldnt tell you my name.

The voices in my head became even more and morevicious. With each failed attempt, my head said: See,you failed again. You knew you wouldnt feel better.Youre a loser. Youre never going to beat this. Whyare you even trying? Just drink until youre dead.

On the rare days I managed to make it past noon,there were few brave enough to get within a hundredyards of me. I was not a nice person sober. I was angryand frightened, and I wanted you to feel as terribleas I did. A few times I had drinks pushed on me:Here, drink this; then maybe you wont be so diffi-cult. I always had a nasty retort, and then took whatwas offered. Toward the end I prayed every night forGod to take me in my sleep, and I cursed Him in themorning for allowing me to live.

It was never my intention to end up in A.A. Ifsomeone mentioned perhaps I drank too much, I



laughed at them. I didnt drink any more than myfriends. I never got drunk when I didnt want tonever mind that I always wanted to. I couldnt be analcoholic. I was too young. Life was my problem.Other substances were my problem. If I could just geta handle on things, then I could drink.

I got a job as a waitress at a local pancake house.Our late hours attracted a wide variety of clientele, in-cluding some members of Alcoholics Anonymous.They were not my favorite people to wait on. They, infact, drove me to drink. They were loud, hard toplease. They table-hopped and didnt tip very well. Iwaited on the same bunch for six weeks in a row be-fore finally being granted the night off.

Now, I had been thinking that my problem was insanity, and what happened on my night off clinchedit: I missed this motley crew who had plagued my ex-istence for over a month. I missed the laughter andtheir bright smiles. I went and had coffee with them.

Through a chain of events I choose to believe werethe actions of my Higher Power, they convinced me togo to a meeting. I was told it was a special A.A. an-niversary open meeting, which meant that anyonecould attend. I thought to myself: What could it hurt?I wait on these people; perhaps it will help me to bet-ter understand them.

On the designated evening I arrived to find that theanniversary meeting was the following week, but theytook a vote and decided I could stay. I was shockedand humbled. These people wanted me around? Itwas a concept I had trouble accepting. I stayed andlistened, careful to let them know I didnt have a problem.



I attended the anniversary meeting the followingweek with no intention of ever going to another meet-ing. I wasnt an alcoholic. I had other problems thatneeded attention; then I would be okay. The nextweek a friend, who was admittedly an alcoholic, askedme if I was going to the meeting. My head went intohyper-speed. If this person thought I needed to go,perhaps I did. But I wasnt an alcoholic.

I attended the meeting and decided drugs were myproblem. I stopped using them completely from thatnight forward. The result was a sharp increase in mydrinking. I knew this would never do. Staggeringhome one night, it occurred to me that perhaps if Istopped drinking, just for a while, maybe I could get ahandle on things and then I could drink again.

It took about three months for me to realize I wasmy problem and drinking made my problem muchworse. The other substances were simply tools to con-trol my drinking. Given a choice, Id take a drink overthe other stuff in a heartbeat. Angry doesnt begin todescribe how I felt when I had to admit I was an alcoholic.

Even though I was grateful not to be nuts, as Idfirst supposed, I felt cheated. All the people I saw sit-ting around the tables of Alcoholics Anonymous hadbeen granted many more years of drinking than I. Itjust wasnt fair! Someone pointed out to me that lifewas rarely fair. I wasnt amused, but extending mydrinking career simply wasnt an option anymore.

Ninety days sober cleared my thinking enough tomake me realize Id hit bottom. If I were to go backto drinking, it would be just a matter of time beforeone of two things happened: Id succeed at suicide, or



Id start the life of the living dead. Id seen what thelatter looked like, and real death was preferable.

At this point I surrendered. I admitted I was an al-coholic without a clue what to do about it. Many ofthe people around me wanted me to go to treatment,but I resisted. I didnt want the kids at school to knowwhat was going on. If I went to treatment, theyd allknow within a week. More importantly, I was afraid. Iwas afraid the treatment center would test me and say,Youre not an alcoholic. Youre just crazy. My heartknew this wasnt true. My head took a bit more con-vincing. The thought of having A.A. taken away fromme was terrifying. A.A. was my anchor in a sea of con-fusion. Anything that might pose a threat to my senseof security was quickly thrust away. I didnt have any-thing against treatment centers then, nor do I now. Isimply didnt want to go, and I didnt.

I did stay sober. One summer with people who en-joyed life sober was all it took for me to want sobrietymore than I wanted a drink. I will not tell you I dideverything I was told, when I was told, how I was told,because I didnt. Like most people new to the pro-gram I set out to find an easier, softer way. As the BigBook suggests, I could not.

When I couldnt find an easier, softer way, I lookedfor the person with the magic wand, the one person inA.A. who could make me all better, right now. Thiswas a frustrating task, and I finally realized that if Iwanted this life, I was going to have to do what theothers had done. No one made me drink, and no onewas going to make me stay sober. This program is forpeople who want it, not people who need it.

If everyone who needed A.A. showed up, we would



be bursting at the seams. Unfortunately, most nevermake it to the door. I believe I was one of the luckyones. Not just because I found this program at such ayoung age; I feel fortunate that I found A.A. at all. Myapproach to drinking brought me to the jumping-offplace described in the Big Book much faster than any-one could have imagined.

Im convinced if I had continued on my course, Iwouldnt have survived much longer. I dont believe Iwas smarter than anyone else, as Im often told bythose who came in at a later age. It was my time, mychance to live, and I took it. If there had still been joyin my drinking or even a remote chance of the joy returning, I would not have stopped drinking whenI did.

No one who drank as I did wakes up on the edgeof the abyss one morning and says: Things look prettyscary; I think Id better stop drinking before I fall in.I was convinced I could go as far as I wanted, and thenclimb back out when it wasnt fun anymore. Whathappened was, I found myself at the bottom of thecanyon thinking Id never see the sun again. A.A.didnt pull me out of that hole. It did give me the toolsto construct a ladder, with Twelve Steps.

Sobriety is nothing like I thought it would be. Atfirst it was one big emotional roller coaster, full ofsharp highs and deep lows. My emotions were new,untested, and I wasnt entirely certain I wanted to dealwith them. I cried when I should have been laughing.I laughed when I should have cried. Events I thoughtwere the end of the world turned out to be gifts. Itwas all very confusing. Slowly things began to even



out. As I began to take the steps of recovery, my rolein the pitiful condition of my life became clear.

If asked what the two most important things in re-covery are, I would have to say willingness and action.I was willing to believe that A.A. was telling me thetruth. I wanted to believe it was true in a way I cannotrelate in words. I wanted this thing to work. Then I be - gan to take the course of action prescribed.

Following the principles laid out in the Big Bookhas not always been comfortable, nor will I claim per-fection. I have yet to find a place in the Big Book thatsays, Now you have completed the Steps; have a nicelife. The program is a plan for a lifetime of daily liv-ing. There have been occasions when the temptationto slack off has won. I view each of these as learningopportunities.

When I am willing to do the right thing, I am re-warded with an inner peace no amount of liquor couldever provide. When I am unwilling to do the rightthing, I become restless, irritable, and discontent. It isalways my choice. Through the Twelve Steps, I havebeen granted the gift of choice. I am no longer at themercy of a disease that tells me the only answer is todrink. If willingness is the key to unlock the gates ofhell, it is action that opens those doors so that we maywalk freely among the living.

Over the course of my sobriety I have experiencedmany opportunities to grow. I have had struggles andachievements. Through it all I have not had to take adrink, nor have I ever been alone. Willingness and ac-tion have seen me through it all, with the guidance ofa loving Higher Power and the fellowship of the pro-gram. When Im in doubt, I have faith that things will



turn out as they should. When Im afraid, I reach forthe hand of another alcoholic to steady me.

Life has not heaped monetary riches upon my head,nor have I achieved fame in the eyes of the world. Myblessings cannot be measured in those terms. Noamount of money or fame could equal what hasbeen given me. Today I can walk down any street,anywhere, without the fear of meeting someone Iveharmed. Today my thoughts are not consumed withcraving for the next drink or regret for the damage Idid on the last drunk.

Today I reside among the living, no better, no worsethan any of Gods other children. Today I look in themirror when putting on my makeup and smile, ratherthan shy away from looking myself in the eye. Today Ifit in my skin. I am at peace with myself and the worldaround me.

Growing up in A.A., I have been blessed with chil-dren who have never seen their mother drunk. I havea husband who loves me simply because I am, and Ihave gained the respect of my family. What morecould a broken-down drunk ask for? Lord knows it ismore than I ever thought possible, and ever so muchmore than I deserved. All because I was willing to be-lieve A.A. just might work for me too.



(6)

STUDENT OF LIFE

Living at home with her parents, she tried usingwillpower to beat the obsession to drink. But it wasntuntil she met another alcoholic and went to an A.A.meeting that sobriety took hold.

I started drinking at age eighteen, rather a latebloomer by todays standards. But after I started,the disease of alcoholism hit me with a vengeanceand made up for lost time. After I had been drinkingfor several years and seriously wondering if I did indeed have a problem with alcohol, I read one of theAre You an Alcoholic? quiz-type checklists. Muchrelieved, I found that almost nothing applied to me:I had never lost a job, a spouse, children, or any ma-terial possessions through alcohol. The fact that mydrinking hadnt allowed me to gain any of those thingscrossed my mind only after I came into A.A.

I cant blame one ounce of my drinking on my up-bringing. My parents were loving and supportive andhave been married thirty-five years. No one else in myfamily exhibits alcoholic drinking or alcoholic behavior.For some reason, despite the resources available to megrowing up, I developed into an adult woman terrifiedof the world around me. I was extremely insecure,though I was careful to hide this fact. I was unable tohandle and understand my emotions; I always felt as ifeveryone else knew what was going on and what they

319


were supposed to be doing, and my life was the only onethat was delivered without an instruction book.

When I discovered alcohol, everything changed. Itook my first real drink my first night at college. I at-tended what was to be the first of many, many frater-nity parties. I didnt care for the beer, so I went to thevat of innocuous-looking punch. I was told it was lacedwith grain alcohol. I dont remember how many drinksI had, and my recollections of the actual events of therest of the night are fuzzy, but I do remember thismuch: When I was drinking, I was okay. I understood.Everything made sense. I could dance, talk, and enjoybeing in my own skin. It was as if I had been an un-finished jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing; as soonas I took a drink, the last piece instantly and effort-lessly snapped into place.

I dont remember getting home that night, and Iwoke up the next morning completely dressed andin full makeup. I was sick as a dog, but I managedto crawl into the shower and prepare for my first college class. I sat through the entire class pleadingwith my eyes to the professor to let us out early. Hekept us to the bell, and when it rang, I flew into thewomens room, crashed into the first stall, and threweverything up.

The insanity of the disease had already manifesteditself. I recall thinking, as I knelt retching in the stall,that this was fantastic. Life was great; I had finallyfound the answeralcohol! Yes, I overdid it the nightbefore, but I was new to this game. I only had to learnhow to drink right and I was set.

I attempted to drink right for the next eight years.My progression was phenomenal; there is absolutely



no period in my drinking career that can be describedas social drinking. I blacked out almost every time Iput alcohol in my system, but I decided I could livewith that; it was a small price to pay for the power andconfidence alcohol gave me. After drinking for lessthan six months, I was almost a daily drinker.

I wound up on academic probation (I had alwaysbeen on the honor roll in high school) my first semes-ter sophomore year, and my response to that was tochange my major. My life on campus revolved aroundparties, drinking, and men. I surrounded myself withpeople who drank as I did. Even though several peo-ple had already expressed their concern over mydrinking, I rationalized that I was only doing whatevery other red-blooded college student did.

Somehow I managed to graduate, but while most ofmy friends were securing good jobs and abruptly stop-ping their boozing, I seemed to be left behind oncampus. I had resolved that I, too, would now settledown and drink properly, but to my frustration Ifound I could not do so.

I took a pitiful sales job that paid next to nothing, soI continued to live with my parents. I kept this job fortwo years for one reasonit allowed me to drink withminimal interference. My pattern was to pick up afifth of whiskey somewhere during my round of ap-pointments and keep it under the car seat with me.When I got home in the evening, I drank at least halfthe fifth in front of the television set and watched re-runs until I passed out. And I did this every night, bymyself, for almost two years. I had become a daily, iso-lated drinker and was starting to get a little nervous.

My behavior at this point was textbook: I was stash-

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ing bottles all over the house; sneaking drinks from myparents small supply when I ran out; rationing thenumber of bottles I threw away at the same time sothe trash bags wouldnt clink; refilling my parentsvodka and gin bottles with water; and so on. I had alsoresorted to videotaping my favorite reruns while I waswatching them because I always blacked out beforethe ending.

About this time the TV movie My Name Is BillW., about the co-founder of A.A., was aired.Intrigued, I sat down with my whiskey and soda bot-tles to watch it. When Bill whipped out a flask in thecar to bolster himself before a visit with his father-in-law, I heaved a sigh of relief. Oh, Im not that bad,I thought to myself. I then proceeded to get drunkand to black out; I dont remember any more ofthe movie.

My parents were at a total loss. I was goingnowhere and I was irritable and hostile. Since theyhad no experience with alcoholism, they had no ideawhat was wrong with me or what to do about it, andneither did I. I knew I drank too much and that mylife was miserable, but I never made the connectionbetween those two conditions. My parents made theonly suggestion that then made sense to themtheyoffered to help me financially if I wanted to go backto school. Seeing no other way out, I jumped at theopportunity.

I spent two years in graduate school 750 miles fromhome. I can honestly say I know why they call it a ge-ographical cure. For about nine months, I was able tocut my drinking down sharply. I still drank almostevery day, but not to the point of my usual stupors,



and I didnt black out very often. I was able to con-centrate on my schoolwork that first year and makelots of friends. However, geographical cures are onlytemporary; mine lasted a little less than a year. Afterabout ten months or so, I slowly started to slide backinto my old patterns. Steadily, I worked my way backto the same quantities of whiskey I drank at home,and the blackouts returned. My grades started todrop, and my friends started to wonder. I even beganwatching reruns againI had brought my homemadevideotapes with me to school.

Fortunately, I managed to graduate, but I had gonenowhere. After graduation, I returned to my parentshouse, as I had been unsuccessful in securing a job. Iwas back. I was back in my old bedroom, back to thesame routine of drinking every evening until I passedout, and it was getting worse. I was starting earlier andearlier and consuming more and more liquor. I had nojob, no friends; I saw no one but my parents.

I was beyond frustration at this point. Hadnt I doneeverything that was expected of me? Hadnt I gradu-ated from college and gone on to earn a masters de-gree? I had never gone to jail, crashed any cars, or gotinto trouble like a real alcoholic would. When I wasworking, I never missed a day because of drinking. Inever ran myself into debt, nor had I abused a spouseor children. Sure I drank a lot, but I didnt have aproblem; how could I when I hadnt done any of thethings that prove youre an alcoholic? So what was theproblem? All I really wanted was a decent job so Icould be independent and productive. I could not un-derstand why life just wouldnt cut me a break.

I did odd projects around the house for my parents

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to earn my keep until I took a job for a local entre-preneur. This job did not offer much opportunity foradvancement, nor did it pay very well, but it got meout of the house, and it was challenging in many ways.At this point I was in a vicious battle to control mydrinking. I knew that if I took only one drink, Id losecomplete control and drink until I passed out.Nevertheless, I tried day after day to beat this obses-sion with alcohol.

I picked up a half gallon of whiskey one day afterwork and drank over one-third of it in less than fourhours that same night. I was so sick the next day, butI made it to work. When I got home from work, I saton my parents sofa and knew, I knew, I would startworking on the half gallon again, despite the fact thatI was still very ill from the night before. I also knewthat I did not want to drink. Sitting on that sofa, I re-alized that the old I could stop if I wanted to, I justdont want to didnt apply here, because I did notwant to drink. I watched myself get up off the sofaand pour myself a drink. When I sat back down on thesofa, I started to cry. My denial had cracked; I believeI hit bottom that night, but I didnt know it then; I justthought I was insane. I proceeded to finish the halfgallon.

Six months later my boss flew me to California for atrade show. I hated working the shows, but I loved totravel, so I went. I was extremely nervous about thistrip because my boss liked to party and we were fly -ing in a guy our age from Hawaii to work the showwith us. At this point I had managed to hold togetherthirty-one days without a drink, and I was terrifiedthat I would give in to the temptation of being on an



all-expenses-paid trip in a fun city with two party ani-mals. It had been very difficult for me to stay dry forthirty-one days; the obsession spoke to me every day.

I arrived late on a Friday and managed not to drinkthat night. The next morning at the show, I was of-fered the gift that changed my life. Our Hawaiiansales rep seemed frustrated; I thought he was disap-pointed that he hadnt managed to write an order fora couple he had just finished working with. I wentover to console him. He said, no, his mood had noth-ing to do with the couple; instead, he explained thatjust this week he had lost his girlfriend, dropped outof school, lost his apartment, and also lost his full-timejob. He added, Im an alcoholic. Ive been sober fora year and a half, except I just drank again this pastweek. Im a mess about it.

At that very instant, I heard one word in my head.The word was now. I knew it meant, Say somethingnow!

To my amazement I spoke the words, Mike, I thinkIm one too. Mikes mood instantly changed. I rec -ognize now it was hope. We started talking. Amongother things, I told him I hadnt had a drink for abouta month but didnt go to A.A. When he asked why Ihad avoided A.A., I told him it was because I didntthink I had hit bottom. Somehow he didnt laugh butsaid, You hit bottom when you stop digging. He tookme to my first three A.A. meetings.

It was the second meeting that clinched my resolveto pursue sobriety. There were about thirty-five peo-ple in attendance, but the space was small, so themeeting seemed very crowded. Being from out oftown, I stood up and introduced myself when asked to

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by the chairperson. Later on in the meeting, the chair-person called on me to share. I got up and somehowwalked over to the microphone and podiumIvenever been so nervous in my life. But the words cameout naturally as I described the events that led up tothe meeting that night.

As I spoke, I looked around the room. More impor-tantly, I looked at the faces of the people in the roomand I saw it. I saw the understanding, the empathy,the love. Today I believe I saw my Higher Power forthe first time in those faces. While still up at thepodium, it hit methis is what I had been looking forall my life. This was the answer, right here in front ofme. Indescribable relief came over me; I knew thefight was over.

Later on that night, still reeling in the ecstasy of re-lief and hope, I remembered the afternoon in thebathroom stall at college after my first class when Iwas so certain I had found the answer in alcohol. Icould clearly see now that had been a lie. That is thedescription that fits alcohol best for me; it is a lie, anevil, insidious lie. And I chased that lie for a longtimeeven when it was obvious that I was goingnowhere and killing myself while doing it. At that A.A.meeting, when I looked out over all those faces, I fi-nally saw the truth.

When I returned home, I threw myself into A.A. I didninety meetings in ninety days, got a sponsor, and joineda home group. I did everything that was suggested. Imade coffee, took commitments, and got involved withservice. I rode the roller coaster of early sobriety;every second was worth it to get where I am today.

It is very important to my recovery to study and



work the Steps. To this day, I still make at least twoStep meetings a week. I have a sponsor who guidesme through the Steps gently but firmly, with a sure-handedness I hope I am able to emulate with the twowomen I now sponsor. The Promises have begunto materialize for me, and theres still so much workto do.

It is almost impossible to adequately describe howmuch the program has given me, even in just these sixshort years. I have been financially supporting myselfin my own apartment for five years and plan to buy ahouse next year. Ive secured a good job with a prom-ising futuremy income has increased more than 150percent since I got sober.

But just as material losses are not necessary to indi-cate alcoholism, material gains are not the true indica-tions of sobriety. The real rewards arent material innature. I have friends now because I know how to bea friend and I know how to nurture and encouragevaluable friendships. Instead of the prolonged one-night stands I used to call my boyfriends, there is aspecial man in my life Ive been involved with for al-most five years. And, most importantly, I know who Iam. I know my goals, dreams, values, and boundaries,and I know how to protect, nurture, and validatethem. Those are the true rewards of sobriety, andtheyre what I was looking for all along. I am so grate-ful that my Higher Power stepped in to show me theway to the truth. I pray every day that I never turn myback on it. I came to A.A. in order to stop drinking;what I received in return was my life.

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(7)

CROSSING THE RIVER OF DENIAL

She finally realized that when she enjoyed herdrinking, she couldnt control it, and when she con-trolled it, she couldnt enjoy it.

Denial is the most cunning, baffling, andpowerful part of my disease, the disease of alcoholism. When I look back now, its hard to imagineI didnt see a problem with my drinking. But insteadof seeing the truth when all of the yets (as in, thathasnt happened to meyet) started happening, I justkept lowering my standards.

Dad was an alcoholic, and my mother drankthroughout her pregnancy, but I dont blame my par-ents for my alcoholism. Kids with a lot worse upbring-ings than mine did not turn out alcoholic, while somethat had it a lot better did. In fact I stopped wonder-ing, Why me? a long time ago. Its like a man stand-ing on a bridge in the middle of a river with his pantson fire wondering why his pants are on fire. It doesntmatter. Just jump in! And that is exactly what I didwith A.A. once I finally crossed the river of denial!

I grew up feeling as if I was the only thing keepingmy family together. This, compounded by the fear ofnot being good enough, was a lot of pressure for a lit-tle girl. Everything changed with my first drink at theage of sixteen. All the fear, shyness, and disease evap-orated with that first burning swallow of bourbon

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straight from the bottle during a liquor cabinet raid ata slumber party. I got drunk, blacked out, threw up,had dry heaves, was sick to death the next day, and Iknew I would do it again. For the first time, I felt partof a group without having to be perfect to get approval.

I went through college on scholarships, work studyprograms, and student loans. Classes and work keptme too busy to do much drinking, plus I was en-gaged to a boy who was not alcoholic. However, Ibroke off our relationship during my senior year, afterdiscovering drugs, sex, and rock n rollcompanionsto my best friend, alcohol. I proceeded to explore allthat the late sixties and early seventies offered. Afterbackpacking around Europe, I decided to settle in alarge city.

Well, I made it all right, to full-blown alcoholism. Abig city is a great place to be an alcoholic. Nobody notices. Three-martini lunches, drinks after work, anda nightcap at the corner bar was just a normal day.And didnt everyone have blackouts? I used to jokeabout how great blackouts were because you saved somuch time in transit. One minute youre here, thenext minute youre there! In retrospect, making jokes,just laughing it off helped solidify my unfaltering denial. Another trick was selecting companions whodrank just a little bit more than I did. Then I could always point to their problem.

One such companion led to my first arrest. If thedriver of the car had only pulled over when the policelights flashed, we would have been fine. If, when I hadpractically talked our way out of it, the driver had kepthis mouth shut, we would have been fine. But no, hestarted babbling about how he was in rehab. I got off

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with a misdemeanor, and for years, I completely dis-counted that arrest because it was all his fault. I sim-ply ignored that I had been drinking all day.

One morning while I was at work, a hospital called,telling me to get there quickly. My father was there,dying of alcoholism. He was sixty. I had seen him in hos-pitals before, but this time was different. With stomachsorely distended, swollen with fluids his nonfunctioningkidneys and liver could no longer process, he lingeredfor three weeks. Alcoholic death is very painful and slow.Seeing him die of alcoholism convinced me I couldnever become an alcoholic. I knew too much aboutthe disease, had too much self-knowledge to ever fallprey. I shipped his body back home without attendingthe funeral. I could not even help my grandmotherbury her only son, because by then I was inextricably involved in an affair mired in sex and alcohol.

Plummeting into the pitiful and incomprehensibledemoralization that that relationship became, I hadmy first drunk driving arrest. It terrified me; I couldhave killed someone. Driving in a total blackout, Icame to handing my drivers license to the patrol-man. I swore it would never happen again. Threemonths later it happened again. What I didnt knowthen was that when I put alcohol in my body, Im pow-erless over how much and with whom I drinkallgood intentions drowned in denial.

I remembered joking about how most people spenttheir entire lives without ever seeing the inside of ajail, and here a woman of my stature had been ar-rested three times. But, I would think, Ive neverreally done hard time, never actually spent the nightin jail. Then I met Mr. Wrong, my husband-to-be, and



all that changed. I spent my wedding night in jail. Likeevery other time, however, it wasnt my fault. Therewe were, still in our wedding clothes. If he had justkept his mouth shut after the police arrived, we wouldhave been fine. I had them convinced that he had at-tacked the valet because our wedding money wasmissing. Actually, he thought the valet had stolen themarijuana we were going to smoke. In reality, I was sodrunk I had lost it.

During the interrogation of the valet in the restau-rant parking lot, my husband became so violent the of-ficer put him in the back of the patrol car. When hetried to kick out the rear windows, the policeman re-taliated. I pleaded with the officer as a second police-man arrived, and both bride and groom were taken tojail. It was then that the stolen marijuana cigaretteswere discovered, to my horror, in central booking asthey catalogued my belongings. I was arrested forthree felonies, including drunk and disorderly, andtwo misdemeanors, but it was all my husbands fault. Ihad practically nothing to do with it; he had a drink-ing problem.

I stayed in that abusive marriage for nearly sevenyears and continued to focus on his problem. Towardthe end of the marriage, in my misguided attempts toset a good example for him (plus he was drinking toomuch of my vodka), I mandated no booze in thehouse. Still, why should I be denied a cocktail after re-turning home from a stressful day at the office just be-cause he had a problem? So, I began hiding my vodkain the bedroomand still did not see anything wrongwith this behavior. He was my problem.

I accepted a transfer with a promotion (yes, my pro-

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fessional life was still climbing) shortly after the di-vorce. Now I was sure my problems were over, exceptthat I brought me with me. Once alone in a newplace, my drinking really took off. I did not have to bea good example anymore. For the first time I realizedthat perhaps my drinking was getting a bit out ofhand, but I knew youd drink too if you had my stress:recent divorce, new home, new job, didnt know any-oneand an unacknowledged, progressive diseasethat was destroying me.

Finally, I made some friends who drank just as Idid. Our drinking was disguised as fishing trips andchili cook-offs, but they were really excuses for week-long binges. After a days drinking disguised as soft-ball, I nicked an old womans fender driving home. Ofcourse, it was not my fault; she pulled out in front ofme. That the accident occurred at dusk and I hadbeen drinking since 10:00 a.m. had nothing to do withit. My alcoholism had taken me to such depths of de-nial and heights of arrogance that I waited for the po-lice so theyd know it was her fault too. Well, it didnttake them long to figure it out. Once again, pulledfrom the car, hands cuffed behind my back, I wastaken to jail. But it wasnt my fault. The old broadshouldnt have even been allowed on the road, I toldmyself. She was my problem.

The judge sentenced me to six months in AlcoholicsAnonymous,

Documents

Bigbook Personalstories PartII