The Two Stages of My Alcoholism (there is no 3rd Stage)

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been realizing that there really are only two stages in my alcoholism: the first stage was when I could stop and the second stage is when I couldn't stop.  For me, there was and is no third stage.

My first stage started from the time when I took my first drink, I was probably 17 years old.  When I took that drink, strangely enough, I took it with the clear intent that if I was going to do this, I was going to do it without becoming an alcoholic like my dad.  When I was 21, my dad's drinking took off downhill and he gradually descended into a lonely and isolated existence and eventually death.  My way of proving to my self that I was not an alcoholic like him was to demonstrate the ability to stop drinking.  And whenever my drinking looked like it was coming close to alcoholic, I would stop.  The only problem to this strategy was that I would always reach a point in time when I'd realize that I had "really" stopped and therefore, I was not an alcoholic.  And inevitably, whenever I proved to myself that I wasn't an alcoholic, I would drink!  Isn't that the perfect test for alcoholism?

That first stage lasted almost 30 years.  It ultimately ended when my son entered an adolescent chemical dependency program when he was 15.  In order for him to get into that program, my wife and I had to agree to a couple of conditions, the most crisis-invoking for me was the one that "strongly suggested" that I stop all alcohol and drug use while my son was in that 3-6 month outpatient program.  That's the moment I moved into the second stage of my alcoholism, the "I can't stop" stage.  I knew as soon as the counselor (a recovering heroin addict now psychologist...) asked me to stop that there was no way in hell that I was going to be able to stop.  And I knew equally well that I could not tell them (my wife and son were also in the room) that I could not stop.  So I lied and convinced them that I would certainly stop if it would help my son learn how to "live life without chemical assistance" as they referred to their plan for him and now his mother and me.

I hid my drinking successfully from everyone but me and the strangers who saw me drinking for another 10 months.  At the end of 5 months, my son experienced some sort of change and things all clicked for him.  He's been clean now for almost 10 years.  I watched him from a safe distance for another 5 months and then one night I went to pick him up after his Friday night Marijuana Anonymous meeting (he went to every 12 step program there was before ultimately finding a home in NA...) and he smelled liquor on my breath.  He asked, without anger, if I had been drinking and I lied.  I wanted to tell him the truth -- not only had I been drinking while he was in that meeting, I had done the same thing for almost 10 months while he was going to 10 to 14 meetings a week.  I drank almost everytime after dropping him off at a meeting.  But what kept me from telling him the truth was that if he knew I was drinking, he would begin expecting me to stop.

And I simply could not stop!

He accepted my assertion and left me to my misery.  The next morning, I woke up at 6am with the clarity of thought: I can't stop drinking!  I'd had that same thought every morning for 10 months and for many mornings before that....  But that morning, a second thought came to me: not being able to stop is called alcoholism and alcoholism is a disease.  My body is different. 

All of a sudden everything I had been doing in relation to my drinking made perfect sense!  I couldn't stop because my body was different!  Wow!  What followed then was another thought and that was, I can do something about this.  I can do what Pat has been doing.  I can try to stay sober for one day.

You know, when I hear people talk about the day or moment that they were finally able to stop drinking, I cringe inside.  You see, I have decided not to describe what happened that morning of October 20, 2001 as the morning I stopped drinking.  Not even for one day.  What happened that morning is that I "stopped stopping" and starting putting effort into staying sober a day at a time.

So now whenever I hear someone come back into the program, full of shame and guilt for having drank "again", I suspect that much of their guilt and shame is based on the false idea that they are the only one in the room "who can't stop drinking."  What I try to do, as gently and as kindly as I can, is let them know that they are not alone in the room.  You see, I can't stop drinking either!  And the solution I found over nine years ago was that instead of trying to stop, I just redirected my attention toward the goal of staying sober today.

For me, there is no third stage of alcoholism.  This is a physical, permanent and progressive disease.  That doesn't go away, doesn't get cured.  What happened for me, as the result of some moment of grace and the impact of witnessing my own son's recovery from this same hopeless state of mind and body, is that I woke up and accepted who and what I was: an alcoholic, pure and simple.  Once I passed into the second stage of this disease, the only possible outcomes were ever increasing suffering and isolation, death or recovery.

Recovery has involved much work, but within a fairly short period of time, the process seems to have taken on a life of its own.  I don't do things with the intent to stay sober or to avoid the first drink.  I do the things  because they fill my life with meaning, peace, joy, purpose and love.  My life is full, if not overflowing.  I am connected to a large web of other recovering alcoholics and much of my day is spent doing something to help another alcoholic in a myriad of ways. 

Take care!

Mike L.

The One Obstacle to Grace

This morning, the chairperson at the meeting was telling her beautiful recovery story when she got to the moment where for some strange reason she too was able to stop drinking.  It happened one morning in January 1999.  It was seemingly no different from any of the mornings over the last few years since she really started trying to get and stay sober.  During those two years, she'd started going to AA and she kept going back even after she would drink again.  Then came this one morning where she woke up and something different happened.  Something changed.

As she talked more about this particular morning, she wondered aloud,"I don't know what was different on that morning."  Nothing, as far as she could tell, had changed.  It was a morning like many many others that followed another attempt to drink like a normal person.  That history notwithstanding, that morning she was struck by a new resolve born of desperation:  she was going to do "whatever it took" to stay sober that day.  Now, 11 years later, she still really doesn't have any idea what really changed that morning to allow her sobriety to take hold and to last--at the very least--until this day.

As soon as she talked about that special morning -- I became entranced with my own memories of my special morning almost 9 years ago.  You see, I had that same identical experience of having many months of waking up confronted by the same idea: "I can't stop drinking!!"   And like her, on my special morning something changed and I knew it as soon as it happened.  For some reason, that morning I had a second thought follow the first: "Not being able to stop drinking is called alcoholism.  And alcoholism is a disease."  Wow.  Or rather, Duh!  A 1st Step moment.

What's a little strange is that I had already known the fact about alcoholism being a disease for many years--at least at a head level, but it had never sunk to heart level until that special morning.  I suppose that in the past, I'd always thought I could either overcome that inability with even greater willpower or I could just give up trying and just do my best to not get caught.  It was a disease that would or could go away.  Not one that would always be a part of me.

Today, when the chairperson wondered aloud that she didn't have a clue as to what happened that morning, I realized that something I had read last night that seemed to hold the answer to this question, at least for me.  Last night before going to bed, I was reading another book by David Richo, this one called When Love Meets Fear. In it, he said something along the lines of this:

The one obstacle to grace is control.

That's what happened to me that special morning of October 20, 2001!  On that day I gave up trying to control my drinking.  I realize now that trying to stop drinking is yet another attempt to to control not alcohol, but to control alcoholism.  Prior to that morning, I was trying to stop drinking only as a means to avoid being an alcoholic.  And in my insane mind, stopping drinking was the only way to avoid being or becoming an alcoholic.  And I just did not want to be an alcoholic like my dad (or even my son!). 

The thought or desire to be someone other than who you are is insane.  And that's why I'd never been able to stop drinking: because as soon as I'd convince myself that I had stopped, then I'd say to myself, "Well, you've stopped!  Therefore, you're not really an alcoholic!"  And inevitably, like most alcoholics who finally convince themselves that they are really not an alcoholic: I'd celebrate by drinking!

What happened to me that special morning was that I unknowingly (but willingly) gave up my control over my alcoholism and my never-ending problem with stopping drinking.  And as result, I think, grace was able to step into the process.  Grace: an unmerited gift.  As a result of grace, I was able to stop stopping.  As a result of grace, I was able to start trying to stay sober, as an alcoholic, one day at a time.

What I'm focusing on today is the fact that control has many forms and manifestations in my life today.  Control will lead me to believe that a particular feeling, say anxiety, depression, sadness, or loneliness, should be allowed to be or to surface.  And as a result of that decision of control, I then choose to seek some alternative or escape to the undesirable or unwanted feeling.  I run.  I go to a meeting.  I get up and do anything other than just sit.  I try to use some AA tool, like writing a gratitude list, as a surefire means of avoiding the feelings that want to see the light of day.  True, these are all better choices to drinking!  But they are similar ways of controlling life as life is.  Not something I want to do.  [I know, grace is not retroactive -- it's always right here, right now--so I don't need to waste time beating myself up for all my past attempts to avoid reality or to run from feelings.]

Over the next week, I'm going to try and become more aware of these moments which tend to lead me to unskilled attempts to control what's coming up naturally from within.  I'm going to try and let those feelings be just as they are for at least one minute more than I would habitually do previously.  I'm going to try and be open to moments of grace.

And I'm apparently going to do that while I'm in Las Vegas, Nevada where I'm heading now for a five day business conference!  There's something hilarious in this plan to be sure.

Take care!

Mike L.

"I Just Can't Stop Drinking!"

I suppose that since I've always gone to many meetings (over 1 a day average over 8 years) that there are few things that can be said in an AA meeting that really bother me.  That said, there are a couple of statements that always have a visceral impact on me when I hear people say them in an AA meeting.  One is when a newcomer comes in to the rooms and says something along the lines of "I realize now that I need to stop drinking... for the rest of my life."   It's the "rest of my life" comment that makes my stomach twist and tighten.  Another comment is when people describe their moment of clarity as the point in time when the were finally able to stop drinking and they say something like, "I stopped drinking...".  In that phrase it's the "I" that ends up causing an immediate visceral reaction in me.  I not only don't relate to people's plan to never drink again for the rest of their lives or to alcoholic's claim to have stopped, I get concerned, if not outright nervous, that such approaches to sobriety are shaky foundations to longer term sobriety.

Yesterday I was at the 6:30am Concord Fellowship meeting and at the time when the secretary asked if there were any newcomers, a guy raised his hand and said that he was an alcoholic and had only a few days.  He wasn't sure how many days, but he looked pretty beaten down.  I'd seen this guy come in and go out of the meetings many times in the last 3-4 years.  Everytime he came back in, his life situation got worse and worse.  He would get a sponsor and begin the steps, but it seemed that he'd always disappear again within 3-6 months.  Yesterday seemed no different except for the fact that his life situation was even worse after this last relapse: ex-wife was dying of cancer and older son was facing 25 to life for abusing his son -- the newcomer's grandson.

After the chair had shared his story, he eventually called on this newcomer and asked him if he'd like to share.  The man told us of his worsening life situation and ended with a heartfelt admission that he "just can't stop drinking!"   As the meeting went on to other shares, I couldn't stop thinking about that comment, "I can't stop drinking!"  It was the one thing that I most related to in the whole meeting that day.  While I suspected that the newcomer felt he was the only one in that room that couldn't stop drinking -- I knew in my core that that was really the one thing that this guy had most in common with everyone in that room --- or at least, I knew that he and I both shared the same basic inability to stop drinking.  I eventually shared that view with the group, in a subtle form of crosstalk directed at this newcomer, and told him that I thought the idea that we are the only ones in the room who "can't stop drinking" is a mistaken belief.  In my view, the one thing I most have in common with other alcoholics, most particularly those in recovery, is the inability to stop drinking.

In fact, I think that's the good news of the AA program from the beginning.  In AA we discover that we can't stop drinking because we are powerless over alcohol.  We are powerless over alcohol in the sense that our bodies process alcohol differently than non-alcoholics and because of the nature of that particular disease, we are unable to change or alter that fact.  Our only solution then is to give up trying to stop drinking (as that's impossible for us) and to begin trying to stay sober today.  Just for today.  Not tomorrow.  Not for the rest of our lives.  Just for today.  And if today's too much for us, we can narrow the scope down even further: Just for this hour.  Just for this minute.  Just for now.  And now, just for now.

As I was talking, I glanced over at the newcomer and tears were falling down his cheeks.  And I knew that I'd touched something in him.  And then I stopped.  To go further would be to lecture. 

After the newcomer had originally raised his hand at the beginning of the meeting, the secretary had asked for members of the group who were willing and able to sponsor men to raise their hands.  Because I already have at least a dozen active sponsees, I didn't think I could take on another sponsee at this time in my life.  I was tremendously proud though when I looked across the room and see one of my sponsee's raise his hand and offer his service in this regard.  I've always thought that he would make a great sponsor despite my poor example.

At the end of the meeting, I did go over and hug the newcomer and tell him to hang in there.  Things were going to get better (and worse) if he found a way to stay sober today.  That said, it goes without question that if he's unable to stay sober today, things would continue to get worse and worse and that that progression downward would pickup more and more steam the longer it took him to get and stay sober, one day at a time.  I also suggested to him (and to my sponsee) that it might be a good idea for him to get into a detox facility sooner rather than later (he was addicted not only to the drug alcohol, but to some other very powerful drugs that make his situation all the more tragic/urgent).

I wish him well.  This is not a pretty disease.

Take care!

Mike L.

The Three Ps of Alcoholism: My Answer

Several people tried their best, but no one was able to come up with my answers to this riddle....except me.  Funny how your own riddles are easiest to solve!  Anyway, without further ado, here are my answers to the question/riddle in regards to the Three Ps of Alcoholism and how all of them end up being summarized by the one word, Powerlessness:

The disease of alcoholism, as described in the long version of the first step (p.30 of the Big Book), is:

1.  Physical or Physiological in nature:  "Most of us were unwilling to admit that we were real alcoholics. No person likes to think they are bodily or mentally different from their fellows."  One of the most important aspects of this disease to me was that it was physiological in nature.  My disease was not a moral failure on my part.  My past actions in relation to alcohol weren't due to a weakness of moral fiber or willpower: everything became clear to me when I woke up and realized that my body processed alcohol differently than those who were not alcoholics.   Ahhh, that's why I did that and felt that....  When it says here that "no personal likes to think that they are bodily (physically) or mentally (here you may think this is not physical, but I'd challenge you to think about what organ in the body does all the mental stuff (the brain) and that the brain is physical!) different from their fellows." --- I take that to mean that we didn't like to think that we alcoholics were physically different from our non-alcoholic fellows: but too bad!!!  We are different!  And that's ok.

2.  Permanent, not temporary:  "We alcoholics are men and women who have lost the ability to control our drinking. We know no real alcoholic ever recovers control. All of us felt at times that we were regaining control. But such intervals, usually brief, were inevitably followed by still less control which led in time to pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization."  When I was younger, I learned somewhere that alcoholism was a disease but (and I didn't realize this until after I was sober...) somehow I thought that this disease was something more akin to a bout with the flu.  It would come and go.  In this framework, I was able to think that I had a few "alcoholic incidents" over my first 30 years of drinking but that I was always able to recover from those drunken and shame-filled incidents with a new and powerful resolve "never to do that again" -- and I wouldn't!  I would never again drink 151 rum!  I would never again drink beer, then tequila, then scotch, then more beer! (I would, of course, drink tequila, then beer, then more beer, then scotch!)  It was a real awakening to truth the morning I woke up and realized that this disease was no intermittent or temporary: it was permanent.  This was the way my body works and that will never change for the better.  It will, however, change for the worse....which leads me to...

3.  Progressive:   "We are convinced to a man that alcoholics of our type are in the grip of a progressive illness. Over any considerable period of time, we get worse, never better."  This physical and permanent condition is not static in nature: it's progressive.  Progressively worse, not progressively better.  That is, the way my body processes alcohol is such that once I've started putting alcohol into my body, my body will act as though I desperately need more...and more....and more.  There is no amount that will ever be "enough" for any period of time.  What might be enough when I was 20 was no longer enough when I was 30.  And by the time I was 48, I knew that there was really no quantity that would ever be enough.  I was hopeless.

Well, I was hopeless until I discovered through watching my son and two other young people get and stay sober for 5 months and 10 days.  When their success blinded me to my own delusions, I woke up and saw myself as I really was: an alcoholic, a man whose body process alcohol differently than non-alcoholics, whose body would always process alcohol differently and who disease would continue to get worse and worse as long as I kept putting alcohol into this same body.

So when I'm reciting this long version of the 1st step, the most important part of the reading comes in the middle: "We learned that we had to fully concede to our inner most selves that we were [Physically, Permanently and Progressively] alcoholics. This is the first step in recovery. The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed." 

Well, this delusion of mine got smashed October 21, 2001.  The Powerlessness referred to in the Reader's Digest version of the first step found on p.59 of the Big Book, does not get me thinking about me vs. a glass of scotch.  No, powerlessness gets me thinking of the Three Ps: that my Physical body processes alcohol the exact way an alcoholic's body processes alcohol; that my body will always--Permanently--do that and if I were to put alcohol into my body now, this disease would reactivate and begin its Progressive destruction of me, body and soul.  I'm not so much powerless over alcohol as I am powerless to be someone other than who I am: at least in regards to alcohol and other outside solutions to inside problems.  Thank God or Whoever.

If you feel any sense of disappointment that you couldn't figure out my riddle, please don't feel bad.  The only reason that I think this became so clear to me is that I decided to add this long version of the 1st step to my daily routine of reciting things to myself while I drive to/from work every day.  I suspect that I have recited p.30 to myself probably close to a 1,000 times in the last five years.  You try that and you will find things within such a passage that you never saw before.  You'd be amazed at what I've found in How It Works after reciting it a comparable number of times AND hearing it in probably 700+ meetings each of the last almost 8 years:  and I'm still able to hear one "new" word in that passage now that I never saw before!  Shaking my head...  Some are sicker than others.

Take care!

Mike L.

So, What Do You Mean By That?

Last week my son taught me something that I think I'm going to have a hard time learning. When someone says something that I strongly disagree with, he suggests that rather than arguing with them or trying to convince them of the incorrectness of their view (or the correctness of my own) that I simply ask them, "So, what do you mean by that?"

I can't remember what it is I was recounting to my son, but when I had explained what had happened and how poorly my own response had worked, I was stunned by the wisdom of his simple approach. Rather than argue, just ask them what they mean? Word by word if necessary.

Recently, I have gotten embroiled in a testosterone laced argument with another recovery blogger over the issue of whether alcoholism is a disease or a choice. I grabbed on to the word "disease" and he grabbed on to the word "choice" and we started beating each other over the head with our words, getting absolutely nowhere.

In one of our exchanges, he stated that the only thing he and I agreed with is that alcoholism is an allergy. I glossed over that statement until this morning when I realized that I'm not at all clear what the distinction is between something being an allergy but not a disease. I've always considered allergy to be a type or example of a disease. That is, an alcohol allergy is a type of disease.

I guess I should follow my son's advice and ask this guy, "So, what do you mean by disease?" How can alcoholism not be a disease but still be an allergy? And, what do you mean by alcoholism being a "choice"? What choice does the alcoholic have? Drink? Not drink? Can an alcoholic choose to drink "like" a non-alcoholic?

I hate it when my son forgets his role as student and becomes better teacher than dad.

Take care! I've got to go back to school.

Mike L.

The Last Roadblock to AA

I've been watching several people hovering around their bottom recently and it's given me an opportunity to remember back to the time just before I was struck sober and what was going through my mind when I was becoming truly convinced that I was totally incapable of stopping drinking. I remember the time well.

I was totally isolated and alone. Take that back: I was isolated, but I was rarely alone. There were people all about me during most of my days: at work, at home, my wife, my kids. No friends though. There were people all around me though: but I didn't connect with a single one of them at any point in my day. I was totally isolated in my "self" --- I was constantly thinking of when the next opportunity to drink would present itself and what I could do to make that opportunity happen sooner rather than later.

This state of affairs was most painful in two areas: my relationship with my wife and my relationship with my son Pat. My wife and I had been married for about 20 years at that time and there was a part of me that needed and wanted to confide in her what was going on with me. But I simply couldn't. If I told her anything even close to the truth about what was going on with me, it would eventually lead to her coming to the door which led to my drinking. I couldn't tell her how depressed and unhappy I was because she'd want to help me get help. But I was already getting the help I thought I needed and had to have: alcohol. Her kind of help would probably be a therapist any therapist would eventually ask me why I didn't stop drinking and when I answered (should I actually tell the truth---which would be unlikely) with "I can't" he'd naturally conclude that I was an alcoholic and that I needed to do something about that. Like Stop Drinking!

The hell of my existence though was that I couldn't tell people that I couldn't stop drinking because as soon as I did that they'd naturally expect me to....stop drinking! Fuck!!!

So I didn't really talk to my wife for those ten months before I got sober. I mean to talked to her, but I never said anything of significance or truth in terms of what was going on in my head or heart.

In terms of my relationship with my son, who was just beginning his own recovery from his addiction to drugs, it was almost as painful, if not more, as my (non-)relationship with my wife. I'd take him to and from his meetings almost every day between January 2008 and the time of my getting struck sober. While he was in the meetings, I was supposed (so my wife thought) to stay parked outside to wait for him and to make sure that he stayed in the meeting. The trust level between us and Pat was at an all time low.

But it was clear to me that Pat was really trying to get and stay clean and sober. Although there were many relapses in those first 4 months of 2008, something clicked on May 10, 2008 and he's been clean and sober since. But back then, I rationalized with myself that sitting outside of the meetings waiting for Pat and checking to make sure he stayed in the meetings was somehow "disloyal" and "un-trusting" of Pat. So I used that rationalization to make it OK to drive off and find a bar where I could drink while he was in the meetings. Perfect solution to all my problems.

That system worked until it didn't work. Toward the end, I was feeling more and more isolated and in pain. In the short time periods that I was able to drink without getting caught, I wasn't able to get enough alcohol in me to take away the pain. In those first ten months of 2008, I think I only really got dizzying drunk maybe three or four times (typically when I was away from home, but not always).

Toward the end, I would be sitting outside my son's meetings "wishing" that I could go in there and get better like he was getting better. What kept me from doing that? Well, that's the major roadblock that I found blocking my entry into the rooms of AA. The roadblock was that I got it in my head that the people in "those rooms" were people who could stop drinking and that I couldn't go into those rooms until I could stop drinking. That thought kept me out of AA for some days and weeks.

Ultimately what happened was that I woke up one morning after Pat had almost caught me drinking and as soon as I woke up I realized once again that I simply couldn't stop drinking. But for some reason, I then realized that "not being able to stop drinking" IS ALCOHOLISM! And that alcoholism is a disease. It's not my fault. It's just the way things turned out to be. What happened that morning is I truly and completely accepted the truth of my alcoholism and instead of continuing to "try to stop drinking" I began a new strategy: I began trying to stay sober, one day at a time.

That's when the roadblock disappeared for me. I didn't go to AA for another few days because I had some business to take care of first: (1) I needed to tell my wife what had been going on and what I was going to do about it and (2) I needed to tell my son the same thing. Both accepted me without condition and I then went to my first meeting of AA.

I didn't realize for some months what my last roadblock was and I still remember the day and the meeting that this realization came about. I was sitting in a meeting and that morning a young woman came in and raised her hand as being in her first 30 days....again. She'd been a part of that meeting for some time apparently and I could see the shame written all over her face when I said that she'd drank again and was back. I watched her during the whole meeting and I was searching for something I could say that might help her. Toward the end of the meeting I discovered what it was: she was ashamed because she couldn't stop drinking and because she was thinking that the rest of us in that room were able to stop drinking! So I raised my hand and welcomed her back and told her that she wasn't alone in this room, that she wasn't the only person in the room who couldn't stop drinking: because I couldn't, no, I can't stop drinking either! I can't stop drinking either.

Even though I was some months sober, I still perceive myself to be someone who can't stop drinking. What keeps me sober is (1) remembering that I can't stop drinking and (2) that I can try to stay sober today. That strategy had worked then for several months and it's still working today.

Take care!

Mike L.

Anthropomorphizing Alcohol/Alcoholism

"Remember that we deal with alcohol: cunning, baffling, powerful."

"I've been sober for "x" years, but I know that the disease is out there waiting for me to let down my guard. If I do, it will come at me with a vengeance..."

"My alcoholism is still in me....waiting. Lying in wait."

"My alcoholism is still there in me, even when I'm sober: it's like a sleeping tiger. One drink and the tiger will wake up and take back everything that I've gained during my sobriety."

"We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol."

All of these are just a few examples of how we often "anthropomorphize" --ascribe human qualities or characteristics to inanimate objects or other things that are not human -- the chemical "alcohol" and the disease of alcoholism. While I've nodded my head in apparent agreement with those who do this, I truly wonder if it's really helpful to portray alcohol or alcoholism as things they are not. In fact, I am beginning to think that such fantasy can actually become quite dangerous for the recovering alcoholic.

I say that because I think that the end result is that we ultimately begin to think, consciously or not, that our problem is "out there" or "not us." We mistakenly think that our recovery needs to be defensive in nature as though there's something out there that has the ability to trick us into taking a first drink or use some other mind-altering drug. That there's something in us that's really not part of "us" that has somehow invaded our body and who's there whether we consent to it being there or not. Something "foreign." All this leads us to expending large amounts of energy building up our defenses and other walls to this supposed outside problem.

And when do that, we ignore the fact that part of the essence of who we are is "alcoholic" --- there's nothing, not even alcohol itself, that can attack us or get us drunk.

Alcohol itself is not cunning, baffling or powerful. It's a fluid with certain physical characteristics. It doesn't smile, wink or smirk at us from behind the bar, the bottle or the glass. What's cunning, baffling and powerful is our mind which can look at alcohol or other drugs (or anything else "out there") and can see something that can fix our inside problems. That's what's cunning, baffling, powerful! Our mind. Our body. Our memory (or lack thereof).

Alcohol didn't "stop doing something" to or with me on October 20, 2001. What happened on that morning is I had a moment of clarity where, for the first time in my life, I understood that I simply couldn't stop drinking and the reason for that was the fact that I was an alcoholic. That understanding gave me a clear understanding, albeit brief and fleeting and shallow, of my entire life up to that point: everything thing I had done in terms of my drinking and my attempts to control it and use it --- all without becoming an alcoholic like my dad --- became perfectly clear to me. Ahhhh, that's why I did that! And that! And that! etc.

The only thing that alcohol was "doing" in my body at that moment of time the morning of October 20th was continue to dissipate. The physical chemicals making up alcohol continued to dissipate over the next few days, maybe weeks. They went away naturally because they are not me. For me, they are a type of poison or allergen. If I don't put them in me, I'm not bothered by them. From that point on, my struggles in recovery haven't been with the chemical alcohol, they've been with my thinking, my habits, my memories, my feelings, my character, etc. My struggles have been in and with "me!"

When I admitted that I was powerless over alcohol, for me, it wasn't a powerlessness over something "out there." Alcohol can't attack or rape me or make me drink. It's an inanimate object. It doesn't have life or the capabilities of living beings. My powerlessness is that I can't change my reaction to alcohol once it's in my body. My body is allergic to alcohol and once it's in me, I start having an allergic reaction. I start thinking that I can control how much and when I will drink. I start thinking that I will be able to stop when I'm ready. I start thinking that I can get sober tomorrow, or even better, the day/week/month/year/decade after. I start thinking that I will able to get sober before I die. Once I start, I don't seem to have the ability to choose when or where I'm going to stop.

I heard once that we alcoholics, maybe like all human beings, have a tendency to want to find outside solutions to inside problems. What I've been learning during the last 7+ years of recovery is that the solutions to my inside "problems" are to be found within. There's no threat out there that I need to be concerned about. I need to look within. And the paradoxical truth, for me, is that the only way I can find the solution within, is to reconnect also with those who are without: others. Other people. Other alcoholics, drunk, dry or sober. Maybe even an "other" that's beyond all understanding.

Take care!

Mike L.