One Day at a Time

As previously stated, I failed to recognize the nature of my disease well into my sobriety.  The idea of admitting to my alcoholic nature eluded me for many months.

My third day of recovery found me in a small men's group on a Sunday morning.  I listened as others unraveled complex drunk-a-logs, recounting black-out drinking and demolished lives.  I could not relate.  You see, I was not a black-out drinker.  I rarely drank during daylight hours and never wound up at the bottom of a freeway off ramp begging for change (though I came close).

After listening to yet another woeful diatribe, I finally lifted my hand and expressed the clear disconnect between my story and those around me.  "I don't think I'm an alcoholic," I stated with great assurance. "I never once blacked out, I didn't have to drink as soon as my feet hit the floor in the morning, I didn't lose my home or my job (not true)... I'm just not sure I belong here."

The group stared at me, encumbered in a pregnant pause.  Finally, one genius (and by "genius" I mean "a complete tool who had no business counseling new-comers") spoke up and declared in his infinite wisdom, "Well, maybe you're not an alcoholic.  Maybe you're just a problem drinker."

"What's this?" I thought.  "A problem drinker?  Nobody mentioned THIS little loophole before!" A fortuitous tidbit of information that hit me square in the brain pan.  "Eureka!  That's it!  I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker!  Praise Jesus!"  Little did my half-witted mentor realize, his sliver of unsolicited advice sent me blazing down an unnecessary road of hardship and confusion, nearly wrecking me onto the shores of relapse.  For the next few months, I suffered the rooms of recovery, determined to dive back into the bar scene once I had my little "drinking problem" in check.

When not in meetings, I worked the graveyard shift as a security guard in a bank.  The wee hours of the morning generally found me sitting in a guard shack, tapping the face of my watch to see if the second-hand still functioned.  No radio, no cellphone, no books, no company... just me alone with my thoughts.  I reclined in my chair, planning my first drink.  "Let's see... I think the next time I go to Vegas... yeah, that's when I'll flush this whole sobriety thing down the drain."  Visions of poker chips and Jack Daniels danced through my head.

A few minutes later, a new thought occurred to me, "Well, heck... I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a problem drinker.  So I guess I don't have to wait for Vegas. Maybe I'll pop the cork at the next social event."  I folded my arms across my chest in satisfaction, "Yeah, I'll hop off the wagon at the next party I go to."

In a matter of moments, another inspiration rattled through my brain, "Wait a minute... since I'm not technically an alcoholic, I don't even have to wait for a party.  I can call my buddies and hit the bars this weekend!  They'll be thrilled!  I'm going to call them-"  Before that thought concluded, a new flash of brilliance erupted, "HANG ON A SEC!"  I bolted upright.  "I'm not an alcoholic!  I don't have to wait for the weekend, I can start drinking TONIGHT!"

And with that, the decision was made.  I would get loaded THAT very night.  I leaned back and let out a sigh of relief.

Now, had I punched out the clock at that very moment I most likely would have fulfilled my delusions of relapse.  Fortunately, I had a few more lonely hours on the job, enough time for common sense to creep in.

"Then again," I thought.  "This whole 'sobriety' thing has been pretty cool.  I kinda like going to sleep and waking up, rather than passing out and coming to.  I feel great, I'm happy, and I'm getting so much more done with my days.  I mean, if I think about it, nothing really special happened today that I need to celebrate.  For that matter, nothing really bad happened that I need to forget about.  Bottom line, there's no good reason to drink today.  Maybe something will happen tomorrow and I'll have a good reason to drink.  Just not today.  Just... not... today."  Then it dawned on me, "Not today... one day at a time." I leapt from my chair, "ONE DAY AT A TIME!  That's what that means!"

Thus, my moment of clarity.  I took the first step and my obsession was lifted.

I didn't want to be an alcoholic.  I tried, with great fervor, to convince myself I wasn't like "those people" in the rooms of recovery.  Their story was not mine.  A solitary night in a guard shack illuminated the singular truth that would forever stay with me - the unique nature of my drinking did not qualify me as an alcoholic, the commonality did.

From that day on, I learned to look for the similarities rather than the differences.