A few months into my sobriety, a newcomer named David staggered into our hall. He carried around an old beat-up guitar that was missing half its strings, which earned him the moniker "3-String Dave." This kid suffered from a head-first swan dive into rock-bottom. Every inch of 3-String's persona screamed for sobriety.
One problem: David didn't know he had a problem (or more accurately, didn't want to admit it).
One night, David made a statement which was to later become my favorite "newcomer mantra." He turned to me and said, "I'm not an alcoholic. Why just the other night, I went into a bar and sat down for a drink. I told myself I would only have ONE beer and that's what I did. I had one beer and left."
I thought about this for a moment, then asked, "Why'd you leave?" David was clearly perplexed by this enquiry, so I expounded, "Why didn't you stick around, nibble on some pretzels, and watch the game?"
"Oh no," he responded. "I just wanted to prove I wasn't an alcoholic, that I could stop after one. I had one and got out of there."
I laughed, "You realize that's not normal, right? Did you have to put limits on how many cups of coffee you drank tonight? Of course not. You're not addicted to coffee."
He puffed up a bit, “I'm not addicted to beer, either. I can drink all night without a problem. It's not until the end of the night that things get out of control. It's those last couple of drinks that always do me in.”
That's like saying, "I jumped of the cliff and and fell the first ninety feet without a problem … it was that last ten feet that did all the damage." Once we commit to the first few feet, there's no going back. The first foot of free-fall, the point at which we make the decision to jump, is the one that kills us. The moment we step off the clifff, we relinquish control to gravity. Until we realize our inevitable demise lay at the beginning of the journey, rather than the end, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over and over and over again, as David did so many times.
So it is with our disease; it's the first drink that wrecks our night, not the last. The moment we touch the alcohol to our lips, we've just stepped off the cliff. There's no going back. The battle is lost.
In my disease, like David, I was able to “control” my drinking or I was able to “enjoy” my drinking, but I was not able to “control and enjoy” simultaneously. If you have to think about controling and enjoying while drinking then you’re failing at both.
Normies don't think about how many drinks they have at a bar. They don't have to make a deal with themselves to walk away after one or two drinks, they just do it. Everyone else is an alcoholic.
One problem: David didn't know he had a problem (or more accurately, didn't want to admit it).
One night, David made a statement which was to later become my favorite "newcomer mantra." He turned to me and said, "I'm not an alcoholic. Why just the other night, I went into a bar and sat down for a drink. I told myself I would only have ONE beer and that's what I did. I had one beer and left."
I thought about this for a moment, then asked, "Why'd you leave?" David was clearly perplexed by this enquiry, so I expounded, "Why didn't you stick around, nibble on some pretzels, and watch the game?"
"Oh no," he responded. "I just wanted to prove I wasn't an alcoholic, that I could stop after one. I had one and got out of there."
I laughed, "You realize that's not normal, right? Did you have to put limits on how many cups of coffee you drank tonight? Of course not. You're not addicted to coffee."
He puffed up a bit, “I'm not addicted to beer, either. I can drink all night without a problem. It's not until the end of the night that things get out of control. It's those last couple of drinks that always do me in.”
That's like saying, "I jumped of the cliff and and fell the first ninety feet without a problem … it was that last ten feet that did all the damage." Once we commit to the first few feet, there's no going back. The first foot of free-fall, the point at which we make the decision to jump, is the one that kills us. The moment we step off the clifff, we relinquish control to gravity. Until we realize our inevitable demise lay at the beginning of the journey, rather than the end, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over and over and over again, as David did so many times.
So it is with our disease; it's the first drink that wrecks our night, not the last. The moment we touch the alcohol to our lips, we've just stepped off the cliff. There's no going back. The battle is lost.
In my disease, like David, I was able to “control” my drinking or I was able to “enjoy” my drinking, but I was not able to “control and enjoy” simultaneously. If you have to think about controling and enjoying while drinking then you’re failing at both.
Normies don't think about how many drinks they have at a bar. They don't have to make a deal with themselves to walk away after one or two drinks, they just do it. Everyone else is an alcoholic.
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