Chapter 15: A Drunk, Like You
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The more he listened at meetings, the more he came to know about his own
drinking history.
USUALLY OUR stories start out by telling what we were like, what happened,
and what we are like now. For me, what it was like was nothing in
particular---no problems, nothing special happened. Nothing that I realized,
anyhow. Only much later, when I started listening to other people and what
happened to them and when and how, did I realize that those things were in
my past also.
My story starts in the middle. What happened? My family and I were attending
a relative's bris, a Jewish ritual circumcision and baby-naming ceremony.
After the ceremonies and brunch I fell asleep. When it was time to leave,
they woke me up. The car ride home was very quiet. The wife and my two kids
said nothing. Later that day I found out what the problem was.
When they came to wake me, I was very belligerent and threatening. I scared
them. They were afraid I would hit them. That was it. I could see that
something had to be done. My wife's sister-in-law, who is a social worker,
suggested we see a counselor. I thought that might be a good idea. I was
having anxiety attacks for no reason. I used to be able to demonstrate
products to high-level executives of the corporation I worked for with no
problem; now even minor product showcases were becoming difficult.
Also, I was having trouble getting technicians to work for me. In the past I
had had my pick because I was good to work for and the projects were fun,
with interesting new ideas. I always had a quick temper, but now things were
getting out of hand. I would do things like beat up my desk with my desk
chair.
And the most serious thing to me was that I was contemplating suicide. I had
an actual plan---a plan for an accident that would raise no question in the
minds of the insurance company. So in a moment of sanity, I decided it would
be a good idea to seek help. If I hadn't lost my marbles, they were at the
least very loose.
So my wife and I found a psychiatric social worker at the local Jewish
Family Services agency. She saw us as a couple, then individually, then
together, and so it went. When we were together, we worked on our
interpersonal problems. When I saw her by myself, she would talk about
drinking. I don't know why she kept bringing it up. I drank, but not that
much. I never even mentioned my drinking except maybe to say, "Yes, I do
drink," when she asked. It wasn't the problem---the other things were. One
day she read me some questions from a pamphlet, which I answered honestly.
She concluded that maybe I drank too much, and we talked about that for
several sessions.
One day she asked if I could limit myself to five drinks in a day. I said,
"Sure." Was I surprised when I found that I couldn't. That should have been
my first clue that she might be right, but it didn't occur to me.
Then I hit on a clever solution. I have several academic degrees, and
someone as smart as I was could solve this problem. The idea was to put off
the first drink as long as possible and go to bed after the last drink. That
worked out okay, and I told the counselor I was able to keep it to five a
day with little or no problem. But she said if you had to control something,
it was out of control.
During one session she suggested that I try not drinking at all one weekend.
"Okay," I said. She also suggested that I send the kids off somewhere for
the weekend because I might be irritable.
I used to watch a lot of late-night movies---it was my time to relax by
having a few drinks, a habit that started in night school when I had a
full-time job and was studying chemistry at night. I had seen movie versions
of what happened to people who had drinking problems: The Lost Weekend, Days
of Wine and Roses, and others. And so I was nervous about raging, losing
control, and maybe being violent as my wife had said I was. So we packed up
the kids and the booze (all of it) and took all to my wife's parents.
Much to my surprise the weekend went well---no problems---and in the next
session I told my counselor so. She said, "What about the meeting?" I said,
"What meeting?" She said, "The A.A. meeting." I said, "What A.A. meeting? We
never talked about that." She said I had agreed to go to an A.A. meeting. So
out came a meeting list. She explained about open and closed meetings. I
decided on one I thought would be okay for me---a men's discussion group.
They would be my kind of people, and the time fit into my schedule. The
meeting list started on Sunday. I never started a project or anything else
on a Sunday. Monday was my M.A.S.H. night. Tuesday was Tuesday Night at the
Movies, and I am a big old-movie fan. So Wednesday is when I decided to try
this A.A. meeting.
The meeting went okay. We talked about somebody's problem with an anonymity
break at his doctor's office. The people at the meeting were telling him
stuff that made no sense to me, like "Live and Let Live," "Easy Does It,"
"One Day at a Time," "use the Serenity Prayer," "talk to your sponsor," and
as we went around the table it came my turn. Since they were all saying they
were alcoholics, it wasn't too hard for me to say my name and, "Hi, I'm an
alcoholic," and suggest that the man should just go to another doctor. He
thanked me very much, and after the meeting he said to be sure and come back
next week.
During the meeting, somebody mentioned spending too much time at discussion
tables when we should have been spending more time at First Step tables for
newcomers. So I went to the First Step table the following week. The
discussion was very interesting. I didn't think I was "powerless over
alcohol," but I knew "my life was unmanageable."
One night we were talking about when we started drinking, and I was saying
that I drank all my life. Actually I was given my first drink at my bris.
That is usually done when a boy is eight days old. So I said all Jewish boys
start drinking early. I had to admit that after that it was just the usual
milk and juice until I could sit up at the table with the family, and then
there would be kiddush wine every Friday night. Not great stuff---what we
got was sweet wine and seltzer, so I didn't drink very much of it. I didn't
like it. Later I learned the definition of a social drinker: someone who
could take it or leave it.
When I was about ten years old, we all came back from my cousin's bar
mitzvah services to celebrate at my grandmother's house. There I had my
first real drink. All the adults went over to the table for a schnapps.
There were all these little tiny glasses in front of various liquor bottles
and everybody was having one, so I had one too. It was good. It was smooth
and warm and wonderful. I liked it and went back for another. This one
wasn't smooth---it was hot going down, not as wonderful.
After that I drank what I could, when I could, where I could. Not much, not
often, not as a ten-year-old. At that First Step table we figured out, or
they did anyhow, that that was alcoholic drinking---having one and going
back for a second right away. I know now I never had just one drink, ever.
One night they were talking about how much they drank, and one guy said he
had so many beers, the next guy talked about shots, one about mixed drinks I
never heard of, another about so many pints, and on it went around the
table. When my turn came, I said I didn't know. "Wow, that much," they said.
"No," I said. I meant I didn't know the amount. I drank mostly at home and
poured some in a tall glass and drank that and did it several times. "Well,
how many times did you refill?" "I don't know."
Somebody asked it another way. He wanted to know, how many did I buy?
"Well," I said, "I stopped in the package store every day and bought one."
"Oh," he said. "How many did you have left at the end of the week?" Well, he
had me there. "None," I said. He said, "a bottle-a-day man." I never got to
say another word---it was settled over my objections.
I saw the counselor once a week, and I went to this men's meeting once a
week, and everything was getting better. Once I saw somebody get a
ninety-day pin. I decided not to get one. Even though I couldn't see it from
where I was sitting, I wasn't going to wear an A.A. sign. One day somebody
got a ninety-day pocket piece that he could rub for luck, and I decided to
get one of those. After my three months were up, I went to the literature
guy and bought one. He said it would be nice if it was presented to me in
front of everybody. I wasn't too keen on getting up in front of everyone. He
said it would be good for the newcomers; it would show them that the program
worked. So I told him okay and asked the leader of the First Step table to
give it to me. They were paying him to run the meeting, or so I thought at
the time. (Later I found out that they were reimbursing him for the snacks.)
So the following week I got my pocket piece and thanked everybody for giving
me the power over alcohol. Now I was more powerful than alcohol because for
the first time in a long time I could choose not to use it.
A couple of weeks later the large company I was with, which had relocated me
and my family at their expense, had a large staff cutback, and I was cut
back---fired. I thought I was fire-proof. I was in a very important
position, doing important work. I was the chief researcher in developing a
new product; I was sitting in on strategic planning meetings. I was very
upset. After all, I was better now and back to being a good employee and
team player again, but to no avail.
We were able to stay on site in special offices set aside for us to conduct
our job search. As part of this job search, I was allowed to go to a
professional convention being held in the Southwest.
Now somehow, between the time I lost my job and my flight to the convention,
I decided maybe I was not an alcoholic and I needed to test that theory.
After all, I was a researcher, and things had to be tested. I decided that
on the plane (it seemed like a safe place) I would put the question to the
test. If I could have one drink and no more, I was not an
alcoholic---alcoholics can't do that. So when the stewardess came by to ask
me if I wanted a drink, I said, "Yes." She put two little bottles' worth in
a glass ("No ice, thank you very much") and went up the aisle. On her way
back she asked if I wanted another, and I said, "Yes." I drank for the whole
flight---before dinner, during dinner, and after dinner. As we approached
our destination, I searched in my pocket for a pen to fill out the in-flight
magazine response card. I found this large coin. I took it out to see what
it was. It was my ninety-day pocket piece, and I was reminded of what I was
doing. And the thought came to me: Wow, those guys at the meeting were
right---I am powerless over alcohol. I put that coin back in my pocket and
from that day to this, some 15 1⁄2 years later, I have had no urge to drink.
When I got back to my meeting, I told them what had happened. I don't know
why---it was not like the old me to 'fess up to anything. They were
concerned only whether I was still drinking. And I said, "No, I'm not." I
was worried that they were going to take my coin back. All they wanted to
know was what I was going to do now. I had no idea. They did, however. They
said I needed a sponsor---so I found a sponsor. They said I needed more
meetings. "How many?" I wanted to know. They said I only had to go to
meetings on days I would have had a drink. They said I needed to identify,
not compare. I didn't know what they meant. What was the difference?
Identifying, they said, was trying to see how I was like the people I was
with. Comparing, they told me, was looking for differences, usually seeing
how I was better than others.
One day we were talking about spiritual awakenings. Everyone talked a little
about what happened to them and when and how and all that. Then it came my
turn. I said I hadn't had one yet, but I was open to it.
Well, two people were trying to talk at the same time. "What have you been
telling us about the airplane flight all this time?" "Well," I said, "I was
drinking and the coin reminded me of what I did. And I decided I was
powerless and couldn't drink anymore and stopped." One man said, "Well,
that's it. What more do you want?" I said, "What about the blinding white
flash?" "What about it?" he said. "Read the Big Book. The Appendix explains
the concept of a sudden change and a gradual change, and that not everybody
has a blinding flash." "Oh," I said, "That was it---that was mine?" "Yes," I
was told. "What more do you want?" Actually I wanted something more
dramatic, and my sponsor said what he so often did: "So?" And I found myself
saying, "Well, if that's it, it will have to do." "Have to do?" he replied.
"It was bigger and better than most, and more importantly, it worked. You
stopped and didn't start again."
Well, that worked for me. I have stayed in the Fellowship of Alcoholics
Anonymous long enough to find the program in the Big Book and to practice
all its principles in all my affairs on a daily basis.
The last big hurdle was closing the meeting with the Lord's Prayer. As a
Jew, I was uncomfortable with it and decided to talk to my sponsor about it.
So I said, "The Lord's Prayer bothers me. I don't like closing with it."
"Oh," he said, "what's the problem?" "Well, I'm Jewish and it's not a Jewish
prayer." "Well then," he said "say it in Jewish." I said, "It would still be
the Lord's Prayer." "Right," he said. "Then say something else that you
like. Your Higher Power, whatever you call it, is helping you, and you need
to say thank you."
That was a big step for me; I finally began to separate the religious
aspects of my life from A.A.'s spiritual program. Now the big difference to
me is that religion is the ritual, and we all differ there, and spirituality
is the way we feel about what we do. It's about my personal contact with my
personal Higher Power, as I understand Him.
Everything has turned around. I found a new job, which I then decided to
leave. I opened my own business. I was able to put my two sons through
college at large universities. My oldest son's great passion was to go on
road trips to get away from home when it was time to come home on school
breaks; now he comes home regularly and brings friends. The younger son
comes home often and calls regularly.
My marriage is no longer on the brink and is better than ever. And the best
is yet to come. All this and more I owe to the Fellowship in the rooms and
the program in the book.