The Worst Week of My Life
By Gary S.
In 1987, I was a 29 year-old optical engineer at a large aerospace company in So. California. Although I was making good money at that time, we never managed to accumulate anything. My wife Kay and I lived in a two bedroom apartment which we shared with two cats (no kids yet). Every morning I would wake up with a hangover and go lean over the bathtub for about 15 minutes telling myself I had to quit drinking so much. I wasn't throwing up - just trying to wake up. There would always be some reason to start a fight with Kay before going to work. (On those rare occasions when I did not, I made note of it, and Kay always told me how "good" I was doing that morning.) The hangovers would last until about noon. Sometimes after work I would go out for a drink and wind up calling Kay to tell her I would be late (I was a very responsible drunk). Other nights I would go home and work on my computer. If I hadn't started drinking already, inevitably an alarm went off in my brain at 9:00 p.m. telling me it was time. From then on I proceeded to get drunk, although rarely to the point of blackout in the latter years. [...]
On March 3, 1987, I went to an urgent care clinic with a sprained wrist. I had a hard time getting anyone to look at my wrist since all the questions were about my drinking. Finally I was told that my liver was enlarged, and it was time to stop. My initial reaction was relief. I had known virtually since the day I started drinking that this day was coming, and when it did, I was almost glad for it to be over. Little did I know then what getting over it would actually entail.
It took two or three days for it to really hit me. I was one big raw nerve without alcohol. I believe that by brain is a very poor producer of whatever chemical it is that gives us a sense of well-being and contentment; and that is was only too glad to have alcohol take over its responsibilities in that area, so that even its limited native ability was very much diminished by alcohol. (In fact it would take almost two years for it to get back to what is normal for me, which is what I meant by "Little did I know then ...")
It was then that I sought out AA, since I had always known that AA was where you turned if you were an alcoholic and wanted to stop drinking. Now different AA groups have widely differing characters. Had I walked into the meeting I attend right now, I would probably have fit in better than I did. What I found was a group of lower bottom alcoholics and addicts. I made the following entry in my journal for, appropriately enough, Friday, March 13. (The entry was not actually made *on* that day, but recreated on March 25 from notes taken earlier - hence the past tense.)
"I decided to try controlled drinking. I was going to drink varying amounts each day according to a prescribed schedule for 12 weeks. I already knew in my mind that I was an alcoholic but I was not convinced that I was powerless over alcohol. It was hard for me to feel like an alcoholic deep down since I had not gone through the endless trying to quit and not being able to as most alcoholics have. I thought that if I made it for the 12 weeks, I would still be an alcoholic but at least I wouldn't be as bad off as those losers at AA who had to fantasize about God to keep themselves from drinking."
Most of what I know about what I was feeling at the time comes from my journal, most of which is too personal (read "embarrassing") to print, especially under the watchful eye of webmasters and newsletter editors. I cheated on the schedule only once, then made up for it the next day. My self respect required that I take only one of two actions: continue the experiment, or return to total abstinence. I ended the experiment after 1 week, which I think speaks for itself. The torture of moderate drinking was something I could not continue to bear - abstinence was far preferable.
To end the story here would make me look stronger and more noble than I deserve to look. In order to achieve "closure" with alcohol, I had to have - you guessed it - a last drunk, which I proceeded to do on Friday, March 20 - actually blacked out on that one. The next day, my OCD kicked in telling me that the "closure" had not been done well enough: there were things I had to be thinking while having that last drink. I had several drinks over the next three days trying to get it right. My most recent (dare I say "last") drink was on Monday, March 23, 1987.
Now you will no doubt think that your case is different. I was in the throws of withdrawal, while you have several years sobriety behind you. You may be right. However, any further experimentation will have to be carried out on your end. I cannot look at my history and not think that I was an alcoholic because I have a physiological propensity to alcohol addiction. My sense of responsibility, discipline, and will power were at least average, and I think above average. My brief experiment with moderate drinking was notable for its intensity, but I tortured myself for *years* with moderate smoking when I was even younger.
I would try to think of an elegant way to end this, but its late again, I have a final exam this week, and I don't want to delay getting this out any longer, so I'll just say Good Luck and Best Wishes, GAry