Many factors went into my decision to stop drinking. Some have remained private, others I've shared here. This is something I've posted once before so it may ring a bell to SR stalwarts.
My sober date is Aug. 15, 2013.
A few weeks before, no more than that, I'd gone grocery shopping and decided to stop in a place across from the market for a taco. It was early afternoon, a Sunday. Ahead of me, a woman was entering the door. Later, I remembered that I couldn't tell how old she was, though she seemed younger than me. I am middle-aged.
I wasn't paying attention to her, just took my place in line behind her. Though I didn't hear what she ordered, I noticed she was pulling coins -- lots of them -- out of her jeans pocket to pay. We've all done that ... ridding ourselves of change that gathers in pockets or the bottom of purses.
Her order? One glass of white wine. When the guy behind the counter gave it to her, she stepped only a couple of feet or two to the side so I could take my place. Standing there, I watched her swig it ravenously. The entire glass was gone in less than a minute, maybe less than half a minute. She returned the glass to the counter, giving the employees a look that was at once both desperate and despairing. She said nothing. She didn't need to; her face said it all: "Take mercy on someone like me. Another one on the house?" The guys behind the counter, young and awkward, cast a glance my way and asked me to place my order. She disappeared from the corner of my eye. When I turned around, she was gone. I got my taco. And Diet Coke.
It struck me that no one starts out like this, that this wasn't what the beginning of addiction looked like. Or the middle.
It was a crystallizing moment. If you'd told me 10 or 15 years ago how my drinking would escalate -- volume, frequency -- I would have been stunned. Scared. Sad.
Ours is a progressive illness. At some point, her drinking levels must have been around where mine were that day. There were only two directions I could take. I could stop drinking entirely; somewhere deep inside, I already knew I was a failure at moderation. Or I could continue as an active trekker on the path toward my own self-destruction.
I chose the former. I chose to live.