My two relapses didn't turn out to be full-blown disasters, either.
I was out the first time for ten days in May, 2013. I was by myself full of joy at a restaurant, and I had two glasses of wine. They were divine.
So then I tried to recreate that initial divine buzz. Bottle after bottle all I could feel was muddyheaded. I got so furious I poured a lot of it down the sink. I felt so duped. Finally I just decided to stay sober.
The next relapse was in November 2013. I was hating the whole universe at that point, and having a bitter fight with my husband, so I drank as a giant "F-U!"
The buzz was pleasant enough, but I knew my drinking was immature and not going to improve life any, only complicate it for the worse--so I put it aside for good on Nov. 16, 2013. That relapse was one bottle only, one night only.
One interesting thing happened before I quit.
My husband got to the point where he hated my drinking. At one point he said, "I guess I don't mind if you drink--but I had just kind of hoped that in our golden years I wouldn't have to drag around somebody who was stuck in junior high school."
He wasn't being angry or cruel as he said it--just kind of far away. He wanted an equal partner to see the end of life through with, not an immature, selfish person who stomped off and zoned out every time there was a little problem, or who preferred a drunken fantasy.