“Who cares to admit complete defeat? Practically no one, of course.” Twelve Steps & Twelve Traditions, pg. 21.
Step One is this:
“We admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.”
I didn’t know it then but March 29, 2012, I took my last drink. I had just been caught drinking and the fear of what might happen if I didn’t get away with it the next time filled me with fear.
Here’s how it went down:
I had a few hours before H was going to be home from work and I wanted to drink. I told myself “Okay. This is it. I’m going to prove that I am not an alcoholic by having ONE drink and that’s it. If I can have ONE drink and not go back for more, then I am good.”
My license was suspended (you know why!) so I walked up to the liquor store and purchased ONE mini bottle of vodka and some pineapple juice. ONE cocktail. A double shot, but still…just ONE drink. That’s all I needed to satiate the craving and prove to myself (and everyone else) that I was not an alcoholic.
The anticipation leading up to the drink alone was exhilarating. I hustled home and it was down the hatch. I immediately wanted more and looked at the clock. Did I have time to get more, drink it and sober up before H got home? Nope! But I was going to do it anyway.
Of course, I couldn’t return to the same liquor store; they might think I had a problem. So I walked to the grocery store and purchased a small box of wine. I might have purchased 2. I’m not sure. But I only got through about half of one box before H got home. I had already hidden them under the sink in the kitchen and the plan was to sip on them the rest of the night, hoping he wouldn’t smell it on me.
HA! That’ funny.
Him: Have you have been drinking?
Him: Yes you have.
Me: No, I haven’t.
Him: I don’t believe you.
Me: Well, I haven’t.
Him: Okay, let’s go down to your car and you can blow into your breathalyzer.
Me (in my head:) You’re f****d.
Me: Okay, let’s go.
Him: (sigh) Never mind.
He left the room and went to take a shower. I ran to the sink and went to drink more to get rid of it but decided to pour it down the sink instead. I don’t think I had EVER thrown out booze. I ALWAYS finished what was left.
Even though I knew I had clearly failed my little test, I still wasn’t going to accept my alcoholism. There was no way I was going to admit complete defeat or that I was powerless over alcohol. My life being unmanageable? Whatever that meant, not me! Taking on the label of an alcoholic? Nope. Wasn’t going to happen.
But for the time being, I was giving up my right to drink. Then once I had “paid the piper” and gotten everyone off my back, I would go back to drinking.
That was MY plan.
But God had a different one.