Same story

What qualifies me as an alcoholic is that I could not stop drinking when I started and never could quit entirely even after swearing off. I struggled for a quarter of a century accepting that fact. It is a warped mental deception to believe that I was drinking for the fun of it. It wasn’t always miserable early on, but somewhere I crossed the line into complete powerlessness. Nobody could stop for me, and no man or woman could threaten to cut me off to make me stop. Chasing the idea that I could control and manage my drinking became the great obsession. I could run, but I always ended up with the same type problems: no money, bills piling up and always at odds with my fellow man. I could white knuckle it for a while, and then invariably I had no defense against the first drink. It’s the same story that I hear others share in the rooms of AA. For me to always think I was different, much of who I am now is very similar to others; their struggles, their pains, their heartaches are mine. No one I’ve ever met in recovery got there because life was really going so well. I was maladjusted, the book says, and today it makes perfect sense. I need the help of God and others to stay sober but it is my pride and ego that will tell my mind that I’m still different. At an early age, I began to use people and love things and I got it all backwards for a long, long time. My tolerance level increased, and so did my consumption. I slipped deeper into my addiction until I learned that it was my secrets that had haunted me until I worked the 12 steps. For years, I thought I was incapable of ever quitting for good. Today, I just live day to day with the end in mind. The two parts of my alcoholism are mental and physical. The mental obsession would trigger the physical cravings. It is the same stories I hear, feel, see, and experience in the rooms. I am no different in most respects and now I look for the common traits of others with my addiction. I always wanted to come clean and finally I told my worst secrets. Putting on a front or facade finally eroded around me, and all I was left with was me. No flip flops, sleeping on others couches, and starving to death couldn’t convince me. I had to find hope from others in order to finally surrender to the idea that I could not drink like normal people…good day!..b

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