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I finally understand why all the psychiatrists, psychologists, and doctors weren’t able to help me. It’s because deep down I knew that they weren’t crazy alcoholics. Oh sure, they read about it in their medical books; they understood the concept. But until they’ve spent a few hours digging through shag carpeting looking for remnants of marijuana, I don’t think they truly get it.

Step One: we admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.

For years I was doing it ass-backwards. I thought that once I got my life in order, the obsession with drink would stop. Seven years of talk therapy later, along with various doctor visits and trips to a clinical psychologist, I was still drinking. Worse than ever. It was as if, by fooling them (I never told any of them about my drinking), it meant I wasn’t too bad yet. Still hiding in plain sight.

I’d been down the Program road before – back in the 90’s. But twenty-four year-old me, while recognizing there was a serious problem, also wasn’t ready to quit trying to control it. I still had options and alleys. Only when I was 100% painted into a corner did I give it another shot.

In my heart, I know that drinking isn’t the answer to anything; good, bad or indifferent. My head, however, is wondering why I’m still so often miserable. Well, it’s because the removal of alcohol didn’t make the world around me any better. In fact, just the opposite. The things that booze let me float through without care now make me want to grab a baseball bat and start swinging. At what I have no idea. Everything, I guess.

What to do? Well, I’ve identified the problem: my head. Now, go start filling it with the program.

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