There’s a certain phenomenon that happens among a certain percentage of alcoholics that I’ve never thought about before, but I find disturbingly interesting.

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

It’s the free-fall that occurs after years of steady alcoholic drinking, but before the bottom and the program.  Everything ramps up: volume, shame, angry, desperation.  All of a sudden I was running a race. I was flying down a gravel hill on a 10-speed bike.  Yes, it’s out of control.  Yes, most likely a tremendous crash is coming.  But I’m handling it:  I’ll just stop peddling.

At the end, that’s where’s my level of self-control was: I was just another helpless, rubbernecking onlooker to my own twisted existence.  I avoided mirrors and shunned all reflections.  Looking myself in the eye became impossible.  All of a sudden, every day was zoom.

So why did my disease ratchet things up?  Well, the paranoid in me believes that once the disease knew that I knew, it was all-out war for survival, even though it meant death to the host body.

You can’t back alcoholism into a corner and not expect repercussions.

Today, I tell myself this: there is no more managing or controlling.  Managing or controlling gives me the illusion that someday, I can win.

Today, I’m learning to be grateful for a stalemate.

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