My brain is trying to kill me.
That’s what my stinking-thinking’s all about. I mean, to drink is to die, right? And my brain spends a good deal of time working on ways to get me to the point where drinking sounds like a good idea, so what is that, if not premeditated murder?
Step Two: came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Once I separated myself from my brain, this step became a whole lot clearer. I learned that I was more than my thoughts, feelings, moods and reactions. I was more than my successes and failures, highs and lows. The sum of my parts was greater than the whole, and most of those parts didn’t think.
I used to enjoy thinking I was too smart for my own good. If only I was dumber, then I could drink like other men! Curse my intelligence! How’s that for pride in reverse?
The sad truth of the matter is, I’ve got a spoiled brain. Spoiled rotten. For years it got whatever it wanted, and when it didn’t, it cried and whined and pouted and threw things. Oh, and blamed others. And built resentments. And rationalized. And justified. And withdrew from the world as far as common decency permitted.
Now, I try to remember that my past is proof that I’m not the greatest power ever. Even when I thought I was 100% in control, I was actually at the mercy of a diseased brain that forgot what it wanted other than more.
Every day it’s me against my brain, and that’s why turning things over is of paramount importance for this alcoholic: it slowly kills my sick thinking.
Today, I’m learning: I can go with my gut, or listen to my heart. Both are much more reliable than what between my ears.