In the Big Book in the section, “How it Works”, Bill W writes: “And, with us, to drink is to die.” I missed that point in my first few readings of this section. I missed that for the first few years of my life on a dry drunk. Not drinking did not mean serenity and peace. Not drinking was like drinking in a sense. I was, as I looked back later, a walking corpse when I entered treatment and for a few years afterwards.

I clearly remember one night, and I was angry, the car stopped outside a bar. The music from the bar, the music in my car, and my attitude seemed to gel. I opened the door, one foot on the pavement and sat there. I have no idea how long I saw or why, but I did, and I am grateful to my higher power I did not drink. However, I maintained the attitude of one who was drinking.

“To drink is to die.” I finally understood that at the point I crossed over into alcoholic drinking – which for me, my first drink – part of my brain latched onto that substance which give me a good feeling. I drank from a variety of bottles that night, but I kept returning to whiskey. Whiskey did for me what I could not do for myself – made me feel good, worthwhile, part of the group. Such is insanity. Such thinking was the beginning of the tolling of the death bell. “I need this. I like what it does for me. In fact, I like what it does to me.” I did not say that, however, I might as well have said it. I was off the mountain and skiing with no idea where I was heading or what I was to face.

Mistakes, like bumps on the ride down the mountain, some larger than others. I laughed, picked myself up and kept going. Guilt and Shame caught up with me and drink killed them quickly. Death to emotions. Who needs them? Bury them quickly and they won’t bother you. Again, I didn’t say that, but I might as well have. Another death in the spiritual system.

“I have a better memory when I’m drinking” I proclaimed. And yet, when I began to make amends, I discovered I had no memory of much of what I was told and some of it was quite frightening. Then I began to recall times when I “Came to” and thought I was just tired. I needed more rest. My brain was dying, and my values seemed to have died a long time ago.

I believed if I drank with others, I could not become an alcoholic. I told the staff in the treatment center that I never drank alone. Weeks went by and, in one or another conversation, I had glimpses of pouring myself a drink – at least one – right? Yes. I said I would never drink on my own and I did so many times – alone in an airplane, alone in a crowd.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, I was dying. I was spiritually dead. “And with us, to drink is to die.”

For me, sobriety came slowly. I learned to work the steps and live the program. I learned to go to meetings and listen to what others have to say. Go to meetings and share if it is appropriate. Talk to my sponsor about what is going on inside of me. Read the Big Book and apply it to myself.

A therapist brought me back to redo some of the IQ testing and I discovered just how bad I had done on it eight weeks earlier. Mentally I began to think about one day at a time; think about others; think about what is really important in my life. Emotionally I learned to say “I was wrong. I am sorry. Can you forgive me?” I learned to say “When you said that, I felt angry. When you did that, I felt embarrassed.” No one makes me feel anything but myself. Physically, I began to go to the doctor; the dentist; to other therapists, exercise, watched what I ate and finally stopped smoking. Socially, I learned to be comfortable in a variety of settings and not drink and not let the drinking of others bother me.

“And with us, to drink is to die.” At the end of How It Works, Bill could have added “And to work and live the program is to come alive mentally, emotionally, physically, socially and spiritually.”

Séamus D.

New Orleans