A FEMININE VICTORY
     TO MY lot falls the rather doubtful distinction of being the only
"lady" alcoholic in our particular section. Perhaps it is because of a
desire for a "supporting cast" of my own sex that I am praying for
inspiration to tell my story in a manner that may give other women who
have this problem the courage to see it in its true light and seek the
help that has given me a new lease on life.
     When the idea was first presented to me that I was an alcoholic, my
mind simply refused to accept it. Horrors! How disgraceful! What
humiliation! How preposterous! Why, I loathed the taste of liquor-drinking
was simply a means of escape when my sorrows became too great for me to
endure. Even after it had been explained to me that alcoholism is a
disease, I could not realize that I had it. I was still ashamed, still
wanted to hide behind the screen of reasons made up of "unjust
treatment,""unhappiness," "tired and dejected," and the dozens of other
things that I thought lay at the root of my search for oblivion by means
of whiskey or gin.
     In any case, I felt quite sure that I was not an alcoholic. However,
since I have faced the fact, and it surely is a fact, I have been able to
use the help that is so freely given when we learn how to be really
truthful with ourselves.
     The path by which I have come to this blessed help was long and
devious. It led through the mazes and perplexities of an unhappy marriage
and divorce, and a dark time of separation from my grown children, and a
readjustment of life at an age when most women feel pretty sure of a home
and security.
     But I have reached the source of help. I have learned to recognize
and acknowledge the underlying cause of my disease; selfishness, self-pity
and resentment. A few short months ago those three words applied to me
would have aroused as much indignation in my heart as the word alcoholic.
The ability to accept them as my own has been derived from trying, with
the unending help of God, to live with certain goals in mind.
     Coming to the grim fact of alcoholism, I wish I could present the
awful reality of its insidiousness in such a way that no one could ever
again fail to recognize the comfortable, easy steps that lead down to the
edge of the precipice, and show how those steps suddenly disappeared when
the great gulf yawned before me. I couldn't possibly turn and get back to
solid earth again that way.
     The first step is called-"The first drink in the morning to pull you
out of a hangover."
     I remember so well when I got onto that step-I had been drinking just
like most of the young married crowd I knew. For a couple of years it went
on, at parties and at "speakeasies," as they were then called, and with
cocktails after matinees. Just going the rounds and having a good time.
     Then came the morning when I had my first case of jitters. Someone
suggested a little of the "hair of the dog that bit me." A half hour after
that drink I was sitting on top of the world, thinking how simple it was
to cure shaky nerves. How wonderful liquor was, in only a few minutes my
head had stopped aching, my spirits were back to normal and all was well
in this very fine world.
     Unfortunately, there was a catch to it-I was an alcoholic. As time
went on the one drink in the morning had to be taken a little earlier-it
had to be followed by a second one in an hour or so, before I really felt
equal to getting on with the business of living.
     Gradually I found at parties the service was a little slow; the rest
of the crowd being pretty happy and carefree after the second round. My
reaction was inclined to be just the opposite. Something had to be done
about that so I'd just help myself to a fast one, sometimes openly, but as
time went on and my need became more acute, I often did it on the quiet.
     In the meantime, the morning-after treatment was developing into
something quite stupendous. The eye-openers were becoming earlier, bigger,
more frequent, and suddenly, it was lunch time! Perhaps there was a plan
for the afternoon-a bridge or tea, or just callers. My breath had to be
accounted for, so along came such alibis as a touch of grippe or some
other ailment for which I'd just taken a hot whiskey and lemon. Or
"someone" had been in for lunch and we had just had a couple of cocktails.
Then came the period of brazening it out-going to social gatherings well
fortified against the jitters; next the phone call in the
morning-"Terribly sorry that I can't make it this afternoon, I have an
awful headache"; then simply forgetting that there were engagements at
all; spending two or three days drinking, sleeping it off, and waking to
start all over again.
     Of course, I had the well known excuses; my husband was failing to
come home for dinner or hadn't been home for several days; he was spending
money which was needed to pay bills; he had always been a drinker; I had
never known anything about it until I was almost thirty years old and he
gave me my first drink. Oh, I had them all down, letter perfect-all the
excuses, reasons and justifications. What I did not know was that I was
being destroyed by selfishness, self-pity and resentment.
     There were the swearing-off periods and the "goings on the
wagon"-they would last anywhere from two weeks to three or four months.
Once, after a very severe illness of six weeks' duration (caused by
drinking), I didn't touch anything of an alcoholic nature for almost a
year. I thought I had it licked that time, but all of a sudden things were
worse than ever. I found fear had no effect.
     Next came the hospitalization, not a regular sanitarium, but a local
hospital where my doctor would ship me when I'd get where I had to call
him in. That poor man-I wish he could read this for he would know then it
was no fault of his I wasn't cured.
     When I was divorced, I thought the cause had been removed. I felt
that being away from what I had considered injustice and ill-treatment
would solve the problem of my unhappiness. In a little. over a year I was
in the alcoholic ward of a public hospital!
     It was there that L-- came to me. I had known her very slightly ten
years before. My ex-husband brought her to me hoping that she could help.
She did. From the hospital I went home with her.
     There, her husband told me the secret of his rebirth. It is not
really a secret at all, but something free and open to all of us. He asked
me if I believed in God or some power greater than myself. Well, I did
believe in God, but at that time I hadn't any idea what He is. As a child
I had been taught my "Now I lay me's" and "Our Father which art in
Heaven." I had been sent to Sunday School and taken to church. I had been
baptized and confirmed. I had been taught to realize there is a God and to
"love" him. But though I had been taught all these things, I had never
learned them.
     When B-- (L's husband) began to talk about God, I felt pretty low in
my mind. I thought God was something that I, and lots of other people like
me, had to worry along without. Yet I had always had the "prayer habit."
In fact I used to say in my mind "Now, if God answers this prayer, I'll
know there is a God." It was a great system, only somehow it didn't seem
to work!
     Finally B-- put it to me this way: "You admit you've made a mess of
things trying to run them your way, are you willing to give up? Are you
willing to say: "Here it is God, all mixed up. I don't know how to un-mix
it, I'll leave it to you." Well, I couldn't quite do that. I wasn't
feeling very well, and I was afraid that later when the fog wore off, I'd
want to back out. So we let it rest a few days. L and B sent me to stay
with some friends of theirs out of town-I'd never seen them before. The
man of that house, P-- had given up drinking three months before. After I
had been there a few days, I saw that P-- and his wife had something that
made them mighty hopeful and happy. But I got a little uneasy going into a
perfect stranger's home and staying day after day. I said this to P-- and
his reply was: "Why, you don't know how much it is helping me to have you
here." Was that a surprise! Always before that when I was recovering from
a tailspin I'd been just a pain in the neck to everyone. So, I began to
sense in a small way just what these spiritual principles were all about.
     Finally I very self-consciously and briefly asked God to show me how
to do what He wanted me to do. My prayer was just about as weak and
helpless a thing as one could imagine, but it taught me how to open my
mouth and pray earnestly and sincerely. However, I had not quite made the
grade. I was full of fears, shames, and other "bug-a-boos" and two weeks
later an incident occurred that put me on the toboggan again. I seemed to
feel that the hurt of that incident was too great to endure without some
"release." So I forsook Spirit in favor of "spirits" and that evening I
was well on the way to a long session with my old enemy "liquor." I begged
the person in whose home I was living not to let anyone know, but she,
having good sense, got in touch right away with those who had helped me
before and very shortly they had rallied round.
     I was eased out of the mess and in a day or two I had a long talk
with one of the crowd. I dragged out all my sins of commission and
ommission, I told everything I could think of that might be the cause of
creating a fear situation, a remorse situation, or a shame situation. It
was pretty terrible, I thought then, to lay myself bare that way, but I
know now that such is the first step away from the edge of the precipice.
     Things went very well for quite a while, then came a dull rainy day.
I was alone. The weather and my self-pity began to cook up a nice dish of
the blues for me. There was liquor in the house and I found myself
suggesting to myself "Just one drink will make me feel so much more
cheerful." Well, I got the Bible and "Victorious Living" and sitting down
in full view of the bottle of whiskey, I commenced to read. I also prayed.
But I didn't say "I must not take that drink because I owe it to so and so
not to." I didn't say "I won't take that drink because I'm strong enough
to resist temptation." I didn't say "I must not" or "I will not" at all. I
simply prayed and read and in half an hour I got up and was absolutely
free of the urge for a drink.
     It might be very grand to be able to say "Finis" right here, but I
see now I hadn't gone all the way I was intended to go. I was still
coddling and nursing my two pets, self-pity and resentment. Naturally, I
came a cropper once more. This time I went to the telephone (after I had
taken about two drinks) and called L to tell her what I had done. She
asked me to promise that I would not take another drink before someone
came to me. Well, I had learned enough about truthfulness to refuse to
give that promise. Had I been living after the old pattern, I would have
been ashamed to call for help. In fact I should not have wanted help. I
should have tried to hide the fact that I was drinking and continued until
I again wound up behind the "eight ball." I was taken back to B's home
where I stayed for three weeks. The drinking ended the morning after I got
there, but the suffering continued for some time. I felt desperate and I
questioned my ability to really avail myself of the help that the others
had received and applied so successfully. Gradually, however, God began to
clear my channels so that real understanding began to come. Then was the
time when full realization and acknowledgement came to me. It was
realization and acknowledgement of the fact that I was full of self-pity
and resentment, realization of the fact that I had not fully given my
problems to God. I was still trying to do my own fixing.
     That was several years ago. Since then, although circumstances are no
different, for there are still trials and hardships and hurts and
disappointments and disillusionments, self-pity and resentment are being
eliminated. In this past year I haven't been tempted once. I have no more
idea of taking a drink to aid me through a difficult period than I would
if I had never drank. But I know absolutely that the minute I close my
channels with sorrow for myself, or being hurt by, or resentful toward
anyone, I am in horrible danger.
     I know that my victory is none of my human doing. I know that I must
keep myself worthy of Divine help. And the glorious thing is this: I am
free, I am happy, and perhaps I am going to have the blessed opportunity
of "passing it on." I say in all reverence-Amen