Driven by the next drink

Just over 70 years ago, two self-confessed hopeless drunks set up a group in America dedicated to helping others stop drinking.

New York stockbroker Bill W, and Ohio surgeon Bob S, met in 1935 and became the founders of the group, which we now know to be Alcoholics Anonymous.

After fighting his own addiction, which doctors declared a lost battle, Bill had managed to get sober with the help of an old school friend who spoke about a spiritual awakening. Amazed at his friend's 'miraculous' recovery, Bill followed his advice and managed to remain sober by helping other alcoholics, one of them being Dr Bob.

The surgeon found himself face to face with another alcoholic, now sober, who knew exactly what he was going through. After Bill told him his sorry tale of how he had hit rock bottom and just about lost everything in his life, he explained how he had done it.

Bill explained how a doctor had told him alcoholism was a disease that affected the mind, body and spirit. Bill talked of recognising his powerlessness over alcohol, turning it over to a 'higher power' and steps to help maintain sobriety. Bob got sober and never drank again.

Both men immediately got to work helping other alcoholics at a local hospital, where one patient quickly achieved complete sobriety. The three men made up the core of the first ever A.A. group. Later that year, a second group of alcoholics formed in New York, followed by another in Cleveland in 1939. In just four years, 100 alcoholics had turned their back on alcohol and were sober.

Early in 1939, the Fellowship published its book Alcoholics Anonymous, which was written by Bill, and explained the group's philosophy and its core method, the Twelve Steps of recovery. It also included case histories of 30 recovered members.
The Fellowship rapidly developed and today has an estimated 2.5 million members in 165 countries. While some people may think that A.A. is not the answer for them, since its formation, it has helped more alcoholics around the world to achieve and maintain long-term sobriety than any other method of treatment.

This fact gives some glimmer of hope to a country, which for many, appears to be soaked in alcohol. The UK is renowned for its drink bingeing culture, and after smoking, alcoholism kills more people than any other drug. According to Government statistics, one in 13 adults is dependent on drink - twice as many as are hooked on all other forms of drugs.

It makes for scary reading, and even more so when you consider that alcoholics are masters at denying they have a problem. Some afflicted by this disease use A.A. as a last resort, literally crawling back through the doors, admitting defeat and begging for help. Others are not sure if they have a problem and come along to listen and to decide for themselves. And, of course, some are still in denial and only attend due to family pressure or by a court order.

Alcoholism crosses all boundaries, age, race, religion, gender and social background. Enter a meeting and you are just as likely to find a homeless person there as you would a priest or a judge. In A.A.'s experience, there is no such thing as a typical alcoholic. Patterns of drinking differ from person to person; some people drink daily, some binge drink, some people only drink a certain type of alcohol, while others will drink anything they can get their hands on.

Some alcoholics will go to great lengths to hide their addiction while others quickly became notorious drunks. While each person is unique, they are paradoxically the same because they all suffer from the same disease.

And there is nothing quite like sitting in a room full of alcoholics and feeling their sense of unity. They are in it together; sharing stories of their darkest hours, their road to recovery; understanding each other like nobody ever has done before. The genuine love and concern in those rooms is palpable, and members old and new are welcomed with open arms. It may sound overzealous, but it's true. There is genuine compassion for a kindred spirit and those who were afraid to walk through those doors, soon realise they are not on their own; finally they have a found a place where they can let go of their angst and belong.

But while there is some pretty heart-rending stuff to deal with, it's not all doom and gloom. One would imagine a room full of people feeling sorry for themselves, miserable at their sobriety. On the contrary, I have never seen so many smiling, happy faces. They are positively elated, grateful at their sobriety and enthusiastic to pass on their experience to help anyone who wants it. They are calm, quietly confident and peaceful to have broken free of their once destructive existence.

Part of A.A.'s code of conduct or 'traditions' includes that members avoid being identified by name, photograph or on tape, film or video within the media. I was very privileged to be invited to one of the Brighouse meetings and talk in depth with two of its members.

For obvious reasons, names have been changed but all other information is entirely factual.

Jane is in her 60s and has been sober for more than 12 years.

"Before I came to A.A. I'd been drinking for 30 years, the last 12 on a daily basis," she says. "The first 10 years of my drinking were quite sociable, quite fun and I thought that's what young people did. The next 10 years I realised I was using alcohol when in difficult situations and the last 10, I just drank because that's what I did and I couldn't stop."
Jane, like many alcoholics, tried at first to go it alone, to prove that she could do it herself.

"I tried to cut down, I decided to only drink on certain days, or after 9pm or only when I was with other people," she explains. "But for the last 12 years of my drinking, it was very rare for me not to have a drink. I think once in 20 years I managed to string four or five sober days together just to prove that I didn't have a problem."

In Jane's mind it was inconceivable, she was a respected person in a highly regarded professional job, she had a husband and a family, surely she couldn't be an alcoholic?

"Everything on the outside was ok, nothing was amiss," she recalls. "But I held it all together. The house was spotless, the washing was on the line and parents' evenings were attended. I told myself my life was difficult, I worked hard and I deserved a drink, and I wasn't hurting anybody but myself.

"But increasingly, inside, I felt dead. It was all a sham," adds Jane. "All my energy went into keeping up the front. Nobody said anything at work, because I drank when I got home. I planned my life around my drinking, so I never needed to drive in the evenings."

Jane wasn't just trying to fool those around her; she was also trying to fool herself.

"I never knew how much I had drunk, because I wouldn't just drink from one bottle, I would have stashes hidden around the house and would drink from them all," she admits. "I was trying to confuse myself so I didn't know how much I had drunk."
But there came a point where Jane just couldn't hide from her problem anymore. She returned from a drink-fuelled holiday, continued drinking heavily and found she was starting to get 'blackouts', where she lost hours and sometimes days from her memory.

"I realised that I just did not want to live like this any longer," she says. "A member of my family came to visit me one day and I told her I had a problem with drinking and would she ring A.A. for me?"

While breaking down and admitting she had a problem, Jane was still bizarrely anxious to maintain outward appearances.

"I decided that I wouldn't attend a meeting for the next two days until I had got myself back into a reasonable state," she smiles. "Of course, I thought to myself, that if I was going to A.A. in the next couple of days I'd have to make sure I'd have plenty to drink today. I felt so ill the next day; I don't think I could have drunk anything if I'd tried. I had to stay in bed all day.

"But when the time came, I put on my make-up and went to that meeting, but unfortunately not with a very good attitude," she admits. "I was filled with utter terror, shame and horror. I thought is this what it''s come to? I thought it was the pits! I told myself, I just had to do it on my own. I'd get the information, study it and I'd do it. But it didn't work."

Despite her self-deluded pride, Jane kept going to meetings. She liked listening to other people's stories.

"I knew from listening to other people that I was an alcoholic, I didn't want to be, but I was," she admits. "I'd never heard anyone talk about how they drank before, what they thought and did about alcohol. I started to feel really comfortable."

Jane stayed away from alcohol for the first few months, but soon her alcoholic mind was playing tricks with her again. She had forgotten that she had vomited blood the day before her first meeting, and she had forgotten how terrified she had been that she was slowly killing herself and putting herself at risk of liver damage, stroke and fits.

"Somewhere inside me, I told myself I was just having a rest," she smiles. "I thought I could drink again and control it now. I didn't think it was fair that I couldn't have a drink. I was more frightened of stopping drinking than carrying on; the thought of life without alcohol was just horrific.

"I told myself that my life was so stressful that I needed to drink to help me," adds Jane. "I suffered with depression, anxiety and sleep problems. I had no idea that drinking was making them worse."

But despite attending meetings, Jane continued to drink on and off for 15 months.

"By this time I knew there was a solution, I knew there were people just like me and the programme had worked for them," she recalls. "They just kept telling me to keep coming back and the day would come when I would want to be sober more than I wanted to drink."

The day came, and Jane remembers sitting at home, describing herself as being in 'an empty black hole'.

"I knew I could be saved from this but I was turning my back on the solution. I was totally powerless over alcohol and knew it would never be safe for me to drink again. I knew that if I carried on drinking, life would get worse.

"I realised that I didn't drink because my life was stressful, I drank because I had an illness and it wasn't my fault," adds Jane. "But it was my responsibility to do something about it.

"A.A. has taught me how to live without alcohol, face reality and feel comfortable and content," she explains. "Before, I was so anxious and afraid and always turned to alcohol. But that false confidence I got from drinking, I now have when I'm sober. I have freedom. I used to feel that I'd been put on this earth without a rule book, but now I have a real sense of direction and purpose."

Bob, also in his 60s, has been sober for just over 11 years. While Jane managed to conceal her alcoholism from most people, Bob's drinking cost him his driving licence and nearly ruined his marriage.

From being a teenager, he kidded himself that drinking made him feel good about himself and was a cure for his panic attacks.
"I started drinking at 17, and from the start I drank excessively, I could never go out and just have one or two," says Bob. "I drank with a group of lads and I loved it. I thought it was magic because when I drank it changed me into something I wasn't. It made me feel better."

Before Bob started his long drinking career, he went to see his doctor about his panic attacks. I asked him if he could give me something, but instead I found booze. By the time he was 18 years old Bob was already suffering from 'blackouts'.

"I'd been studying for professional exams, and one night I went out and got drunk and made a mess of myself," he recalls. "I got up to go to work the following morning as if nothing had happened. When I went into the pub to see the lads after work, there was a massive cheer when I walked in and they told me what I'd done the night before, but I had no recollection of it."
During another blackout when he was aged 19, Bob had also tried to start a fight with his father. Again he could not remember a thing about it.

"I was just drinking on a weekend at that time, but then I got a good job with a local company and was very successful and got promoted," he says. "There was a big drinking culture there and most lunch and tea-times I would go out for a beer."
The company was part of an international group and as Bob's work took him travelling he soon discovered spirits and fine wines. During that time he also got married and had two children.

"Things looked good on the outside, I had all the trappings, a company car and a detached house. But I didn't stop drinking. Even when the amount of alcohol had given me the effect I was after to make me feel better, I just carried on drinking. I didn't know why, but I just couldn't throw it away. I started to become more conscious of my drinking and suspected that it wasn't normal. I'd started hiding it at home because I was fearful of criticism. I would lie about how much I'd had; if I'd had four it would only be two, if it was six it would be three, and if I was drunk then I hadn't been drinking at all."
But his denial about his drinking caught up with Bob when he was crashed while driving and wrote off two cars during a 'blackout' drinking session. He spent the night in the police cells.

"The next morning I swore I would not drink again, but I still blamed other things for the accident. I blamed other people for letting me drive, the fact that I was taking medication, it was snowing and I'd hit a puddle, anything but the drink. I carried on drinking after that for another 12 years before it got bad enough for me to do something about it," he adds.
By this time Bob was also drinking secretly at work.

"I thought people didn't know, but at work I was a well-known drunk. I was still drinking secretly at home and would have bottles hidden all over the place. Eating became an effort because it interfered with my drinking. I was dry retching for years."

Bob suffered another blow when he was made redundant at work. He had been on long term sick leave as he was incapable of doing the job and was being treated for depression. But he managed to get himself a part-time job.

"I'd start drinking early in the morning to stop me from shaking, so by the time I got to work I was already drunk," he recalls.

Bob was also having problems at home. His wife was sick and tired and threatened to leave if he didn't do something about his drinking. Eventually he made contact with AA via the helpline, and found himself giving a false name.

His wife took him to his first A.A. meeting and Bob found himself going every night and not drinking. But a family crisis saw him return to his old habits and he drank for another six weeks. He had to go and collect a family member and he recalls driving back drunk with no recollection of having had a drink.

"That was my last drink and it convinced me that I could never drink safely again," says Bob. "By the time I got to A.A. I really wanted to stop drinking and it was a revelation to discover that I had an illness and it wasn't just because I was weak-willed.

"I wasn't alone anymore. I realised there were people there who had been far worse than me, yet they were now sober. I asked someone to help me for the first time, and I got a sponsor," he adds. "A.A. is not just about stopping drinking, but learning to live without drink. For most of us it's a life-long programme. It's a three-fold illness, mental, physical and spiritual. The alcoholic brain is 'wired up' differently to other people's. That first drink sets off a craving for the next and it becomes an obsession.

"I could never go out and just have one or two pints. Every waking hour, I would think about when I could get that next drink. But by working the programme, my depression and anxiety gradually lifted. I've now got the freedom of knowing that I don't have to have a drink."

It's important to stress that while Jane and Bob's stories are typical examples, it is not just this age group who find themselves seeking the help of A.A. Indeed, meetings are being attended by more and more young people, who feel they have a problem with alcohol.

Alcoholism is a progressive illness, that often sneaks up on the unsuspecting drinker. An alcoholic who continues to drink and doesn't seek help, can only get worse, never better. As one alcoholic describes it, "It's like being in a lift and the only way is down - it's up to you which floor you get out on."

Brighouse Today