If you spend any significant length of time in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, you’re eventually going to hear words like “mental obsession,” “phenomenon of craving,” and the “insanity of the first drink.” A lot of non-alcoholics who hear these words object to the whole concept of alcoholism as a disease. To them, the alcoholic complaining about this “obsession” is really just saying
I can’t help myself, it’s not my fault, I’m really a victim, and I shouldn’t have to bear the consequences of my conduct because of that.
Now, I’m not going to lie to you. There are plenty of alcoholics out there who think and talk this way. They’re still in the grips of a disease that, like denial, can only be seen clearly once you’re out of it.
But if they’re following any kind of program at all, they won’t be talking like this. The Twelve Steps demand that we look to the part that we play in the conflicts in our lives, and the program’s twin ideals of facing our fears and owning up to the consequences of our actions fly in the face of this “victim mentality.”
But I can take responsibility for my actions as an alcoholic while at the same time admitting that I have no effective mental defense against that first drink. The two are not mutually incompatible. In fact, it is only through this admission of powerlessness that I am able to rise above my disease, and finally take action to right the wrongs I have done.
The problem, of course, is in trying to explain this concept to a non-alcoholic. If you’re not a drunk like I am, chances are the last few paragraphs sounded like some kind of impenetrable Zen koan. That, or complete gibberish.
Because, you see, if you’re not an alcoholic, it’s almost impossible to explain the hold that alcohol can have on the mind. The insane thinking that will lead a recovering alcoholic to think “just one won’t hurt” before plunging into relapse. The uncontrollable craving that turns that one drink into God knows how many more. The “pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization” that inevitably follows.
If you’re not an alcoholic, I can’t explain these things to you. If you are, I don’t have to.
But that won’t stop me from trying. And, as is so often the case, the best way I know to explain this idea is with a simple story. A funny one, actually, otherwise known as a joke.
There was this alcoholic walking down the beach one morning. The sun was rising, but he was in a foul mood, because he had no liquor and no money. Looking down as he walked, his heart jumped as he spied a bottle buried in the sand.
Running to the bottle, he twisted the top off and emptied it in one long draught. It was the best and smoothest whiskey he had ever tasted. He looked at the bottle, trying to find the brand. As he rubbed the sand from the label, the bottle began to shake violently, and a genie sprang forth.
“Thank you for releasing me from my prison,” boomed the genie. “In return I will grant you three wishes.”
The taste of the whiskey still on his tongue, the alcoholic replied “I want another bottle of this whiskey, one that never runs out.”
The genie complied, and the bottle filled up instantly. The alcoholic, amazed, took a giant swig, and watched dumbfounded as the bottle filled up again. Once, twice, three times the alcoholic drained the bottle, only to watch it fill itself again and again before his very eyes.
The genie, smiling at his handiwork, gently reminded the alcoholic, “Remember, you have two more wishes.”
The alcoholic stopped for a minute, brows furrowed in concentration. A smile crossed his lips as he looked up at the genie.
“I’ll have two more of these.”