I Was Just Going to Look at the Wine, Not Buy It

For me, Friday at 5:00 PM is my most vulnerable time to drink. From a long week of 24-7 recovery work, from business work, paperwork, housework and cat care, I am depleted. Last Friday, much life happened and, in my vulnerable state, I was flooded with unremitting anguish. I thought to myself, “I want to talk to my mom.”

I now know that if I ache to talk to my deceased mother whom I loved helplessly and devotedly but with whom I had a troubled relationship, I need to call someone immediately. But I did not do that.

I thought I would just drive to Kroger and look at the wine. Not buy it. Just look at it.

I got in the car.

. . . . .

Since addiction is life-long and life lasts and happens as it does, something will always happen that will trigger the need to drink or drug or do.

In my on-going struggle to understand the relationship between the self and addiction, I think a being begins life at 100% self, however one wants to define “self.” I think once addicted, a being can only max out at 80% self. Addiction will always control the other 20%.

I think in the moment the need to drink or drug or do happens, the self’s power drops to three possible levels: 49% or 50% or 51%.

. . . . .

I work around the clock determinedly, sometimes desperately, to max my self out at 80% against the power of addiction to make me drink again. I can’t truly know this number but I’ll estimate I make probably 1000 decisions each day about what I think and what I do to prevent relapse.

Last Friday the percentage of my being that is self began to drop and headed towards those three possible levels: 49% or 50% or 51%.

If my self had dropped to 49%, I would have bought the wine, sauvignon blanc from New Zealand with a starfish on the green label, and opened it in my car in the parking lot. I would have experienced the mother love of wine.

If my self had dropped to 50%, whether I drank or not would simply be chance. Anne would be lucky or unlucky.

If my self dropped to 51%, I would have enough self, however much the need of addiction screamed to me of its caged longing, to look and walk away.

. . . . .

Addiction robs me of so much of the being I used to be. It robs me of caring about consequences. That I would break my 82 year-old father’s heart if I relapsed – which I did think of, which breaks my heart to say – meant nothing to me. It robs me of memory. I remember very little of my trip to Kroger.

I remember getting a small cart, not a big one. I think I thought to give myself at least some kind of chance and to start at the milk side of the store instead of the wine side. And I saw the sour cream. And thought I would like some potato chips and dip. And then I thought I would like spinach to go in the sour cream. And from the spinach, I turned back to the potato chip aisle. And somewhere near the fish counter I thought to myself that I forgot to look at the wine. And I thought about going back. And I didn’t.

. . . . .

This is so hard for people who don’t have an addiction to understand: drinking would have been an act of mercy. I was suffering beyond bearing. A good, kind, ethical person would have given me a drink. The Good Samaritan, whom I revere, would have given me a drink. I was fighting my own principles and values not to take a drink.

My self dropped to 51%. Looking back, I think if I had been to one less support group meeting, called one less person in recovery, texted once less, read one less piece of recovery literature in print, online, via email, been to one less counseling session, practiced one less moment of self-care – one less workout, one less f*king spinach smoothie, one less nap – I would have had a drink. It was that close. It required 28 months of accumulation of action to protect me against the first drink.

Because once I have the first, I can’t not have the second. That’s what addiction is.

How tragic! How exhausting! No wonder hardly anyone makes it through this!

Image: “Woman Rising” by Jackie Harder