People find it hard to understand the compulsive drinker. I was often asked: “Why don’t you cut down a bit, drink less and enjoy it more?” Tolerance and compromise maybe the watchwords of contemporary culture but they have little currency with the heavy drinker.
I started drinking years ago as a student and carried on afterwards. Beer and wine formed a comfortable shoulder in the corporate world. A good trencher man, still running and weight lifting, I felt I had nothing to fear.
On the morning of June 29 I walked into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Most people had already gone through to another room. A cheerful man called Charlie greeted me.
“Looking for AA?” he asked.
“I just want to talk to someone, see what’s involved,” I said. “I don’t want to go into a meeting. Not yet.”
“OK,” said Charlie.
We sat in small book-lined room next door. The night before I had telephoned the AA helpline. That evening had begun with a routine bottle of beer cracked open after work, then a glass or two of red wine with dinner. Over the pub I sank a few jars of cider and later finished the bottle of red. Convinced the habit was out of control, I made the call.
(...) A few years later Charlie contracted cancer and died.
His funeral was heavily attended. At one point in the service the priest said: “Let us pray for Charlie and all who suffered with him.” At first, I thought he meant cancer sufferers, but as I looked at the congregation I began to pick out people I knew from AA. Thin girls, sunburnt businessmen, pensioners with bling: these were the people Charlie suffered with.
I still use Charlie’s advice: do it a day at time; be comfortable with who you are; don’t take on too much; learn to say no. In addition, I stay loyal to his memory.
After that first meeting with Charlie I slipped across town to Mass, still frightened about my health and the daunting prospect of sobriety. It’s hard to explain, but as I sat there at Mass the whole idea of stopping drinking clicked into place. I have never drunk alcohol since. Sitting there, I knew I was done with it.
I believe that Jesus goes to these meetings, sitting there with skin on. Through the laughter and encouragement of Charlie and fellow sufferers I came to understand the mercy of Christ. Considering all this I heard, as if for the first time, the words of Psalm 33: “I sought the Lord and he answered me. From all my terrors he set me free.”
My prayer was answered. Every year I repeat the response tight-throated with gratitude that this Jesus, my God with skin on, came through for me.
John Musgrave works as a technical writer and lives quietly in the south-west of -June 2013