Alcoholics Anonymous

by Alcoholics Anonymous

In this statement he confirms what we who have suffered alcoholic torture must believe—that the body of the alcoholic is quite as abnormal as his mind.

More often than not, it is imperative that a man’s brain be cleared before he is approached, as he has then a better chance of understanding and accepting what we have to offer.

we are perhaps not well equipped to apply the powers of good that lie outside our synthetic knowledge.

In nearly all cases, their ideals must be grounded in a power greater than themselves, if they are to re-create their lives.

After

they have succumbed to the desire again, as so many do, and the phenomenon of craving develops, they pass through the well-known stages of a spree, emerging remorseful, with a firm resolution not to drink again.

once a psychic change has occurred, the very same person who seemed doomed, who had so many problems he despaired of ever solving them, suddenly finds himself easily able

to control his desire for alcohol, the only effort necessary being that required to follow a few simple rules.

One feels that something more than human power is needed to produce the essential psychic change.

the phenomenon of craving at once became paramount to all other

interests so that the important appointment was not met.

These men were not drinking to escape; they were drinking to overcome a craving bey...

psychopaths who are emotionally unstable. We are all familiar with this type. They are always “going on the wagon for keeps.’’ They are

over-remorseful and make many resolutions, but never a decision.

There is the type of man who is unwilling to admit that he cannot take a drink. He plans various ways of drinking. He cha...

There is the type who always believes that after be...

from alcohol for a period of time he can take a drin...

There is the manic-depressive type, who is, perhaps, the least understood by his friends, and about whom a whole chapter could be written. Then there are types entirely norm...

has upon them. They are often able, intelligent, ...

All these, and many others, have one symptom in common: they cannot start drinking without developi...

The only relief we have to suggest is entire abstinence.

However, he did become “sold’’ on the ideas contained in this book.

I was very lonely and again turned to alcohol.

I fancied myself a leader, for had not the men of my battery given me a special token of appreciation? My talent for leadership, I imagined, would place me at the head of vast enterprises which I would manage with the utmost assurance.

The drive for success was on. I’d prove to the world I was important.

Many people lost money—but some became very rich. Why not I?

We had long talks when I would still her forebodings by telling her that men of

genius conceived their best projects when drunk; that the most majestic constructions of philosophic thought were so derived.

The inviting maelstrom of Wall Street had me in its grip. Business and financial leaders were my heroes.

I rightly imagined that they would some day have a great rise. I failed to persuade my broker friends to send me out looking over factories and managements, but my wife and I decided to go anyway. I had developed a theory that most people lost money in stocks through ignorance of markets.

We gave up our positions and off we roared on a motorcycle, the sidecar stuffed with tent, blankets, a change of clothes, and three huge volumes of a financial reference service. Our friends thought a lunacy commission should be appointed. Perhaps they were right. I

For the next few years fortune threw money and applause my way. I had arrived. My judgment and

ideas were followed by many to the tune of paper millions. The great boom of the late twenties was seething and swelling. Drink was taking an important and exhilarating part in my life.

Everyone spent in thousands and chattere...

In 1929 I contracted golf fever. We went at once to the country, my wife to applaud while I started out to overtake Walter Hagen.

Golf permitted drinking every day and every night. It was fun to carom around the exclusive course which had inspired such awe in me as a lad. I acquired the impeccable coat of tan one sees upon the well-to-do. The local banker watched me whirl fat checks in and out of his till with amused skepticism.

That disgusted me. I would not jump. I went back to the bar.

dropped several million since ten o’clock—so what? Tomorrow was another day. As I drank, the old fierce determination to win came back. Next morning I telephoned a friend in Montreal. He had plenty of money left and thought I had better go to Canada. By the following spring we were living in our accustomed style. I felt like Napoleon returning from Elba. No St. Helena for me!

Some time passed, and confidence began to be replaced by cocksureness. I could laugh at the gin mills. Now I had what it takes!

As the whisky rose to my head I told myself I would manage better next time, but I might as well get good and drunk then. And I did.

My brain raced uncontrollably and there was a terrible sense of impending calamity.

Understanding myself now, I fared forth in high hope. For three or four months the goose hung high. I went to town regularly and even made a little money. Surely this was the answer—self-knowledge.

No words can tell of the loneliness and despair I found in that bitter morass of self-pity. Quicksand stretched around me in all directions. I had met my match. I had been overwhelmed. Alcohol was my master.

I was soon to be catapulted into what I like to call the fourth dimension of existence. I was to know happiness, peace, and usefulness, in a way of life that is incredibly more wonderful as time passes.

His coming was an oasis in this dreary desert of futility. The very thing—an oasis! Drinkers are like that.

I simply had to believe in a Spirit of the Universe, who knew neither time nor limitation.

But my friend sat before me, and he made the pointblank declaration that God had done for him what he could not do for himself.

Then he had, in effect, been raised from the dead, suddenly taken from the scrap heap to a level of life better than the best he had ever known!

Had this power originated in him? Obviously it had not.

My ideas about miracles were drastically revised right then. Never mind the musty past; here sat a miracle directly across the kitchen table. He shouted great tidings.