I started drinking after my wife died in 2017.
It wasn’t a plunge to drown my sorrows, exactly. More of a slow slide.
The widower buddies who helped me get through that brutal first year of loss met at a local bar. The talk was good; I desperately needed it to survive. But they ordered drinks to fuel the conversation. I stuck to a glass or two of wine — for a while.
Erich Bridges
The Lord walked close beside me in grief, and I had good personal support — grief counseling, church friends, my loving adult children. But depression and isolation gnawed at me. I also was struggling with the bewildering early years of retirement, searching for some sense of purpose, trying to get through the day.
You know what helps you get through the day? Looking forward to “Happy Hour.”
Cheers
I found myself going to a neighborhood sports bar. The smiling bartenders, waiters and regulars remembered my name — like at “Cheers,” the famous TV sitcom bar. It became a pleasant daily routine. And I switched from wine to bourbon. Three shots a day, sometimes four, sometimes more. Every day.
It was foolish, I know. It was doubly foolish for me, since alcoholism has plagued both sides of my family for generations. I vowed as a young person never to subject my own wife and kids to the fear and pain I experienced as a child, when I hoped nightly my father wouldn’t have another drunken meltdown. I kept that vow, thank God. But my kids are grown and out of the house now, living their own lives, and I am left to my own devices.
“When I started drinking at home alone, I knew I had a problem.”
I’ve never had a falling-down-drunk episode. I’ve never been stopped by police for driving while intoxicated. But when I started drinking at home alone, I knew I had a problem. When I impulsively sabotaged my relationship with the wonderful new woman in my life because she wanted me to stop drinking, I realized the problem had become a nightmare.
So yeah, I’m an alcoholic.
It still feels strange saying that, even to myself. I still wonder if it’s true. Maybe that’s because of ongoing denial on my part, or my stereotypical view of alcoholics as people staggering around, slurring words and drinking themselves into a stupor — or a violent outburst — on a daily basis.
In the alcohol and drug addiction recovery group I now attend, I’ve met plenty of folks who have descended to that extreme, or far worse. Others are more like me: “controlled” drinkers, “functional” alcoholics. We’re still alcoholics, but we hide it better — except from the people who love us most. Most of us started drinking to numb some kind of pain. Numbness feels good for a while, but it’s not living.
‘Several 24 hours’
I quit drinking a while back, and it feels great so far. I go to my recovery group as often as I can. I’m trying to repair my relationship with the wonderful woman I mentioned. But alcohol is like sin: It’s always waiting in the shadows for a weak moment to pounce.
“Alcohol is like sin: It’s always waiting in the shadows for a weak moment to pounce.”
Some of the alcoholics in my recovery group haven’t had a drink in 30 years. They call it “several 24 hours,” because not drinking will always be one day at a time. If you think you’ve beaten the demon once and for all, you’re about to relapse.
I’m not yet qualified to advise anyone else facing addiction. I’m still too new to it. I made it more than 60 years without falling for the bottle, then fell like a chump. Who knew it would happen this late in my career? Send in the clowns.
I will say this: You can’t overcome addiction alone. You need others who’ve faced the same battle — and you need God. Call him your Higher Power or the God of your understanding if you like. I’ve known him for a long time through Christ, and I call him Lord.
He will help you. So will others. But the decision to change is yours.
Erich Bridges, a Baptist journalist for more than 40 years, has covered international stories and trends in many countries. He lives in Richmond, Va.
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