It is an interesting fact about alcoholics that we do not particularly care for being told what to do. Someone tells us we “have to do” something and we are automatically, viscerally turned against the proposed thing.

Someone says that the “best way” to do something is x, and we immediately access y in our memory banks while another part of our brain concurrently begins a search for z, the “optimal” solution. And people say we are killing thousands of brain cells with our drinking. Ha!

I have not seen any official studies supporting these theories, but we alcoholics tend to be sceptical of such studies anyway.

From the research, reading, and studying I have done, I have to recognise the fact that in some cases forceful, hard-hitting interventions are necessary. Such an event would be the prime time to tell an addict exactly what they need to do – but that direction must be preceded by explaining to them the effects on others and themselves of what they are currently doing.

Prior to reaching the point of an intervention, one of the worst paths of action you can possibly undertake with an alcoholic is to tell them what they “must” do.

We are clever (but stupid enough to wreck our lives with drink). We are stubborn and generally control freaks (but so weak that we become prisoners of booze). We have become accustomed to a life of subterfuge, resourcefulness, and independence (we have become masters of our destinies by becoming slaves to alcohol; we can acquire it by hook or by crook on our own, we don’t need anyone or anything….other than that liquid medication we find in each bottle).

We live in a state of denial, but I do not mean to say that “denial” means we are “liars” about that state. I heard a wonderful explanation of the concept of denial once. A therapist explained that she did not believe that “denial” equated to “lying”; rather, she espoused that someone who is severely addicted has reached a point where their brain is so constantly “fogged” that they actually no longer can comprehend much less acknowledge the state they are in. So all you Oprah fans can keep saying “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt” and snapping your fingers. But know that the alcoholic who you consider to be lying is likely at least somewhat unaware of their true state of physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

Alcoholism is a somewhat unique addiction when compared to addiction to illicit drugs (and before anyone takes offence at that statement, I recognise that alcohol is a drug, but it is legal, and that’s the key point I’m trying to make here). An alcoholic can go to a convenience store, a bar, a liquor store, a shoppe, or any number of other places and get their stash on. A user of illicit drugs must make connections and contacts with other people to find and acquire their chemicals.

My point here is dead simple. Alcoholism is a very isolating disease – and I believe a key reason for that is we don’t need anyone or anything to easily acquire what we crave. “Druggies” have to network to score street drugs. “Drunks” can just wander down to the nearest Kwikee Mart and buy a bottle.

And so we become more alone and isolated. More convinced that we don’t need anyone to tell us “You have to do…”

It is a lonely road we walk, where we are convinced we are the “worst person in the world, the most miserable drunk ever, who else could possibly be so fucked up that they have a nice, stiff drink first thing after waking to make my hands stop shaking?”

So, for those of you who suffer from the disease I have, I say simply this: You are not alone. I guarantee that you will hear stories much like your own in AA meetings and in talking with others afflicted with the disease. We are each unique, but we also each have much in common

And for those of you with loved ones in your lives who are slowly but surely killing themselves with drink, I say simply this: Resist the temptation to tell them what to do, or to believe that you can “make them stop.” You can’t. Just be there for them, ready to help them find help when they are ready or able, and know that you are doing everything you can….and sometimes there is nothing you can do at the time.

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Hi, my name is Ted, and I am an alcoholic.

It’s very hard to know where to start writing in this blog. The subject matter is intensely personal and will at times be very painful for both authors and readers.

In reality, it was even difficult to decide on a name for the blog itself. The current name (LearnAboutRehab.com) makes the site matter sound much more narrow in focus than the reality of what we write about here.

Another complicating set of factors in writing here is our intense need for our own – and our respect for others’ – anonymity. Many bottles of ink have been spilled and many heated discussions have occurred regarding this topic. The founders and charter members of Alcoholics Anonymous considered it so vital that they named the group accordingly; each A.A. meeting begins with reminders of the importance of respecting the anonymity of the group and the individuals in it; and each meeting is closed with another reminder about leaving what is said and who see in the room.

My own need to maintain my anonymity and to respect that of others’ is not borne simply from “respecting the Elders” of A.A. It is also driven by my own experiences of small-town living, of having heard how others felt when their privacy was violated, and my own feelings when well-intentioned people did not maintain my own anonymity and took it upon themselves to share information about my situation with others.

I do not doubt the motives of the people who did that – I sincerely believe them to have been well-intentioned at the time. That, however, does not erase the feelings it engendered in me:

• a sense of loss of control in a situation where so many other aspects of my life had spiralled out of control
• feelings of betrayal or “being used” as some sort of example (again, with good intentions; but there is a certain road that is paved with good intentions)
• self-isolation out of concern for further betrayals of confidences

The final, and perhaps the greatest challenge to writing this, is the intense swirl of emotions, the complicated inter-personal relationships between those involved, and the simple fact that I was a “blackout drunk” for quite some time.

The feelings and the relationships between the people writing here will obviously colour some of what is discussed. That is human nature.

But put quite simply, I could not construct any sort of cohesive history of what happened. I do not remember parts of it, and other memories are distorted. A frequent exercise in rehab programs is to ask the person how much they drank per day, week or month; or, worse yet, how much they spent on booze in a given time frame.

There is simply no way I could answer the first question – I had no idea. Near the end I drank enough to prevent myself from going into physical withdrawal. And the amount of money spent? I guess I’d sum that one up by saying two things:

• It doesn’t matter if you’re drinking Mad Dog 20/20, “just beer”, or Dom Perignon and Remy Martin – you can develop a problem with any of these
• In my experience, I slowly moved down the “food chain”, progressively buying cheaper brands to maximise quantity purchased

The term “blackout” is actually quite misleading. Blackout drunks aren’t just passed out. Those periods of actual loss of consciousness are the ones that are relatively easy to figure out; the person is passed out, “asleep” in a place they normally might not sleep. For example, a dumpster.

But the blackout drunks’ more natural state is to appear largely functional. They may slur their words a bit (or maybe not). They may sweat profusely, but they will always have an excuse as to why. The blackout drunk can (as I have done) have a Blood Alcohol Content of .30, .40, or higher, and still be largely functional. That’s just one glimpse into the fun world of being a blackout drunk.

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