Expert: Clyde - 7/6/2008

Question
"but at some stage of his drinking career he begins to lose all control of his
liquor consumption, once he starts to drink."

What does this mean to you? Especially the word 'control'...

-Keith

Answer
Keith,
    Thank you for your question.  Liquor begins to do something for me which I need but can find nothing else to provide it, is the essence of my answer to your question.

    There comes a point at which I am powerless over the drink because my life has become so ensnared in the effects that alcohol provides - the way it helps me escape all my cares completely; the way it stops all the fears of living; the way it holds down all the regrets, remorses, guilts and shame that I have amassed over my lifetime;  the way it provides the oblivion for which I long; the way it makes the people in my life with whom I do not want to have to deal less ominous and threatening; the way it gives me the only pleasure I really know; the way it becomes for me everything, all-consuming and all life-giving.

    I have lost control of my life because I have ceased living on life's terms.  

    Yes the responsibilities (cares) for which I must be continually aware are mine to be dealt with sober; yes, the fears of living will come up to grab me when I least expect it and are to be faced squarely and like a man; yes, the past is the past and some of those things I need to correct and make amends for (even it means prison or large sums of money); yes, the past is the past and I owe certain people a debt I will never be able to repay, I must ask for forgiveness or give it; yes, Oblivion is a hell; yes, I have people with whom I am in contact because of my life's circumstances and I must be held accountable for my damaging those relationships; yes, it is not pleasure, it is a lie; yes, it has taken my control and will not give it back til I am dead.

    I hope this helps describe what alcohol did for me.   A very good question and I have found the time to reflect on this very sobering.

Grace and Peace,
Clyde