Page 27 - The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

6 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

passed, and confidence began to be replaced by cock-
sureness. I could laugh at the gin mills. Now I had
what it takes! One day I walked into a cafe to tele-
phone. In no time I was beating on the bar asking my-
self how it happened. 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.
The remorse, horror and hopelessness of the next
morning are unforgettable. The courage to do battle
was not there. My brain raced uncontrollably and
there was a terrible sense of impending calamity. I
hardly dared cross the street, lest I collapse and be run
down by an early morning truck, for it was scarcely
daylight. An all night place supplied me with a dozen
glasses of ale. My writhing nerves were stilled at last.
A morning paper told me the market had gone to hell
again. Well, so had I. The market would recover, but
I wouldn’t. That was a hard thought. Should I kill
myself? No—not now. Then a mental fog settled
down. Gin would fix that. So two bottles, and—
oblivion.
The mind and body are marvelous mechanisms, for
mine endured this agony two more years. Sometimes
I stole from my wife’s slender purse when the morning
terror and madness were on me. Again I swayed diz-
zily before an open window, or the medicine cabinet
where there was poison, cursing myself for a weakling.
There were flights from city to country and back, as
my wife and I sought escape. Then came the night
when the physical and mental torture was so hellish I
feared I would burst through my window, sash and
all. Somehow I managed to drag my mattress to a
lower floor, lest I suddenly leap. A doctor came with