On His Way
IN EARLY youth I believe I had some
of the tendencies which lead to alcoholism. I refer to attempted escapes from reality.
At fifteen and sixteen, although free at home to drink small amounts of beer and wine, I
drank considerable quantities of stronger liquors at school and other places. Not enough to
cause serious worry, but enough apparently to give me occasionally what I thought I wanted.
Escape? A feeling of superiority? I do not know.
I then decided I'd had enough of school, which decision was probably shared by the schools.
The next few years were spent in civil engineering work, travel, sports, and a little
idleness, and I seem to have avoided alcoholic difficulties of the more pronounced kind.
Immediately before marriage and in the short time before sailing for France, alcohol began
to take a real part in my life. A year and a half in war time France postponed the
inevitable and the post war period of hopes and plans brought me nearer and nearer to the
point where I eventually found myself to be an alcoholic. Not that I would have admitted it
then, having the alcoholic's usual facility for deception, both to self and others.
Divorced, sometimes suspecting that drinking was the basis for most of my troubles but never
admitting it, I had enough left in health, interests of various
kinds, and luck to carry on with considerable success.
About this time I stopped all social drinking. I became a periodical drunkard, the sprees
lasting from three days to three weeks and the dry intervals lasting from three weeks to
four months.
During one of the best years, I made a happy marriage and the age of thirty-five found me
with the following: a beautiful little home presided over by a kind, understanding, and
lovely wife; a partnership in a firm I had helped to found years before; more than a
comfortable income; many luxuries and many friends; opportunity to follow my interests and
hobbies; a love of my work; pride in my success; great health; optimism; and hope on the
credit side. On the other hand, I had a growing, gnawing fear of my recurring trouble.
I slipped by far too easy stages to the bottom in less than eight years. Not a pleasant
place, the bottom. Sometimes I slept in a cheap hotel or rooming house, sometimes a flop
house, sometimes the back room of a police station and once in a doorway; many times in the
alcoholic ward at a hospital, and once in a subway toilet. Sometimes decently fed, clothed,
and housed, I worked at my business on commission with a large firm; sometimes I dared not
appear there cold, hungry, with torn clothes, shaking body and muddled brain advertising
what I had become. Helpless, hopeless, bitter.
Sometimes I was apparently on the way back, and sometimes writhing in bed for days at a
time, terrorized by the fear of insanity and by the spectres of people without faces, people
with horrible faces, people grimacing and laughing at me and my misery. Tortured
by dreams from which I would awake with a scream of agony and bathed in
cold sweat. Tortured by day dreams of what might have been, dreams of the kindness, faith
and love that had been heaped upon me.
Due to this last however, and to what little remained of my former self and perhaps to some
lingering power of spiritual faith, I became somewhat better. Not well, but
better.
This helped me to take stock and to try to do some clear thinking. I found my inventory
somewhat mixed, but as my thoughts became clearer, I grew much better and at last arrived at
that point where for the first time in several years I could see some light and hope ahead
of me. Through a haze of doubt and skepticism I began to realize, partly at least, many
things in myself which had greased the path I had pursued, and some vague thoughts and ideas
came to me that are now crystallizing with the help of the men I have been happy to join.
What thoughts and ideas? The answer is short, although the road to it is long and tedious.
My intelligence, instead of drawing me further away from spiritual faith is bringing me
closer to it. I no longer react in quite the same way when my will and desires are
apparently frustrated.
The simple words "Thy Will Be Done" and the simple ideas of honesty and of helping others
are taking on a new meaning for me. I should not be surprised to find myself coming to the
astounding conclusion that God, whoever or whatever He may be, is eminently more capable of
running this universe than I am. At last I believe I am on my way.