The First Drink

The first drink is good. It provides all of the warmth, promise and companionship that we needed. It fills me, but then it leads me to a dark path.

If I just had the one, I’d be ok. This is what kills the alcoholic and confounds the normal person. We keep going.

In the face of previous awful experience, against the recommendation of professionals, and in spite of our own gut’s warning we don’t stop until we can’t stop.

Or maybe it’s better to say we simply can’t stop in the first place. Brief interludes turn into dangerous relapses.

There is not any middle ground. We can’t take the first drink. That’s the trigger. That’s what sets things in motion. The old saying holds true: it’s the first drink that gets us drunk.

So we are left with one uncomfortable choice or another. Either we roll our dice as we are accustomed and brace for where this drink will take us. Or we concede to another way…

A way that is uncertain, though promising. A way that seems boring, though healthy. A way that attacks our desire while giving us a new lease on life. A way that insists on crucifying our complacency through spiritual service and a rearrangement of ideals.

The first drink still seems like a good idea. But the first step has made all the difference.

God, keep me from the lie of the first drink.