The familiar sound of my alarm clock this morning, was quickly followed by a snippet of a share that yet again came from the brilliant AA Step 11 sunrise Zoom meeting, a seemingly innocent phrase that nonetheless struck a resonant chord within me. The words, “I told them I was allergic to alcohol,” hung in the air, instantly igniting a familiar spark of recognition. It transported me back to a time when my relationship with alcohol was a carefully guarded secret, a clandestine affair conducted in the shadows of the day. The surreptitious morning drinks, the furtive nips before lunch – these weren’t social indulgences but desperate attempts to quell the tremors that threatened to betray my dependence. In those hazy days, the question of “should I be doing this?” never truly registered; the physical imperative of the addiction overshadowed any sense of moral or social obligation. The first drink of the day, intended merely to “calm the shakes,” invariably unleashed a torrent, surrendering me entirely to the drink’s relentless control.
Hearing someone else articulate the very words I now use so readily – “I’m allergic to alcohol” – was strangely validating. It’s a phrase that has become a staple in my social interactions, a concise and truthful explanation for my abstinence. Depending on the company, I tailor my response to the inevitable follow-up inquiries. In more mixed settings, I opt for the explanation that alcohol “causes issues with my mental stability and doesn’t agree with me,” a statement that speaks to the profound impact it had on my well-being. With closer friends and family, I adopt a more direct, albeit slightly humorous, approach, simply stating, “Oh, it turns me into an absolute knob.” In both instances, the underlying truth remains: my body and mind react adversely to alcohol, akin to an allergic reaction.
My understanding of this “allergy” deepened significantly when I found my way to the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was there, amidst the shared experiences and collective wisdom, that I began to comprehend the true nature of alcoholism. It wasn’t simply a matter of weak willpower or moral failing, as society often portrays it. Instead, I learned that for many of us, alcoholism manifests as a genuine physiological and psychological vulnerability, much like any other allergy or illness. Just as a bee sting can trigger a life-threatening anaphylactic shock in a susceptible individual, or peanuts can have devastating consequences for someone with that specific allergy, alcohol has a uniquely destructive impact on those of us predisposed to alcoholism. The insidious nature of this “allergy” lies in its potential for a slow and agonizing demise, a gradual erosion of physical and mental health.
One of the most perplexing and insidious aspects of this alcoholic “allergy” is the often-intense craving for the very substance that harms us. This mirrors the experiences of individuals with food allergies who sometimes find themselves drawn to the foods that pose a significant threat to their well-being. This understanding was profoundly liberating. It shifted the burden of guilt and self-blame that I had carried for so long. It wasn’t a matter of inherent defectiveness or a lack of moral fortitude; it was a physiological response, an adverse reaction to a substance that my body and mind could not process healthily. This realization didn’t absolve me of responsibility, but it reframed it. While I wasn’t at fault for having this adverse reaction, it became unequivocally my responsibility to manage it.
And thankfully, a prescription for managing this “allergy” was readily available – not a magic pill, but: Alcoholics Anonymous. The guidance was clear and practical: attend at least two face-to-face meetings each week, supplement these with numerous online meetings for added support, and actively engage in service to others within the fellowship. This “medicine” was best taken with friends, surrounded by a community of individuals who understood the struggle and offered unwavering support. The prescription also included a crucial reminder to “pause and take it easy,” acknowledging the importance of self-care and pacing in the journey of recovery. Looking back, I am filled with immense gratitude that I stumbled upon this life-saving prescription precisely when I desperately needed it. It has not only alleviated the destructive symptoms of my “allergy” but has also gifted me a life filled with connection, purpose, and a profound sense of hope.
Take Your Medicine
The alarm chime of dawn,
a digital echo,
followed by a voice,
across the miles,
"I told them I was allergic to alcohol."
A toll in the stillness,
a hammer hitting the bell,
and the past surfaces.
The shadowed mornings,
the quick, hidden draughts,
not pleasure, but a desperate stilling,
a tremor silenced before it spoke.
"Should I?" a whisper unheard,
drowned by the body's fierce command.
The first taste, a floodgate opened,
will surrendered to the bore.
Now, the words are mine too,
a shield held up to the world.
"Allergic," a simple truth.
To some, a mental unease,
a stability fractured by the drink.
To others, a blunt honesty,
"It turns me into an absolute knob."
The body knows, the mind recoils,
a fundamental disharmony.
In the rooms, a mirror held up,
not weakness, not fault,
but a way the self is wired,
a vulnerability laid bare.
Like the swollen throat to the bee's sting,
the gasping breath near the peanut's dust,
so the spirit suffocates,
the body unravels,
in the presence of the poison.
The craving, a cruel paradox,
the very thing that undoes,
calls with a siren's song.
The allergic reaching for the allergen.
Understanding, a loosening of chains,
the weight of blame, lifted.
Not a defect of character,
but a reaction, pure and stark.
Responsibility then, not for the wiring,
but for the tending of it.
The prescription offered,
a gathering of voices, face to face,
and the hum of connection online.
Service, the outward reach,
a hand extended, a hand held.
"Pause, take it easy,"
the gentle rhythm of healing.
Gratitude, a quiet bloom,
for the stumbled-upon cure,
the life reclaimed,
woven with purpose,
bright with the dawn of hope.
