We had only a short time together that first night.  But at home, later on, I knew I must be with her again.  Soon, I hoped.  The next day I came up with all sorts of reasons why this was a very good thing, a thing I deserved, a thing that gets offered and you have a right to.  A thing that might go against your upbringing, sure, but also against the stupidity of social restraints we submit to.  Restraint be damned.  I was ready for this.

As you might guess, we began to meet when and where we could.  She was intoxicating.  The more I was with her, the more I needed to be with her more.  I constructed all kinds of excuses and occasions.  I found myself planning my days around chances to be with her.  For when I was with her I was new and different to myself.  I was freer, funnier, wiser, manlier, braver–everything.  And that was intoxicating too.  I loved her, yes, but also I loved what I became in her presence, under her spell.

Now and then I would ask myself where this was headed.  After all, I did have a job, and a wife, and two children, and a reputation to uphold, and a church I went to, and work to do around the house that I paid less and less attention to.  I paid less and less attention to everything, actually.  And people may have noticed this, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about it.  I went on paying more and more attention to her.

For years I did.

Finally I did ask myself where this was headed.  In my sober moments, I realized that I was not in control of this relationship.  It was in control of me.  I was spending my life covering up, making excuses, and offering apologies.  I was no longer the free and funnier man I had been.  I was a man caught in circumstances of his own making, whose life had become unmanageable.

Six years ago, in great desperation, I told her I had had enough and could not go on.  She thought I would change my mind, and that surely we could see each other occasionally and be friends.  But we had tried to do that over and over, and it never worked.

I walked into Joe’s office, closed the door, sat down, and told him my story.

“I have to make a change,” I said.

I did not forget her the day I made this change.  I missed her terribly.

For a long time I was more of a wreck without her than I had become with her.

But I did not waver, and have not until now.  “One day at a time,” as they say.  As we say.  We alcoholics.