I should explain how I stopped drinking one day at a time. After all the problems I had from 1967-1970, I didn’t stop drinking. I didn’t stop. I came out of a treatment center. I lost a job. I totaled a car. I did stop for a short period of time, but the craving would come back. I had no defense against that craving. I’d start drinking again.
In October 1970, I was confined to a mental hospital for severe acts of violence against my family and some personal friends. When I came out of there, I was okay for a few days. But then the compulsion hit me again to drink. And with all the miseries I had due to the drinking, you would think that I would finally get the message. I mean, you would think that anyone in their right mind would say: “I just came out of a mental hospital where they warned me that if I come back again, they are going to confine me for one year.” That’s the promise they made to me. They said to me: “Mr. Plunkett, you are a very violent man.”
I had been out of the hospital for two months. I hadn’t been drinking for two months. But in December 1970 I started drinking again. I was convinced—I use the word hopeless—I had to have a safe haven if I was going to stop drinking. I wanted to drink, but at the same time I wanted a safe way to stop drinking. And please believe me, if you are an alcoholic like me, the only way to stop is not to drink.
In December 1970, I was so sick from drinking. I had a job—I was surprised I still had a job—and I couldn’t get to work because I was so hung-over and shaking so badly. My mind said: “Have a few drinks, and you’ll feel better.” You would think any maniac would say to himself : “If I’m sick from drinking, I should stop.” But not me.
I compare the addiction to a smoker. Smokers are told they have emphysema and that they should stop smoking. But yet, they are back to smoking. People are going to say that they are crazy. They are crazy. The same with a compulsive gambler. You tell them the reason they are losing their money is because they are gambling. The gambler will say: “Well, the next time I can win.” It all boils down to excuses, excuses, excuses.
In 1970, I had given up on AA. It wasn’t working. But truth was, I didn’t want it to work. I hadn’t hit rock bottom yet. I first went to AA in September 1967 only because I had the shakes. That’s the only problem I had. Or, so I believed. There were some problems in my home life, with my wife and six children. But it wasn’t that bad, yet.
That’s a key word to alcoholics: yet. Yet, yet, yet.
After the shakes went away, I went back to alcohol. I lost my job. I lost my family. I totaled my car. I went to jail. I was sleeping in the street. All these “yets” came to pass. I even tried suicide in 1968 because of my drinking.
I remember walking the streets of New York. I didn’t know what I was going to do. But then I saw this bar on 10th Avenue in New York City. I walked in and looked at the patrons. They are all well-dressed. The guys were handsome; the women were beautiful; the tinkling of glasses sounded merriment; everything was a bed of wine and roses.
I walked outside. Imagine me, standing on 10th Avenue, in the rain, starting to cry. I didn’t know where to go, what to do, and I couldn’t stop crying. All of a sudden, like a little boy whispering in his daddy’s ear—or God saying to me, hopefully: “You’ve had enough. Now go back to AA.”
And my friends, that’s the best I can tell you. All the treatment centers and all of the loss of jobs, the car accidents: nothing could stop me. But this was my moment of realization. I went back to AA, and I have never had a drink since that date.
You never know what tomorrow is going to bring or what’s around the corner. You just don’t know. I never thought in a million years I’d stop drinking. But I have: one day at a time. Never Count a Drunk Out.