A remeniscence

At my 6:30 a.m. 12-step meeting today, John W shared his Delirium Tremins story: seeing ghouls, hearing screaming, seeing fires, etc. When that happened to grandma letty in 1965, for the same reason (over-imbibing of alcoholic beverages, for those little ones who don't know what DTs stand for), I was clapped into a mental hospital. Because my friends came to visit with pitchers of martinis and my husband always brought me a few beers and because I always kept a bottle of vodka in the woods under an old log, I never got better. Further, I was being medicated with tons of tranquilizers which is what they did in the 60's and drinking, too, often I was "out of it." When I went out for a visit anywhere I always was brought in drunk as a coot.
Here's the deal: I never associated my mental state with alcohol. That seems unlikely, today, because the media are full of articles and dramas which highlight the problem. Not so in the 1960's. Then, an alcoholic lived under a bridge with a bottle in a brown paper bag, or so the popular culture believed.
I had a fancy house with a housekeeper and a scientist-husband and I was only in my 30's and (if I do say so myself) a looker so I was too rich and too young and (believe it or not) too pretty to be a drunk. Hence, I must be chronic, paranoid schizophrenic, a diagnosis which terrified me. Meant, to me, that I'd never recover.
In 1975 something amazing happened. My dear friend Anna with whom I imbibed in the woods, making us drinking buddies, was caught drinking grain alcohol in the hospital's research lab and was sent to AA. A new deal, then. She soon had rides, cards, plants and I decided that while I wasn't an alcoholic like Anna, I wanted all that attention.
The two old timers in AA who picked me up for my first meeting later told the woman who was to be my sponsor (or mentor in the program) that "she's so sick she'll never make it." It's 30 years later, and I made it. Not without a lot of prayer and effort, but I made it.