No More Brady Bunch

My marriage had ended by Christmas 1989-no more Brady Bunch family life–all that had gone because of my drinking. My hair started going like straw, my teeth became yellow, my eyes were bloodshot and yellow, there was weight gain, no changing clothes for days, neglecting my daughter. Always last to arrive at the school with my daughter, always the last to collect her after school.

My name is Marilynne; I was born in 1955. My great-aunt raised me from the age of twelve months. She and a dear friend lived together in a bungalow. To me they were my parents. My real mother had died at the age of forty-one from alcoholism when I was seventeen. My father, at the age of thirty-four, died as a result of a brain tumour when I was eleven. I lived in Nana’s world-gramophone, pianola, washboards, bread and dripping-and was taught as a child to give respect at all times and to work hard.

When I was ten years of age, I was given a glass of whisky and drank it straight down. It burnt and took my breath away. Throughout my drinking years I did not touch whisky again. At sixteen I had my first experience of getting drunk. I used to work for a bottling company where my job was to put labels on bottles. I knocked off work one lunch time and proceeded to join next door’s bottle department for drinks. To this day, I cannot remember getting home. From the age of seventeen, when I met the man of my dreams (or so I thought), until I was twenty-five, a night life of social drinking and the birth of my daughter in 1978 kept me out of danger of alcoholic drinking. In 1980, at the age of twenty five, we moved to the Peninsula where I got a job as a barmaid full-time. Work was hard and drinks were free behind the bar, providing you didn’t get caught. I then started to show the consequences of my heavy drinking. All suffered–my work, my housework, being a mother, my social life, on and on.

In 1983 I was admitted to the Melbourne Clinic with DTs and hallucinations. I spent two weeks there and was discharged on medication. Back at my doctor’s I was told to go to A.A.; I said, “No, I’m not an alcoholic.” I then spent from 1983 to 1990 being a top-up drunk, bender, social drinker, drying-out on the  wagon, back  to  alcohol. In January 1990 I introduced myself to the “morning drink”. Beautiful food was bought for the fridge, and my daughter and I ended up eating baked beans. Housework was neglected, my friends were full of “bullshit”. I was stealing money from the hotel when working part-time to support my drinking habit. My great-aunt had died and an inheritance from her of $20,000, was blown in six months on so-called friends, alcohol and good times.

Black-outs were now coming thick and fast. My girlfriend suggested I do something, so I said, “I will try A.A.” In June 1990 I walked alone into an A.A. meeting. “Keep an open mind,” said one member to me. I saw the word “God” up on the Serenity prayer and freaked. I had been brought up with a God of fear. I read the First Step and I couldn’t accept it. I paraded around the floor when it was my turn to speak, hammed up my story, lied, and all that time I was hurting inside.

I still had one foot in A.A. and one in the pub. So I chose the pub. I only lasted three months. In September 1990 I ended up in a psychiatric home with DTs and hallucinations again. In October 1990 I was admitted to a psychiatric ward in the same condition.

On Wednesday, 7 November 1990, I discovered the yellow wallet that A.A. had given me with their telephone number in it. I rang the office. I gave the woman who answered a cock and bull story then broke down over a wine and soda beside me. She said those magic words, “Come on Friday to the meeting.” I sweated, shook for two days and then walked through the A.A. doors. My hand was shaken, there were no fingers pointed at me. I “shared my experiences” with a twisted mouth and bent arms which have all now gone. After nine months of sobriety I found spirituality and my Higher Power whom I choose to call God.

I have been three years sober at 9 November 1993. I read the Big Book, The Twenty-Four Hours a Day book and the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, and pray every night for sick alcoholic friends in the Fellowship and family. I love the Steps and Traditions. I thank Dr Bob and Bill for my life and the most important of all–meetings, meetings, meetings. My primary purpose is to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety. I thank God for my life today. I am marrying a ten-year sober, beautiful man in January 1994 whom I love dearly. Thank you, A.A. Without you none of this would have been possible. A grateful member.