I never decided to drink. Not if you consider what a 'decision' really is. A decision is a commitment to action based on a sound analysis of the facts. I did sometimes analyse the facts soundly, and the conclusion was this: given the amount I drink and the consequences (my head spinning, spinning lies, spinning my life on the roulette wheel), I should not drink. No ma'am. In fact I should never drink. And there's a whole bunch of other stuff that I shouldn't do, in the light or even under cover of darkness. But the takeaway—I must never drink again—was unacceptable, so I deleted the decision-making process. I never committed to the action of not drinking based on my sound analysis of the facts.
And yet I did drink again ... and again and again. These were not decisions. These were yieldings to impulse, sometimes coated with rationalisation, here denoting irrational reasoning. The reasons I gave myself were never adequate given the immediate and long-term effects. I dodged a lot of bullets but alcohol was an acid that was gradually dissolving my life.
I can't decide to drink. But I can decide that I cannot rely on the part of me that has been yielding to those impulses. I can decide I need to appeal to a Higher Authority. God. The planet Venus. The spirit of Mary Oliver. The wit of C. S. Lewis. My Neighbour Totoro. Whatever. The ensuing process restores me to a position where I can practise real decision-making in my life. The solution involves being raised to a higher plane.
Today, I could not decide to drink if I wanted to. I could go through the decision-making process, but that process could only produce the answer: 'Don't drink today. Don't drink evah.' It's a way as barred as glugging paraquat or dating certain of my exes. Whenever I think I’m in decision-making territory about drink, druuuugs, or you-know-what, I’m not; I’m in rationalising-my-impulses territory. What do I do then? Wave the white flag of surrender and collapse into my Higher Power.