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such case was not so well understood as it is now. But one of the friends said, "Put him in a private room. Weíll be down."
Two days later, a future fellow of Alcoholics Anonymous stared glassily at the strangers beside his bed. "Who are you fellows, and why this private room? I was always in a ward before."
Said one of the visitors, "Weíre giving you a treatment for alcoholism."
Hopelessness was written large on the manís face as he replied, "Oh, but thatís no use. Nothing would fix me. Iím a goner. The last three times, I got drunk on the way home from here. Iím afraid to go out the door. I canít understand it."
For an hour, the two friends told him about their drinking experiences. Over and over, he would say: "Thatís me. Thatís me. I drink like that."
The man in the bed was told of the acute poisoning from which he suffered, how it deteriorates the body of an alcoholic and warps his mind. There was much talk about the mental state preceding the first drink.
"Yes, thatís me," said the sick man, "the very image. You fellows know your stuff all right, but I donít see what good itíll do. You fellows are somebody. I was once, but Iím a nobody now. From what you tell me, I know more than ever I canít stop." At this both the visitors burst into a laugh. Said the future Fellow Anonymous: "Damn little to laugh about that I can see."
The two friends spoke of their spiritual experience and told him about the course of action they carried out.
He interrupted: "I used to be strong for the church,
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