But I Only Want One Tiny Little Drink

I used to have lots of good reasons for drinking. All of them seemed good to me, an addict. You might have your own favorite excuses. One of mine was the belief that this time would be different. I had everything under control. I'll buy one bottle of vodka or whatever, and a drink now and then isn't going to hurt me.

Sure. Like running a stop sign isn't going to hurt me. Texting while driving isn't going to hurt me. Not washing my hands after #2 isn't going to hurt me.

These are examples of faulty thinking that David Burns calls "fortune telling," because I am predicting something unrealistic. In my heart of hearts I know I won't stop after one drink, especially when what's left in the bottle calls out to me. When I start drinking, my inhibitions disappear and, before I know it, I'm waking up on the floor with wet pants.

How many times do I have to fortune-tell that one little drink isn't going to hurt me? I lost count. But the last time was the last time. I threw away my crystal ball and recognize that one drink will hurt me. I've only gone five months so far since my last slip. Can I tell my fortune about tomorrow? No. Just one day at a time.