Beer wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I needed to increase the quantities and even that left me feeling awful. I’d even take a few days off and it still didn’t sit well with me; I wasn’t getting drunk or even slightly intoxicated. It just kept me numb and ordinary. My last few days before quitting were miserable. I was violently ill and couldn’t even keep down water — it felt like alcohol poisoning. I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning all night, unable to find rest. Even the thought or smell of beer now makes my stomach turn, which has made it surprisingly easy to quit. All I have to do is remember how bad things got. I know I’ve brought this up in many past blogs, but the doctor told me that if I had drunk again I would have died. That warning, and what I went through, have put beer firmly off-limits: no cravings, no withdrawal, just a deep distaste. I honestly believe God has been watching out for me and had to let me go through this to open my eyes and see clearly that the toxic drink is not for me. Imagine if I hadn’t gone into hospital when I did… according to the doctor, I’d be dead. Wow — if this isn’t divine intervention, I don’t know what is?