Am I an Alcoholic?

Alcoholism is a personal choice.

"WHAT?!!  Alcoholism and addiction are diseases!  How can you claim them as a personal choice?  How dare you, sir!"

Please allow me to elaborate...

Nobody finds their way into recovery on the best day of their life.  I have yet to meet the person who woke up on their first day of sobriety, looked out the window and proclaimed, "What a beautiful day!  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and all is right with the world.  By golly, I think I'll check myself into rehab today!"  No.  The vast majority of recovering alcoholics/addicts come crawling into sobriety on the worst day of their miserable lives.  Typically, their finances, relationships, health, spiritual wellbeing and mental stability lay in a heaping wreck; a mere shadow of what used to be a normal life.  They have hit "bottom."

Currently, there exist two accepted versions of "bottoming out" -  The"High Bottom" drunk and the "Rock Bottom" drunk.  "High Bottom" describes an individual who discovers they have a problem prior to total self-annihilation.  Many times these people find the rooms of recovery via a Court Card (court ordered sobriety) and account for a very small minority in the world of recovering alcoholics/addicts (they're the lucky ones).  Much more prevalent is the "Rock Bottom" drunk, an individual who manages to completely dismantle his/her life, sacrificing everything to the gluttonous god of addiction, prior to self-realization.  They drag themselves, broken, bloody, and beaten, into the rooms of recovery in hope of picking up the pieces.  Personally, during my constant pursuit of sobriety (in my younger years), I accomplished both levels of "bottoming out" (regrettably, on more than one occasion).

But we still have yet to categorically define the problem...

enotalone.com defines alcoholism as "... a primary illness or disorder characterized by some loss of control over drinking, with habituation or addiction to the drug alcohol, causing interference in any major life function, e.g. health, family, job, spiritual, friends, legal."  I appreciate this definition as it qualifies alcoholism to affect some loss of control, not total loss of control.  In other words, you don't have to be a gutter-bum to qualify as an alcoholic/addict.

Still others define alcoholism as, "the inability to stop after one drink," or "drinking only to get drunk," or "drinking on a daily basis," or "the inability to drink like a gentleman/lady" (to name but a few).

For me, when I wanted to drink, I did.  When I didn't want to drink, I did anyway.  In as such, I'm an alcoholic.

But the definition I have found best suits my disease is, "An inability to control and enjoy, simultaneously."  Believe it or not, I can control my drinking.  I possess the ability to walk into a bar, have one drink, and walk out.  That is a fact.  Another fact ... under no circumstances will I enjoy that single beverage.  Every sip I take will be consumed with the overwhelming desire to order a second (and third) cocktail.  I will leave after that one drink, but only after ripping myself away from the bar.  My only avenue for enjoyment comes with cleaving off the governor and drinking until I run out of money and/or slip into unconsciousness.  One drink is too many and 20 drinks are never enough.  I can control.  I can enjoy.  I simply cannot do them both at the same time.  In as such, I am an alcoholic.

Which brings me back to my original statement, "Alcoholism is a choice."  I never chose to be an alcoholic or an addict.  I did, however, choose to admit that I had a problem.  Nobody can tell you if you're an alcoholic.  That's a decision you have to make.  You can choose to keep drinking, ignore the problem, eventually destroy your life and dig an early grave, or you can choose to admit you have a problem, give sobriety a go, and learn what it means to live a happy, joyous, and free life.

The choice is yours.

Just Swim!

It is hard to explain addiction to someone who has never been addicted.  It would be like trying to explain skydiving to a snail...

You:   "First, you walk over to the plane."

Snail: "What's walk?"

You:   "Never-mind."   

Having an addiction is like caring for a child (a demanding, sickly child that requires a lot of attention).  It takes all of the addict’s time, emotion, and money.  Simply putting down the bottle and walking away is as easy as turning your back on your invalid child.  Not easy to do, no matter how much better you know your life will be without it.  

Alcohol gives us drunks a euphoric feeling that “normies” (non-addicts/normal people) don't experience.  I know my brain works differently from normies when it comes to mind-altering substances.  Here’s why:  I love the buzz.  When I say “love”, I mean looooove.  After having a couple of drinks, a normie will say, “Gee, I’d better stop.  I’m starting to feel it.”  WHAT?  Feeling it is the whole point of doing it – this is not when you stop, this is when you kick it into second gear and step on the gas!  

It becomes an all-consuming pursuit that demands every ounce of our waking day.

I was both a drinker and a smoker.  Yeah, yeah … disgusting habit.  “Why don’t you just quit?”  Sheesh, if I had a nickel … Let me clue you normies in on a little secret:  Telling an addict to ‘just quit’ is like watching someone drown and yelling, “Hey!  Just swim!”  

It is possible, but not a “just” situation.  If it were that easy, there would be no such thing as rehabs or lifeguards.  

Both an addict and a drowning victim are in a situation that they cannot escape under their own steam – they need a helping hand.  The difference is, once rescued, a drowning victim can learn to swim and go safely back into the water.  Not so for an addict.  Though some will try in vain, the addict will never achieve a safe return to the water without risking certain death.  

To quote Stephen King, “Telling an alcoholic to control his drinking is like telling a guy suffering the world’s most cataclysmic case of diarrhea to control his sh**ting.” (pardon the language … it’s a “quote.”)

Taking the Stairs

The "12 steps" of recovery

The first time I broke the seal of an AA meeting, I was immediately struck by the 12 picture-framed "Steps of Recovery" that hung just below the ceiling, lining the length of the wall.  I had heard of these so called "steps" but had no idea what they were or how they applied to me.

I filed through each one in my mind, "Admit I'm powerless... check.  Came to believe in a power greater than myself... check.  Turn my will and life over to God... check.  Made a searching and fearless moral inventory... check.  Admitted to God, myself, and another human being... check.  Ready to have these defects removed... check.  Humbly ask him to remove my shortcomings... Check.  Hey, look at that!  I've only been here a few minutes and I'm already at Step 8!  This recovery thing is a snap!"  Clearly, I had a minimal understanding of how the steps worked.

Eventually, I found a sponsor (that's a whole other story) and began the real process of trudging through the 12 Steps of Recovery.

Steps 1, 2, and 3 were a piece of cake.  I had crawled into the halls of AA on my own volition; I was done fighting.  The war was over and I had lost.  Admitting I was powerless and my life was unmanageable was not a difficult conclusion at which to arrive.  I had also grown up in church, a preacher's kid, and never really forfeited my belief in God.  Admitting that God existed was a simple matter of continuing my existing beliefs.  As for turning my will and life over to God... my best thinking had landed me smack-dab in the middle of recovery.  I knew I was incapable of making proper decisions, so I was more than happy to give God a shot at managing my life.

At step 4, my progress stalled.  It took months to grind through the remainder of the steps.  I pushed forward with the understanding that complete honesty and humility were key to finishing the process.  I completed each step; in full, in order, and didn't skip a single one.  Did I emerge out the other side a changed man?  Not by a long shot.  I was, however, renewed, refreshed, and invigorated.  For the first time, in a long time, my conscience was clean.  There was still much work to do, but I had gained a fresh perspective on how to respect God, myself, and other people.

In a nutshell, the 12 Steps break down as follows...  Steps 1, 2, and 3:  Making peace with God.  Steps 4, 5, 6, and 7:  Making peace with ourselves.  Steps 8 and 9:  Making peace with others.  Steps 10, 11, and 12:  Keeping the peace.

I remain resolute that these Steps were granted us through Divine inspiration.  When honestly and humbly worked, this process promises a happier, more joyful, and abundantly peace-filled life.

I encourage EVERYONE, addict or not, to work the 12 Steps.  Step #1 is the only step that mentions a physical malady, but that's an easy fix ... just take out the word "alcohol/addiction" and plug in your own defect (we all have one).  It can be "over-eating", "jealousy", "pride"... or maybe just "sin."  The point is, nobody's perfect.  We can all stand a little refinement.

Give it a shot.  The worse that can happen is you may actually become a better person (if that's even possible).

Need Help?

Having problems with drugs or alcohol? Ask me how to get your life back.

Hello...? God?

"WHERE IS GOD?"  I was a year sober and still waiting for Him to deliver on his end of the deal.

I cornered my sponsor outside the AA hall and demanded answers, "Where is God?  When am I going to get what's coming to me?  I've done everything He's asked me to do.  I've quit drinking, I've cleaned up my act, I did a 90/90 (90 meetings in 90 days), I've taken commitments, I'm being of service, I've worked through the Steps, I've gone back to school, I've made amends to everyone I wronged, I go to five meetings a week, I've checked every box on the list!  So why am I still struggling?  Why am I broke? Why isn't my career taking off?  Why am I still alone? When is God going to deliver on His end and fulfill his promises?"

I rocked on my heels, chest heaving and face flushed, awaiting a reasonable response to God's short-comings.

My sponsor studied the ground at his feet.  After a moment, he looked up at me and grinned, "I think you misunderstand how this works.  You were created by God to serve him, not for him to serve you."

He took a drag off his cigarette and walked away.

I stopped complaining.

No Shades of Gray

God either "is" or He "isn't."  He either exists or He doesn't.  It's black or white; no shades of gray.  There's no in-between.

If you DON'T believe in God, then you're good to go.  Live your life how you see fit.  If it feels good, do it.  Look out for #1 and don't worry about stomping on your neighbor's neck.  Stomp away... consequence free!  You have no accountability to the universe!  Congratulations! (uh ... just be sure to make the most of your minuscule stint on this planet, cause it's all you've got)

On the other hand, if you DO believe in God... it's time to get to work.  If an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omni-benevolent creator of all things exists... don't you think He deserves a modicum of respect and admiration?  If God exists, He exists 100%.  You would be wise to give Him 100% of your attention.  Intelligent thought would dictate that you spend every waking moment in pursuit of His wisdom and will for your life.  Trust me, He's the smartest guy you'll ever meet.  But be sure to buckle up, you're in for the wildest ride of your life.

To recap:  You have two choices - "God" or "No God."  Make a decision and commit.

Serenity NOW!

The Serenity Prayer.

My first encounter with this little gem brought visions of rapture and insight to an oh-so intuitive wet-brain. I quickly interpreted and applied this new found tool to all aspects of my life (as follows):

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (the weather, unfair taxation, the Coriolis effect, etc.), the courage to change the things I can (other people), and the wisdom to know the difference (The difference in what? Weather and other people?  That makes no sense.  Stupid.)."

Much to my chagrin, my early interpretations faired poorly.  For some inexplicable reason, "other people" refused to bend to my will and affect the necessary changes in their behaviors as dictated by my elevated thought processes.  Didn't they understand the Serenity Prayer?  Silly people!

After several months of working on a solid program, my understanding of the prayer shifted:

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (other people), the courage to change the things I can (myself), and the wisdom to know the difference (as to who needs to change: them or me)."

Miraculously, my life suddenly grew infinitely easier.  That is to say, my relationships with other people grew infinitely easier.  Suddenly, people seemed to grow more reasonable as I grew less crabby.

Still, I struggled with the direction my life was headed.  My decision making process was a cloudy and uncertain affair at best.  After a few more months of working the program, my interpretation of the prayer shifted into its final modification:

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (your will), the courage to change the things I can (my will) and the wisdom to know the difference (between your will and self will)."

Inexplicably, my relationship with God grew infinitely easier.  I moved over and gave Him the wheel (and "will").  The clouds parted and sunlight broke through.

So sprouted the seedlings of spiritual maturity.  The journey into true spiritual growth had finally begun.

**************

Note:  The earliest written version of the Serenity Prayer was Reinhold Niebuhr's inclusion in a 1943 sermon.  It was recited, in it's original form, as follows:

God, give us grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time,

Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,

Taking, as Jesus did,

This sinful world as it is,

Not as I would have it,

Trusting that You will make all things right,

If I surrender to Your will,

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,

And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

Big Ugly Mike

I once knew a guy whose average weeknight consisted of sucking on a crack-pipe while his girlfriend slammed a syringe into his neck, pumping a few CCs of heroine into his bloodstream, chased by a quart of Jack Daniels.  You might say that he was a bit of a "junkie."  Compared to him I felt like I had spent my whole life as an animatronic Dutch-boy doll, dancing in circles and singing It’s a Small World as boat-loads of tourists float by.  

This guy was serious about his addiction.  But living on the street and sleeping in a dark corner of a public parking garage meant that his self-annihilation didn’t come without a price. 

He stood about 6’1” with bright red hair and a toothless grin, framed by the most torn up, pockmarked face you ever did see.  If I had to guess, I’d say that he was about 42 years old, but he didn’t look a day over 64.  We affectionately called him ‘Big Ugly Mike’.  I never met his girlfriend but I can only imagine what she must have looked like. 

I first met Mike when I was 3 days sober; he had managed to scrape a few months of sobriety together.  After pulling himself out of the gutter, he nabbed a bed in a sober-living house, wrangled a job, and even scraped up enough change to buy an old piece-o-junk car to get around in.  He was the kind of guy that you looked at and thought, “There but for the grace of God go I.”  

Mike took his 90-day chip around the same time that I took my 30-day chip.  In recovery, it's customary to take 2 chips and give the second one away to someone who has less sobriety than you.  It’s kind of a ‘good luck’ thing.  Mike gave his second 90-day chip to me.  

A few months later, Mike was at an AA meeting and got a call that one of his prison buddies had been paroled.  Without a second thought, Mike was out the door with his party shoes on.  He relapsed and lost everything.  Just like that.  

That’s how addiction works.  Any normal person would look at that and think, “What in the world was he thinking?  The guy finally got sober and pulled his life together, then flushed it all away!”  That is the insanity.  That is the addiction.  It is an illness that does not kill a person because they are too weak, rather, the disease is too strong.  

     

Last I heard; Mike was living in a cardboard box behind a Walmart.  I haven’t seen him since he went out.  If I ever do see him, I will give him his chip back.  That is, if he is still alive.

There but for the grace of God...   

     

P.S. After I wrote this last paragraph I found out that Mike’s body was found behind a dumpster at the local mall.  He had overdosed on heroine.  RIP bud.

Unauthorized Autobiography (prt. 1)

I don’t want to die.  

I’m not supposed to be a drunk; I’m writing this against my will.  Nobody wants to divulge all of the sorted little details of their life for general consumption.  In as such, this is done under protest and I am not authorizing the following account to be written and/or read  (Besides, I don’t see it as being all that exciting). According to my sponsor and steps #4, #8, and #10, I must “make a searching and fearless moral inventory”, make “a list of all the persons I have harmed”, and “continue to take personal inventory” if I want to avoid relapse and live to see retirement. (sigh)... great.  

BEWARE ALL YE WHO ENTER IN!  Turn back!  Read on at your own peril...

  

I didn’t want to admit to being an alcoholic.  ‘Alcoholic’ has such a negative connotation.  It brings to mind images of a dirty vagrant, passed out under a freeway overpass, clutching the remnants of a half-drunk bottle of Boonesfarm.  Many drunks are reduced to that point.  Many aren’t... the lucky ones.  I wasn’t a gutter bum.  Nor did I drink alone in a dark room, staring at the wall, praying for the peace that death would bring.  

I did, however, drink a LOT... and I liked it.  Perhaps, I think, too much.  I didn’t want to quit drinking but I didn’t want to die.  I would have died had I stayed the course, and it would have been an all too premature (and grizzly) demise.  Truth told, I was in recovery for 6 months before I was fully able to admit to myself that I was indeed an... (gulp) ALCOHOLIC! (shiver) 

I have been an addict from the gate, in one form or another.  Getting loaded runs in my family like a diarrheic nightmare, but it wasn’t supposed to happen to me.  

I was raised in a solid religious family.  My parents were fantastic members of society, upstanding caretakers, and brilliant parents.  They took constant and precise care, placing the necessary roadblocks while mapping out detours in order for me to avoid incomprehensible demoralization.  One problem:  The road to degradation was so enticing, so exciting, and so forbidden that the temptation could simply not be resisted (even at the risk of sprouting ears and a tail). Alas, the road to full-blown jackassosity beckoned.  Unfortunately, I was far less literate than most when it came to reading that particular road map (the "road less traveled" for good reason).  

I remember hearing somewhere that I had a great, great uncle, or something-or-other, who fell off of his horse and broke his neck.  He didn’t lose his bearings while jumping a felled tree during a foxhunt, nor was he knocked from his saddle during a duel in defense of a fair maiden.  It was nothing quiet so valiant.  He was just riding home from the pub one evening, had too much to drink, lost his balance, and fell out of the saddle snapping his neck like a dry twig.  I doubt that the horse was even moving.  Sad.  More recently, my Grandfather and Aunt succumbed to the drunkard’s poison – both died of liver disease.  The former, cirrhosis.  The latter, cancer.  

Just another blaring signpost that I chose to ignore while paving my less-traveled road to a journey of aforementioned degradation, incomprehensible demoralization, alienation, tribulation, fornication, self-detestation and mutilation, [a lot of] regurgitation, trepidation, deforestation (well... maybe not), fixation, dehydration, humiliation, and damnation, until ultimately arriving at my final destination... reformation.

Bursting the Anonymous Bubble

"Hi, my name is Guy and I'm an alcoholic."  Many question my willingness to freely admit that fact.  13 years of sobriety has brought one very sobering fact to light...

Addiction has developed into the scarlet letter of our generation, bearing the stigma of complete societal depravity.  "Hang your head in shame, small man of uncontrollable urges!  Know your communal place, at the bottom of a freeway offramp, holding a cardboard sign, begging for work (which we all know is a lie ... you've never worked a day in your life!).  No self respect! No self discipline!  No self control! Wallow in your selfish, pitiful, piteous denial and expect the world to deliver on all you're owed!  You willingly tipped the bottle, popped the pill, and prepped the needle; your 'disease' born of the choices you made.  Ask forgiveness, plead for pity, hope for sympathy... expect none.  Shame on you! Pariah!"  Thus, those who finally do seek help feel undo pressure to shamefully tuck their disease into their back pocket and burrow under the cloak of anonymity.   It is what the world demands.

And I could not disagree more.

Regrettably, I have vomited more alcohol in my lifetime than any "normal" consumer has drank in his.  I am all too familiar with "rock bottom," the texture of the bedrock firmly imprinted on my chin.  My golden parachute failed to open and I hit the depths like a lawn dart -- With purpose.

Not to say I purposely planned my addiction.  On the contrary, alcoholism was the furthest thing from my mind when wrapping my tween fingers around my first frosty beverage.  The fact that alcoholism ran rampant in my bloodline bore no leverage in my "elevated" thought process.  "I am different!" became my battle cry.  "It skips a generation!" my mantra.  Little did I realize to what depths of self-deception I was capable of traveling.  That is, until I found myself homeless, standing in front of my family's storage shed, staring at an old mattress propped against the wall and thinking, "Hey, this isn't so bad.  I could hold up comfortably here for a few days!"  My next thought - "What have I sunk to?  How did I get here?"

At no time did I EVER think, "Ah!  At last all my hard work to achieve alcoholism has paid off!  I've reached my peak!"  Truth told, I never saw it coming.  It wasn't planned, desired, or requested.  Only inherent.

The dictionary defines the word "Disease" as "A destructive force within an organism."  Alcohol was a force that nearly destroyed this organism (me).  By definition a disease.

All of this to say I bear no shame in proclaiming my station in recovery.  Soldiers returning from battle do not bear survival shame at the behest of society, nor shall I.  

My addiction is my disease.  I didn't ask for it, I don't deserve it, I don't apologize for it, and it's not my fault.  I embrace my wound and wear it as a medal of honor.  I am proud to be a survivor. 

"Hi, my name is Guy and I'm an alcoholic."

I have repeated that phrase publicly thousands of times.  I will continue to do so.  

Thank you for listening to my rant.  My soapbox has officially grown too high for my horse, so I shall now disembark.

Peace.

Quick Werd

"Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important." C. S. Lewis


Just sayin'...