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.