It took me awhile to admit I had a problem, even after I walked into the rooms of Recovery. Seems kinda counter-intuitive, seeing as how I was standing in the middle of an AA meeting of my own volition. Nonetheless, the entirety of my early sobriety was spent in the practice of convincing myself I WASN'T an alcoholic. Naturally, I had to spend time with the drunks in order to prove I wasn't one of them.
So, I sat in the back of the hall, in what was affectionately labeled "death row" by the regulars, and cradled my gavel. Throngs of low-lifes and losers paraded past the podium, expounding on tales of addiction and woe. They spoke of black-outs and benders, bankruptcy and rock-bottom. Some recalled their inability to sleep through the night without frequent visits to the liquor cabinet, others chimed sad recollections of hidden bottles scattered like so many Easter-eggs around the house. I narrowed my eyes, graciously withholding judgement. Each pathetic story confirmed I was nothing like them.
My experiences were at the opposite end of the spectrum from these people and I excelled at locating the differences. I never once blacked out (I remembered every pathetic moment) and didn't experience the sporadic runs of drunkenness known as "benders" (I was drunk all the time). I didn't drink every day (only every night) and didn't have to wake-up at 3am for a drink (because I didn't pass out until 4am). These people needed a drink as soon as their feet hit the ground in the morning, which didn't apply to me (because I was still severely poisoned from the night before) and I certainly didn't hide full bottles of booze around my house (only empty ones). Clearly, I was NOT an alcoholic!
I expertly identified ALL of the differences between myself and "those people." My biggest problem was that I did not acknowledge any of the similarities. My early sobriety became greatly hindered by my inability to recognize how much I had in common with the people who were most like me. These marvelous, miraculous souls stood before me as mirrors, reflecting my own characteristics back at me, polished. I didn't like what I saw.
It's easy to look past our brothers and sisters who struggle with addiction because we can't see around the differences. We have nothing in common with them, right? Truth is, 90% of the population struggles with some kind of debilitating disorder. It may not be drugs or alcohol, but it's something. Sex, food, rage, depression, Netflix binge-fests of The Walking Dead... we all have a purge-valve we use to silence the voices and turn down the volume of our pain. The question becomes, "How is it affecting our lives?" and, "Do we recognize it as a problem?" If we do, the 12 Steps will help, no matter the condition.
My poison was alcohol. I drank myself into a coma every night because I was afraid of facing the noise inside my head. Had I looked for the similarities in my story as compared to my brothers and sisters in Recovery, rather than the differences, I'd have saved myself months of grief.
Are you so different from that homeless guy holding a "will work for food" sign at the bottom of the freeway off-ramp? He's not stupid, he's not lazy, he's not evil... he's sick. Sometimes he's an addict, sometimes he's mentally ill, usually both. Remember, most of us are just one paycheck away from standing next to him.
Musings on Recovery and God
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
Me, Myself, & I
Heroism is good, cowardice is bad. Philanthropy is good, thievery is bad. Honesty is good, lying is bad. Virtue is good, infidelity is bad. Charity is good, greed is bad. Self-sacrifice is good, murder is bad. No one educates us on these facts, they come tattooed to the very fabric of our DNA as we slide from the womb.
What's the difference between a hero and coward, philanthropist and thief, honest man and liar? One puts his own self-interests and desires first, the other puts his interests and desires last. One is selfish, the other selfless. Can you guess which is which?
To be fair, we can hardly blame the cowardly, thieving, liar for his lowly behavior. After all, our base nature encourages self preservation. We naturally push aside the needs of others in order to satisfy our own desires in the pursuit of self-preservation. Natural selection, survival of the fittest, thinning the herd, weeding out the weak and stupid... nature, baby! "No one's gonna look out for me, so I gotta get mine! Look out for #1!" has become the battle-cry of the civilized western mind.
Most people are able to disguise these behaviors and coalesce into the status-quo, as their behaviors blend with the acceptable expectations of society as a whole. Unfortunately for us addicts, our selfish desires fall well beyond the lines of decent standards set forth by the global community. Were that our addictions were for money, power, or fame we'd be fine. Instead, we crave an escape via chemical means, dropping us into the lower echelons of common culture. Granted, we apply the self-same defense mechanisms to survive, but it matters little. We're just the lowly "drunks & junkies" they step over on their way into the liquor store.
Now, if you were to ask us our opinion of ourselves, that's quite a different story! We're legends in our own minds, prophets unappreciated in our own villages, rebels without applause. We're geniuses! We've got everything figured out. Sure, we may be a bit selfish at times, but we know what's best for us. Our survival instincts have kept us alive so far, so we must be doing something right. Step aside and don't tell us how to live our lives!
Here's the rub: It's our best practices, best thought processes and decision making skills that landed us where we are today - wrecked and broken. Right or wrong, our selfish behaviors have offended those around us and separated us from society. Our stubborn pride has made us blind to the fact that we have been pushed out of the herd. And guess what... Those outside the herd are the first to be picked off by predators. Our survival instincts, to which we give so much credit, have put us directly in the path of predation. While treading hard toward self-preservation, we have inadvertently set ourselves up for extinction.
Do we want to survive? Our survival instincts, though proven successful in the past, have become a detriment. We must humble ourselves and admit that our thought processes require change. Most important, we must admit that we can't do it alone, we need others.
Get in the middle of the herd or get picked off at the edges.
What's the difference between a hero and coward, philanthropist and thief, honest man and liar? One puts his own self-interests and desires first, the other puts his interests and desires last. One is selfish, the other selfless. Can you guess which is which?
To be fair, we can hardly blame the cowardly, thieving, liar for his lowly behavior. After all, our base nature encourages self preservation. We naturally push aside the needs of others in order to satisfy our own desires in the pursuit of self-preservation. Natural selection, survival of the fittest, thinning the herd, weeding out the weak and stupid... nature, baby! "No one's gonna look out for me, so I gotta get mine! Look out for #1!" has become the battle-cry of the civilized western mind.
Most people are able to disguise these behaviors and coalesce into the status-quo, as their behaviors blend with the acceptable expectations of society as a whole. Unfortunately for us addicts, our selfish desires fall well beyond the lines of decent standards set forth by the global community. Were that our addictions were for money, power, or fame we'd be fine. Instead, we crave an escape via chemical means, dropping us into the lower echelons of common culture. Granted, we apply the self-same defense mechanisms to survive, but it matters little. We're just the lowly "drunks & junkies" they step over on their way into the liquor store.
Now, if you were to ask us our opinion of ourselves, that's quite a different story! We're legends in our own minds, prophets unappreciated in our own villages, rebels without applause. We're geniuses! We've got everything figured out. Sure, we may be a bit selfish at times, but we know what's best for us. Our survival instincts have kept us alive so far, so we must be doing something right. Step aside and don't tell us how to live our lives!
Here's the rub: It's our best practices, best thought processes and decision making skills that landed us where we are today - wrecked and broken. Right or wrong, our selfish behaviors have offended those around us and separated us from society. Our stubborn pride has made us blind to the fact that we have been pushed out of the herd. And guess what... Those outside the herd are the first to be picked off by predators. Our survival instincts, to which we give so much credit, have put us directly in the path of predation. While treading hard toward self-preservation, we have inadvertently set ourselves up for extinction.
Do we want to survive? Our survival instincts, though proven successful in the past, have become a detriment. We must humble ourselves and admit that our thought processes require change. Most important, we must admit that we can't do it alone, we need others.
Get in the middle of the herd or get picked off at the edges.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
3 String Dave
A few months into my sobriety, a newcomer named David staggered into our hall. He carried around an old beat-up guitar that was missing half its strings, which earned him the moniker "3-String Dave." This kid suffered from a head-first swan dive into rock-bottom. Every inch of 3-String's persona screamed for sobriety.
One problem: David didn't know he had a problem (or more accurately, didn't want to admit it).
One night, David made a statement which was to later become my favorite "newcomer mantra." He turned to me and said, "I'm not an alcoholic. Why just the other night, I went into a bar and sat down for a drink. I told myself I would only have ONE beer and that's what I did. I had one beer and left."
I thought about this for a moment, then asked, "Why'd you leave?" David was clearly perplexed by this enquiry, so I expounded, "Why didn't you stick around, nibble on some pretzels, and watch the game?"
"Oh no," he responded. "I just wanted to prove I wasn't an alcoholic, that I could stop after one. I had one and got out of there."
I laughed, "You realize that's not normal, right? Did you have to put limits on how many cups of coffee you drank tonight? Of course not. You're not addicted to coffee."
He puffed up a bit, “I'm not addicted to beer, either. I can drink all night without a problem. It's not until the end of the night that things get out of control. It's those last couple of drinks that always do me in.”
That's like saying, "I jumped of the cliff and and fell the first ninety feet without a problem … it was that last ten feet that did all the damage." Once we commit to the first few feet, there's no going back. The first foot of free-fall, the point at which we make the decision to jump, is the one that kills us. The moment we step off the clifff, we relinquish control to gravity. Until we realize our inevitable demise lay at the beginning of the journey, rather than the end, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over and over and over again, as David did so many times.
So it is with our disease; it's the first drink that wrecks our night, not the last. The moment we touch the alcohol to our lips, we've just stepped off the cliff. There's no going back. The battle is lost.
In my disease, like David, I was able to “control” my drinking or I was able to “enjoy” my drinking, but I was not able to “control and enjoy” simultaneously. If you have to think about controling and enjoying while drinking then you’re failing at both.
Normies don't think about how many drinks they have at a bar. They don't have to make a deal with themselves to walk away after one or two drinks, they just do it. Everyone else is an alcoholic.
One problem: David didn't know he had a problem (or more accurately, didn't want to admit it).
One night, David made a statement which was to later become my favorite "newcomer mantra." He turned to me and said, "I'm not an alcoholic. Why just the other night, I went into a bar and sat down for a drink. I told myself I would only have ONE beer and that's what I did. I had one beer and left."
I thought about this for a moment, then asked, "Why'd you leave?" David was clearly perplexed by this enquiry, so I expounded, "Why didn't you stick around, nibble on some pretzels, and watch the game?"
"Oh no," he responded. "I just wanted to prove I wasn't an alcoholic, that I could stop after one. I had one and got out of there."
I laughed, "You realize that's not normal, right? Did you have to put limits on how many cups of coffee you drank tonight? Of course not. You're not addicted to coffee."
He puffed up a bit, “I'm not addicted to beer, either. I can drink all night without a problem. It's not until the end of the night that things get out of control. It's those last couple of drinks that always do me in.”
That's like saying, "I jumped of the cliff and and fell the first ninety feet without a problem … it was that last ten feet that did all the damage." Once we commit to the first few feet, there's no going back. The first foot of free-fall, the point at which we make the decision to jump, is the one that kills us. The moment we step off the clifff, we relinquish control to gravity. Until we realize our inevitable demise lay at the beginning of the journey, rather than the end, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over and over and over again, as David did so many times.
So it is with our disease; it's the first drink that wrecks our night, not the last. The moment we touch the alcohol to our lips, we've just stepped off the cliff. There's no going back. The battle is lost.
In my disease, like David, I was able to “control” my drinking or I was able to “enjoy” my drinking, but I was not able to “control and enjoy” simultaneously. If you have to think about controling and enjoying while drinking then you’re failing at both.
Normies don't think about how many drinks they have at a bar. They don't have to make a deal with themselves to walk away after one or two drinks, they just do it. Everyone else is an alcoholic.
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