The Gorilla in the Room

One of the biggest issues the newcomer struggles with is the concept of God.  The first three steps require us to develop a relationship with "a god of our own understanding" and demands we foster said relationship in order to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives.  This topic cultivates insurmountable roadblocks for some people, especially those who enter with a load of "religious baggage" slung over their shoulder.   So let's address the 700 lb. gorilla in the room and see if we can't make some sense of it...

Scientists constantly seek ways to discredit the theory of Intelligent Design, that is, the idea that the Universe had a Creator. An article in Natural History Magazine (5/09, Vol. 118, #4) set out to discover why we, as humans, are more inclined to believe in Creationism over Darwinism (Intelligent Design vs. Random Chance). The article sought to apply the scientific reasoning behind society’s irrational belief system.

The scientists ran a couple of experiments on children to determine if this was an inherent belief system. In the first, they set up two piles of wood blocks. One was a neatly stacked structure, the second was a malformed pile. All of the participants (who were three years old), were given two choices as to who caused each of the piles; either a sibling or the wind.  Every one said both their sibling and the wind could have caused the malformed pile, but only the sibling could have caused the one that was neatly stacked. At that young age, the children recognized the natural order of intelligent design.

In the second experiment, “even one-year-old babies look longer, indicating surprise, when a computer animation shows a neat pile to be caused by a rolling ball.” Small infants recognize the natural order of things.  Chaos cannot be randomly executed into order.

There was an attempt to explain this away under the auspice that these children were raised by church going parents, but the results were consistent across the board.  Even children of Darwinists, when asked where animals came from, answered “God.”  Evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins complained that it seems, “as if the human brain were specifically designed to misunderstand Darwinism.” Though this study was meant to understand why human beings are so “ignorant,” it drove home the reality that we are designed with an understanding of design.  

To be clear, the aforementioned study proves nothing with regard to a specific God (e.g. the God of the Bible) and only points to the possibility of an intelligent designer (or Higher Power, if you will).  

The important take away from all this is to recognize the possibility that something greater than ourselves may exist. It's okay to love science and God at the same time. The two need not be mutually exclusive. In fact, many theologians grant credence to the Theory of Evolution as a tool of God's grand design, but that's a discussion for another day.  

The first three steps simply require us to acknowledge we are not the end-all in universal intelligence, there's something bigger than us out there. The rest will come in time.

God put eternity in the hearts of men. God gave us the desire to seek Him. Open your heart to the possibility of a relationship with your Higher Power and you may see miracles happen.

Good ol' Karl

I sauntered into my weekly recovery meeting last night and sat down next to a scruffy, bearded guy wearing a ball cap.  When the meeting concluded, he turned to me and offered his hand.  It was then I realized that he was a former sponsee of mine... we'll call him "Karl."  I hadn't recognized him.  He had dropped off the face of the planet.  It was good to see him.  After the meeting was over, we stood around and chatted for awhile.

The last time I saw Karl was about six months back.  He had checked into the local Salvation Army rehab and asked me to be his sponsor.  While walking him through the steps, two things became clear:  1. Karl was walking the sobriety path more for his wife and children than himself.  This is a dangerous road for anybody, since you MUST tackle sobriety for yourself, first and foremost, or you will likely fail.  2. Karl was a runner.  That is, when the going got tough, Karl got going.  And before his time was up in rehab, run he did.  One day, Karl was just gone.  No phone call, no note... just gone.

No skin off my nose, happens all the time.  I went about my business, giving only the occasional and brief pause to wonder on Karl's whereabouts.  Sufficed to say, I didn't lose any sleep over it.

Last night, during our conversation, Karl relayed to me what I had already known... he had relapsed.  Bad.  He stopped going to meetings, which led to using, which led to problems at home and in his marriage.  What does Karl do when things get tough?  Yep, he runs.

Karl found himself sequestered in a flea-bag motel room, tweaking hard on meth and binging on Internet pornography.  Just prior to running out of money, sleepless nights and a speed-soaked brain had given way to hallucinations by way of "the people in the trees."  He landed on the street, sleeping in the backseat of his '97 Honda Accord, where he currently resides.

"I can't believe my life has come to this," he said, on the verge of tears.  "This is not me.  It's not who I am." I suggested he consider checking himself back into rehab, which was met with a decisive, "Never!"

I followed up with a simple question; one which I have asked so many people so many times before, "To what lengths are you willing to go to get your life back?"

His answer:  "I don't know, but not that."

I was done.  There was nothing left to say.  So sad.  Karl had lost everything: loving wife, beautiful children, job, house, everything.  He was willing to go to any lengths to get high, but not to get his life back.  That's not stupidity, folks.  That's insanity.

There but for the Grace of God...

Similar but Different

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.

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.

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.

Dream

I had a horrible dream last night...

I was alone, utterly alone.  Don't get me wrong, there were people around, but I was too ashamed to honestly communicate with them.  Every time I opened my mouth, lies bubbled out.  The guilt, self-loathing and deprecation consumed me.  Surely, they all saw through the deception that thinly veiled the monster before them.  How could they not?

I was despicable.  The idea of looking another human being in the eye made my skin crawl; nails on a chalkboard.   The mistaken glance of my own reflection in a storefront window summoned the reflex aversion of my eyes, down and away.  Every mirror in my home stood as a towel-covered reminder of my own despicability.

What happened to me?  I remembered a time, long before, of freedom and light, with days full of color and nights filled with peace. When slumber meant, "going to sleep" at night and "waking up" in the morning, rather than, "passing out" and "coming to."  When had that innocence of childhood departed?  I couldn't remember it leaving. Yet, here I stood, a shell of my former self; physically, emotionally, and spiritually bankrupt.  Muddled in weakness.

I hated myself.  I hated each lying, loathing, fraudulent, pathetic, conniving, cowardly, disgusting inch of my singular form.  My every waking moment spent fighting 'gainst the overwhelming instinct to crawl into a dark place and forfeit my own vile existence.

I was utterly alone.  Entangled in a mire of despair.  Sad.  Dying.

When I woke up, I realized it wasn't a dream at all...  It was my life 11 years ago.

Dear Sponsee

Dear Sponsee,

Before we begin this journey, there are a few things we need to get straight...

My job as your sponsor is three-fold:  1. To walk you through the steps.  2. To show you how I stayed sober.  3. To answer any questions you may have along the way.  That's it.

I'm not your parole officer and I'm not your mother.  In other words, I'm not here to keep tabs on you and make sure you're doing the work, that's up to you.  And I'm not here to coddle you and hold your hand because 'sobriety is too hard and people are mean' (waaaaah!).  This road ain't easy and nobody's going to carry you.  My job is to tell you the truth about sobriety and that's what I'll do.  If you're looking for an easier, softer way, check with your momma.  Who knows, she may be taking on new sponsees at the moment.

To what lengths are you willing to go to stay sober?  Your answer should be 'Any Lengths.'  If it's not, you're probably not done yet.    There's likely more drinking and using in your near future.  Best to head back out, get a bit more bloodied up, and come back when you're able to honestly answer that question in the affirmative.  It will NOT work otherwise.

If you don't find me compliant, if I'm not 'nice enough' for you, if I don't stand idly by and condone your faulty decisions to your satisfaction; too bad.  Find another sponsor.

If you decide to relapse, guess what?  Not my problem.  It has nothing to do with me.  Your sustained sobriety is your responsibility.  The 'blame game' bears no weight in the rooms of recovery. If you decide to fall off the wagon, that's on you, alone.

I'll let you in on a little secret... your successful sobriety is not my top priority.  MY successful sobriety is my top priority.  I want you to succeed.  But if you don't (and the odds say you won't), I'll experience a (very) brief moment of disapointment on your behalf, after which I'll go home, climb into bed, pull the covers up to my chin, and sleep like a baby.

To allow you to dictate how our relationship progresses would be a great diservice to your sobriety.  So far, your BEST decision making has landed you where you are today.  You don't know everything.  If you did, you wouldn't need me.  So take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth.  Sit down, shut up, and listen.

It's time to put on your big-boy pants and get to work.

Sincerely,

Your Sponsor