For a long time, in my heart of hearts, I knew my drinking and recreational drugging was out of control. It was dominating my life, and was no longer fun (after all, if it’s not fun, what’s the point?).
My father, who already had a few years of sobriety under his belt, had been inviting me to A.A. Meetings for years (it never occurred to me he may have thought I had a problem) but I’d have none of it.
Never underestimate the power of denial.
To his great credit, he didn’t push the point. He’d just shake his head and walk away.
One day the Grace of God entered my life.
I finally reached bottom and was ready to listen.
There was no room for posturing, finger pointing, excuses, negotiating or fancy footwork.
I’d been beaten and bludgeoned into a state of reasonableness, and was finally ready to listen.
The only thing left to do was run up the white flag and submit to an unconditional surrender.
Like it or not, this is a right of passage everybody in recovery must go through.
No one is exempt.
When you live your whole life pretending everything is okay,
it’s a bitter pill to swallow, having to admit defeat and ask for help. We’ve all been there.
In his wildest dreams, I don’t think my father thought I would embrace Alcoholics Anonymous as I did.
God’s Grace stayed with me:
The vast majority of alcoholics end up destroying themselves before reaching this point.
And even then, just because someone makes it to A.A. there are no guarantees.
We’ve all seen countless people refuse to give it up and destroy themselves, fostering the delusion they’re just a little bit smarter than everybody else…and never succeed in staying sober.
It’s sad and tragic than to see someone you genuinely care about just go their own way and kill themselves on the daily installment plan.
Now I finally appreciate how my family felt as they watched me spiral down into oblivion.
Alcoholism is an equal opportunity destroyer. It transcends race, education, status..whatever.
When I’m sitting in a meeting, I look around and respect the fact that everyone there had to go through their own private hell to get there.
Everyone had to be permitted to find their own way.
And everyone there is in it for life.
After all, this is not a temporary hobby or a whimsical diversion, it’s a lifelong discipline.
You continue to work the steps, and take other people through them.
One day you’ll realize you’re not just working them: you’re living them.
And it’s fun (after all, if it’s not fun, what’s the point?).
Furthermore, The Promises don’t just happen. They’ll become an ongoing condition of your life.
The price I have to pay for this gift is a life of constant vigilance.
During the first summer of my sobriety (I had about five or six moths) I was standing in front of Four Seas Ice Cream with my father, and we were just leisurely enjoying our cones.
Just then, A big pickup truck rode by with the gang of knuckleheads I used to drink with.
My father looked at me and said, “You know what the difference is between you and those guys?”
Being kind of full of myself, I was expecting him to say something like,
“You’ve admitted powerlessness, committed yourself to a life of recovery, and stepped out of your comfort zone.
You’ve been coming to meetings every day these past few months, you got a sponsor and have taken your first foray into the steps.
You’ve gotten to know a lot of people, and have allowed them to get to know you.
You’ve demonstrated that you’re ‘all in’ and have committed to helping others…
I’m so proud of you!”
Instead, he said, “One drink.”
Glory is fleeting.