FOR KEEPS
When I started coming to meetings, there were certain things I embraced, and other stuff I just ignored.
For starters, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
This was for keeps.
To that end, I stopped wearing anything with booze-based logos (I sacrificed my baseball shirt collection featuring beer logos), and I immediately tossed all my marijuana paraphernalia, too.
I didn’t kid myself into thinking that maybe some day that stuff would come in handy.
No way. Into the dumpster it went . . .
After that first meeting I knew the jig was up, and I was done hanging with the gang of knuckleheads I drank & drugged with.
It’s always scary to initiate major, life-altering change. But when you’re despondent, disgusted, dejected and desperate – you can do anything. We all have an unsuspected reserve of strength inside that emerges when life puts us to the test.
This may sound somewhat unconventional, but I didn’t put any stock in the 90 & 90 (90 meetings in 90 days). I just plowed ahead and ignored the date.
This was for keeps.
I instinctively knew this was an open-ended deal.
My drinking progressed to a maintenance thing that had stopped being fun for a long time.
After all, if it’s not fun, what’s the point?
Like any good alcky, I possess an “all-or-nothing” mentality.
I can find all sorts of creative ways to abuse anything, thank you very much.
If I was a superhero, that would be my special power. Forget about x-ray vision,
I can polish off a big bottle of Myers rum forthwith.
That’s the heavy duty black stuff.
I prefer any alcoholic beverage that induces retching, and is ideal for degreasing engine blocks.
If it makes you flinch, bring it on.
And it doesn’t end there:
I can’t even keep Oreos in the house, or I’ll be eating them with my morning Cheerios.
I prefer to keep them unwrapped and let them get nice and stale(soft Oreos are the best).
If I stocked up on Ben & Jerry’s and Little Debbies, it’s just a matter of time before I lapse into a hyperglycemic coma.
I’ll gain so much weight, I’d have to strip naked and butter my body to move from room to room.
But I digress…
The Bad News: I’m a potential out-of-control mess that can’t be trusted.
The Good News: I’m onto myself. AA has taught me the answer: Abstinence. No Prisoners.
I don’t tease myself by keeping that stuff around.
Hey, I’m not advocating you adopt the lifestyle of a Tibetan monk – subsisting on a diet of yak butter, walnuts, and mutton.
However, I heartily suggest removing unhealthy sources of temptation.
I don’t want to brag, but I have an amazing talent for self-justification.
NEVER underestimate the power of denial.
If any of this sounds familiar, don’t judge yourself too harshly. It doesn’t make you bad or stubborn or diseased. It makes you human.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal (whatever the hell that is), and I’ll never be a member of the Cleaver family.
Acceptance is the key.
NEVER underestimate the power of acceptance.
Acknowledge it, accept it, embrace it, deal with it.
My pursuit of recovery nicely dovetails with my addictive sensibilities.
If I’m going to do this, it has to be all the way.
There is no “half-way.”
This is for keeps.
