In a two-part series, a friend of mine examines how he became sober through Alcoholics Anonymous, and the hope he’s found for his life.
“People use drugs, legal and illegal, because their lives are intolerably painful or dull. They hate their work and find no rest in their leisure. They are estranged from their families and their neighbors. It should tell us something that in healthy societies drug use is celebrative, convivial, and occasional, whereas among us it is lonely, shameful, and addictive. We need drugs, apparently, because we have lost each other.”
― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays
Life seemed manageable enough. I came from decent stock, having grown up in Small Town, America. I was well educated at a state university. I had a good white-collar job. I owned a comfortable home in a middle class subdivision. Divorced, I was finally beginning to put some of that behind me and had started dating again. I had a daughter from that marriage who was smashingly beautiful and was the absolute love of my life. I, the circus stuntman, was keeping the plates spinning in the air pretty well.
Something was missing. Something was amiss. Something was a mess.
Friends began noticing my alcohol abuse. Family complained of it in little passive-aggressive ways. My work started to slip. A missed deadline here, an hour-and-a-half late there, a killer headache until the coffee and morning pills kicked in. But nothing too, too serious. Not anything that another drink and a few pills that night wouldn’t fix. My using began to creep in to what little time I had with my daughter. Later it was to become full-fledged, guns blazing. On the weekends, drinking straight away after breakfast, through noon, until dinnertime. After I would put my daughter to bed, I’d pick up where I left off. I’d even begun to drink and drive—risking the life of my most precious child, other passengers, other motorists, and me. And, oh, have I already mentioned those miserable mornings after?
I didn’t really want to stop at the bottle shop night-after-night, but how could I resist? I needed it. I deserved it. It was my lifeline to what I called sanity. Besides, didn’t every young, single, successful businessman drink like I did—or more?
Tired, exhausted, guilt-ridden, and completely overwhelmed in this cycle of addiction, I could not possibly bear the thought of quitting. Maybe I needed to get off this ride, but only for a short while. Why quit entirely? What was the incentive? Things seemed fairly manageable. In any case, I needed something to numb the pain. I needed something to make me tolerable around others. I needed something to make others tolerable around me. And I needed to be the life of the party; addiction is selfish like that. I needed something to distract me from reality. My philosophy was simple enough: if I ignore my problems long enough, they’ll go away.
Left to my own devices, I would never choose sobriety over being out drinking and using. An addict doesn’t ever think like that. Something from the outside—something greater than myself—had to restore me to sanity. At first it was my AA group. The total of them were greater than me, and they could help me. They said all I had to do was keep coming back to meetings. Later I learned God (as I understood him) would be the one to do the real transformation.
I had tried to quit a hundred times before. No, probably a thousand. This is my last bottle. This is my last drink. This is my last pill. This is my last pack of cigarettes. Defeat after defeat. Each day presented its own troubles and frustrations, each of which could be solved with another vice. Just one more, I would tell myself.
I can’t possibly afford time off to attend rehab. Besides, what kind of reputation would I have if my colleagues, family, and social circles found out? Rehab just sounded ‘ick’ in my mind. Maybe I wasn’t an alcoholic and an addict after all. My life hadn’t gotten too bad yet, I bargained. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’ll just start over with a fresh set of prayers, and tomorrow I won’t stop at the bottle shop on my way home from the office.” That should do it. Sole willpower never works.
Alcoholism, according to the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, is two-fold: a physical craving for alcohol and a mental obsession. While others may be able to control their drinking, I could not. It became a necessity of daily living. I could not have just one drink, or even a few sips of a drink. I went all-out. I drank with one sole purpose in mind: to get drunk. Drunk meant I didn’t have to feel.
Alcohol and drugs had had their way with me. Addicts who find Recovery talk about their bottom. It’s where they’ve finally decided enough was enough, and start to turn another direction. My bottom started to look like this: financially bankrupt, receiving poor marks at work, saying and doing horrible, vile things to my former wife whilst either drunk or sober (and getting in legal trouble over it), night-after-day-after-night ad nauseam of drinking and drug use, losing the loosely-knit friendships I did have, and finally the straw: losing the legal right to see, visit, or correspond with my daughter.
The choice soon became mine: I could either drink and use, or I could do everything else.
Dare I throw in the towel and just relinquish my daughter to the care of her mother? Apparently I was a no-good father anyways. Do I ceremoniously give the finger to my family and the friends I did have? Do I go for the gold and run my career straight into the ground? In a jaded sort of way, pouting a terrible pout on the inside, I succumbed to the fact that this was probably going to be my new normal. Or do I try for the millionth time to become something better?
Check back soon for more thoughts on how I stayed sober and found hope for my life.
For more thoughts on my process of becoming sober, read here.
