My Program Works for Me

I work the 12 step program as started by Bill W under the name of Alcoholics Anonymous. I don't like to mention on this blog because I believe in the principals and traditions of attraction not promotion and maintaning anonimity at the level of press, radio, and films. However, I have attended countless meetings in the last few months where relapse has been the topic of discussion. I have also had a few friends that I have made in the rooms that have relapsed and have come back. Some of these people are beginning to suffer chronic relapses- once a week, once a month and so on.

Inside every discussion about relapsing is the phrase- "I wasn't working the program." This reason was the common thread woven into the fabric of the pain, shame, devastation, and regret that these people mentioned as they described their experiences of going out and picking up.

AA has taught me to listen. For the first time in my life I am gaining wisdom from listening to the experiences of others. For the first time in my life I am doing my best to opt out of having to learn everything the hard way.

I cannot afford to not believe in this program.

Every day.

Every.

Single.

Day.

I am given examples of how this program works in my life. Of how it is changing my life for the better. Once I surrendered to the suggestions; once I relinquished control and stopped running on the self-will indulged on alcoholic thinking; once I let go of doing it my way- the program gave me living examples of why sobriety is the best choice for me.

God, I do not want to go back to that life. The thought of what would happen if I picked up makes me cringe. It would be no different than knowingly pressing my hand down on a hot stove. Pressing down hard until my flesh melted and I screamed and flailed with indescribable pain.

That's where I was when I came into AA. I was screaming inside with an indescribable pain of which I believed there was no escape from. It was a misery I thought was all my own. That no one could know the pain and torture of my existence. That no one could understand what I was going through, what I was putting myself through, and the terrible and embarrassing things I was doing. No one could help me or save me from myself.

That's where I was and it was MY WAY that got me there.

I'd hate to think where I might be right now if I was still doing it my way. I could have certainly sunk a little lower. I could have figured out first hand just how deep hell really is. But, you know, I really don't need to know that fun fact. I can live the rest of my life without finding that out. And, if I work my program, if I learn to practice the principals in all my affairs I believe that I will be able to live the rest of my life without having to find out just how far down hell really goes.

In doing it in a way that is not my own I have stayed sober for 15 months. I think my way used to get me about 15 hours!

But, I had to be desperate to try another way. I had to be desperate to surrender. I had to get the point of AA or death in order to shut up and listen. To shut up and stop acting like a defiant three year old who thinks they know everything!

Someone today mentioned that AA was a substitution for drinking. I like that analogy.

Drinking was exhausting- it was useless. Drinking for me was like driving a car with three flat tires- sure I was on the road, but how far was I really going to get? Where the hell was I going? And surely, there is a better, more effective way to travel.

I know what works for me today and I know what I have to do for it to continue working.

Another Sober Sunday Morning

I find that my gratitude for sobriety surfaces during the most mundane moments. It blossoms and blooms into my thoughts not at the peak of moments filled with excitement, but mostly while I'm going through the very average and very unexciting motions of the day in and the day out.

It happened this morning as I was brushing my teeth.

Suddenly, the thought, "I am sooo glad I'm sober", floated through my head like a balloon and I grasped the end of its string and pulled it down close.

I'm so glad I don't have to wake up and deal with the effects of a hangover.

I'm so thankful to not wake up with the hammering in my head, the churning in my stomach, and the dirty, rotten, stink taste in my mouth.

I'm so glad I can brush my teeth without gagging. (and to think I always thought it was the toothpaste!)

I'm so thankful I'm not sitting here at 10:30 in the morning hating myself. I'm not sitting here consumed with regret and shame and remorse for the night before. I'm not sitting here struggling with the thoughts of never doing that again and just a few more to get me straight alternating through my head. I'm not sitting here bargaining with myself or making promises I know damn well I can't keep.

I'm just so grateful not to have to deal with that shit anymore!

I'm so grateful not to FEEL like shit anymore!

I'm so grateful to have a choice not to feel that way because for a long time I didn't think I had a choice. I felt following through on the choice of not drinking was hopeless and my solution to that hopelessness was to drink some more.

I remember countless Sunday mornings (or afternoons it would have been) feeling this dirty, scumminess under my skin. Like there was this layer of grime and filth trapped in my body that no amount of soap and scrubbing could touch or eliminate. How I hated that feeling. I could separated myself from it. I couldn't shake it off. I would shower and rinse and splash water on my face in futile attempts make it go away. Even now I'm repulsed just thinking of it, thinking how gross it was and how gross I felt while it was happening. The only thing that would keep the awareness of it at bay was to drink until I was consumed by the feeling of drunkenness and to continue drinking until I passed out later that day. Which, of course, would result in my feeling much the same way all over again. The same day, the same shitty feelings all over again.

Thank GOD I don't have to feel that way again. Thank GOD there is another way and can choose to take it. Thank GOD for AA.

Sobriety Isn't Free. And It Ain't Easy Either!

The last 14 months have been awesome. I love my life. I love my sobriety.

It took my alcoholism many years to bring me to my knees. The progression of demoralization and destruction was so slow that it was almost invisible. I was shocked when I hit bottom- how did this happen?! How did I fall so far so fast?! I was surprised when I reached the end of my rope- I didn't remember sliding down that far. All of a sudden I was losing my grip; my fingers were slipping and I didn't think I possessed the strength to shimmy back up.

But it wasn't sudden.

I didn't just happen to find myself in that place as though I had been transported by some futuristic time warp.

It wasn't a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was a destination I had set out for long ago. I had missed the sign that said, "HELL- 5 Miles", 6 miles before, that's all. I didn't realize I had arrived- "Oh, I'm here. And look, the welcoming committee has brought out pretty blue and white flashing lights...just for me!"

What took several years to destroy, amazingly, only took several months to begin to see the efforts of rebuilding through the program.

Really- It. Is. Amazing. (period!)

All of the promises are manifesting in my life- they are coming true.

I repeat, I love my life and I love my sobriety- those two loves work in tandem. I cannot have one without the other.

I am filled with gratitude. Impossibilities are now possible options and opportunities. Good things I thought would never happen are happening. There is fulfillment where there was once only infinite emptiness. There is healing, there is serenity and peace and joy and satisfaction; openness and light were there used to be the complete opposite of all of those things.

I've been through Hell and I like this place so much better!

With all that said, there is still that little voice- it tugs like a three year old trying to get mom's attention...how 'bout a drink? And, maybe a voice isn't quite the correct way to describe what rolls through my head sometimes. It's more like something pulling from within my body and my mind finally becomes receptive to a strange and heavy stimulation that is firing off at the cellular level. It wants a drink. Craves it, yearns for it, desires it.

Now what?

I have to make a choice. I have to work my program. I have to WORK!

Someone, an old-timer with 20+ years, shared at tonight's meeting that, "It's so easy to stay sober. It's harder to go out and drink. Staying sober is the easy way."

Really?

Wisdom and Patience...Testing 1, 2, 3

Wow- it's been awhile since I made a post.

Wow- I've got so much drama going on.

Wow- I made it through Christmas with the family...sober! I picked up the phone instead of picking up a drink. And I have to say, talking out my problems and frustrations with another alcoholic was sooo much more effective than trying to stuff them, deny them, and drown them out with alcohol. Because the latter was temporary, you know...as soon as I was sober, I had to get drunk all over again to keep those feelings at bay.

After getting home from family time I was so upset. I went from confusion, to hurt, to completely pissed by the time my head hit the pillow. I wanted to go to sleep, but my mind churned until 2 in the morning and I finally drifted off from exhaustion. I kept getting ideas of picking up the phone and calling the person who had been the source of my anger. By the time the clock chimed 12, the phone idea turned to an e-mail idea. I just wanted to blast this person. I wanted my anger to tear through them like sharp daggers. I wanted to verbally rip them apart. Part of my not being able to sleep was from the energy it took to restrain myself from getting out of bed, running to the phone or the laptop and giving in to my desire to give them a very large piece of my mind.

I kept telling myself that those ideas were not the ideal way to handle this situation. Wait until the morning. Call them once you have calmed down and you have your thoughts together. Address it like an adult. Wait until the morning when you can own your feelings by being assertive and not some crazed, emotional despot coming apart at the seams.

And, I did that.

When I Knew I Was An Alcoholic

I just had the privilege of listening to someone speak about their experience with alcohol. My ears always perk up whenever he shares at a meeting. He never fails to offer dead-on insight into the trials and tribulations of alcoholic tendencies, behaviors, and thinking patterns. I always take away some nugget of wisdom to ponder and question and turn over in my brain.

He related so many profound tidbits that I found myself wishing I'd had a tape recorder or a least a note pad to jot stuff down. I'm probably not able to quote this verbatim by memory, but he said something to the effect of:

'I didn't know I was an alcoholic until I tried to stop drinking. I knew I had a drinking problem. I always had problems when I drank. But, it wasn't until I tried to stop and I couldn't: that's when I knew I was an alcoholic' -H

Yep, that pretty much nailed it for me.

I knew I had a drinking problem for a long time. In the beginning, my problem was getting sick. I just wanted to be able to drink as much as I wanted without upchucking all over the place. Damn- if I could just figure out how to avoid getting sick. That last drink was the culprit. It ways always the 15th or 16th beer; the one I had only had one or two swallows of; the one that had me trying to get to the toilet...stat! Of course, there were many times that there wasn't much of a warning and the best I could do was to avoid my shoes ( and other people's shoes, too).

If I could just figure out which beer would be the one that was going to make me sick I could leave it unopened and my drinking problem would be solved! Yea!

That was in the beginning, before all of my other problems with drinking made themselves known. The relationship problems, the depression, the financial problems, the job problems, the hangovers, the not caring about myself, the isolation, the broken commitments, the I hate my life problems, the wreck my car problems...and the list goes on.

And honestly, when I had a drinking problem, I didn't relate all of those other problems to alcohol. I really didn't. I just thought life had dealt me a bad hand, it was my mom's fault, it was my husbands fault, it was my bitchy boss, it was the bank, the economy, my terrible and cheated from me childhood. Or the fact that I didn't drink a few glasses of water the night before or I forgot to take a few Excedrin before going to bed or I should have drank top shelf or I shouldn't have had the house wine.

It was NEVER: maybe I shouldn't drink.

Cunning, Baffling, Powerful...Oh My!

I was thinking about a post I wrote earlier- mulling over the memories it brought to the surface, tossing them around in my head and began to feel this gentle tug, this little nudge deep down that began to vibrate and morph into something solid. It came on as warm and inviting and I found myself wanting to melt right into it. I found myself wanting to reach in and embrace it like a long, lost lover come home.

 

And then this feeling transformed into thoughts...

 

Don't you want to feel that way again?

 

To feel the not feeling again; to be numb; to feel the oblivion again?

 

For a second, for just a split second, I was romanticising about a drink- no, not a drink- a drunk.

 

Ohhhh, don't you want to feel like shit again?

 

To be wrapped up in your own personal hell again?

 

That brought me right out of it!

 

One second, I'm thinking about how terrible my drinking was and how relieved I am to be sober and the next second, I get this weird desire for a drink.

 

Cunning, baffling, powerful, I tell ya.

 

Of course, it's how I handle that desire that matters. It's going to happen- there are going to be times that having a drink almost seems like a good idea, but I know the truth. Here are a few of the sayings I've heard in the rooms that I have come to internalize and hold them as facts- as the absolute truth. I use them when I feel those little nudges or start romanticizing a drink.

 

I know that one drink will be too many and too many is never enough.

 

I may think one drink isn't going to hurt me, but if I'm hit by a train it won't be the caboose that kills me.

 

My disease is like a mugger in a dark ally, always waiting to jump me when I'm vulnerable and not paying attention.

 

I can be an alcoholic with a solution or a drunk with a problem.

 

There are no drink worthy events.

 

A drink sounds good because I am H.A.L.T. (hungry, angry, lonely, tired)

 

And, if it's really bad, if I start to get that wet sand feeling in my skull...

 

I call another alcoholic.

 

I call my sponsor.

 

I get my ass to a meeting...Pronto!

 

Those things make me feel better than any drink ever could...and that's the honest to goodness truth!

 

 

Hiding and Sneaking Alcohol

I was sitting in a meeting the other day and someone shared something that sparked a memory of a few of my drinking behaviors that I had forgotten about.

 

He said that even though he had been sober for a few years, every once in awhile he would cough as he popped the top on a soda as a way to hide the noise. This tic had developed, he explained, from a tactic he used in hopes that the cough would distract from the sound of opening a can of beer while standing at the fridge and fool his wife as to what he was really up to in the kitchen. Isn't that slick?!

 

I listened to him tell his story and couldn't help but laugh- because WOW! Could I identify with that. It's being able to relate to stories like that that, to me, which validates and compounds the fact that I was and AM an alcoholic.

 

I mean, let's be honest...

 

If you weren't an alcoholic, why would you feel the need to hide or sneak your booze?

 

Wasn't I hiding and sneaking alcohol because I knew the amount I was drinking was excessive and that drinking, at say, 8 in the morning wasn't normal behavior?

 

Ya, think?!