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| unexpected gifts |
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| Notes - Sober Thoughts |
| Written by sugarmags |
| Tuesday, 22 June 2010 02:26 |
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I never anticipated that returning to AA could change my outlook on life so quickly and so radically. I think I expected to hear a bunch of old white men moralizing about the evils of drug use and maybe hoped to find one or two cool people to have coffee with at a diner now and again. I am overjoyed to report that this past month that I've been going to meetings I've gotten back a sense of hope from the success stories of the people in the rooms that I've been without for too long. At thirty seven I had come to believe that my best years were behind me and that decades of isolation and misery were all I had to look forward to. I thought the best companionship I could ever hope for was that of the canine variety (while I adore my dog, she still is no substitute for human contact) and that I would die a lonely death in the poorhouse with no loved ones to see me through to the end as naturally I will never find a mate and therefore fail to produce a family of my own. As my addiction wore on these fears of a cursed future took hold of my mind and became convictions. They were yet another rationale for my continued substance abuse. "If this is as good as it gets," I told myself, "I might as well take some relief in the only place where I can find it." I told myself that if other people were as unhappy as I was, they'd naturally drink too. The problem in my mind was that most folks just didn't understand real pain like mine. Talk about self-centered thinking! Search though I did, my drug use brought me to an empty place where I could no longer find any meaning in life. Keeping my addiction secret forced me to be dishonest and alienated me from my last source of support, my family, and the few friends I had left. Keeping my use secret served to keep me all the more alone, and while there were times when I wanted to get honest with my family about my behavior, that would mean admitting that my using was making my life unmaneageable. I wasn't ready to be forced into any form of treatment again, having been down the road to rehab on more than a few occasions.Once a person with intentions of having a successful carreer and seeing the world, my addiction persuaded me that I could never achieve my aspirations. The past twenty years of my using tells a story of missed chances and squandered opportunities at the hands of drugs and alcohol. It is extremely painful for me to take an honest look back and admit the role that substances played in stunting my personal and professional growth. Every time I would work hard and make some progress with my circumstances i'd pick the drugs up again and tumble hard, like Sisyphus pushing his trusty rock up the hill only to be knocked down time and again before he reached the summit. One particularly excruciating example of this happened ten years ago when I had returned to school to finish my B.A. I was living on my own in the city and remaining more or less abstinent, getting great grades at an ivy league university. I busted my hump to get accepted into an honors study abroad program in Berlin, Germany, which I ultimately did. I couldn't have been more excited. I loved the German language and was thrilled at this chance to live among native speakers and study in their tongue, hoping to improve my own linguistic abilities. Winning a spot in the program was a really big deal to me and I went into it with all of the intentions of working hard in my studies and soaking up all of the knowledge that I could while being immersed in another culture. One could say that my disease had other plans for me at that time. In the months leading up to my departure I started smoking pot again, thought I could handle it. To make a long story short when I got to Berlin I had trouble socially and found myself seeking a remedy to the old insecurities in my tried and tested methods. Before long I found myself smoking hash 24/7 and partying every night in local cafes. By the end of my stay there it got to where I was smoking upon arising in the morning just to help me face the day and drinking before noon to quell the anxiety which was ironically caused by so much hash. I made little effort towards my schoolwork and it was soon suggested by the deans that I withdraw from the academic program before I failed out. They did not directly confront my behavior but looking back I'm fairly certain that everyone in our school group knew exactly what I was up to. My family was shocked at my dropping out of the program but for them I blamed my poor performance in school on medical problems and acted indignant that my professors had not helped me enough with my work, although I certainly knew better. I left Germany after six months an emotional and physical wreck having seen my dreams of studying at a major European university go up in the smoke on the other end of my hash pipe. This is an episode that stands out in my memory and brings on considerable shame and guilt for the way I wasted that once in a lifetime chance and disappointed myself and others. I have never discussed the truth of the matter with my family and tonight is the first time that I have acknowledged that time in writing. It shocks me in retelling this story how easily addiction is able to rob us of even our most precious goals and contaminate projects undertaken with the most sincere motivations. Being an addict my story is littered with such experiences. Multiple failures eroded my self-esteem and I lost the confidence in myself to believe that I could be successful at anything. My world narrowed to the point that getting through each and every day was a struggle; there was nothing left in me for loftier pursuits. I only felt truly comfortable in the company of those whose problems I perceived to be worse than mine, so that I could hold myself up as stable by comparison. I don't know if I scared all of my "healthy" buddies away over the years or I just stopped reaching out to them when it seemed as if they were all making progress and moving forward in their journeys and I was undeniably stuck. I was merely surviving as opposed to thriving, and I believe I was on the slow path towards my eventual demise from this disease until that fateful day when the miracle happened and I experienced "the kindness of strangers" in the form of an unofficial 12 step call. The great news that I've been hearing in meetings is that if I stay sober there will be new chances and fresh opportunities of which I will be able to avail myself. This time I'll have the wisdom of the twelve steps as well as my sponsor and the support of the community in the rooms to help me make the most out of the chances that come my way. With these new coping mechanisms I will be able to navigate through stormy weather with a clarity and open mind that my old alcoholic thinking could not afford me. New situations will materialize and there will be people with whom to share my life again if I just keep coming. I hear person after person attest to these miracles at the meetings. My sponsor assures me that the promises of A.A. apply to me, too, although the negative side of me wants to say that such happiness is only meant for others. But at least today I have a little bit of hope, enough of a taste that I want to keep coming back for more. This is only one of the remarkable things that have happened in this tumultuous month since I returned to the program; At times it has been so painful that I didn't think I could bear it and alternately I've found myself laughing along with my new fellows in these unpredictable past weeks, my emotions as labile and reactive as a raw nerve. But my life has shifted in a critical manner in this short time in that I have been shown that I don't have to do it alone anymore. Help is there at the ready should I choose to avail myself of it. I can tell you that I don't ever want to go back to wrestling with my disease on my own; I've proven that one on one I don't stand a chance against its lethal grip. I'm overjoyed that today I've found a much preferable alternative to the slavery of addiction that I've known. Six weeks ago I never would have thought I'd hear myself say it, but I am grateful for the program of Alcoholics Anonymous today and the series of mishaps which gave me the "gift of desperation" that led me to seek refuge within its rooms. |
| Last Updated on Friday, 25 June 2010 13:08 |
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