The Sober Truth

by Lance Dodes

  I went to my first AA meeting. I really didn’t like the religious aspect of it at all, because I’d come from an evangelical background, and the whole God thing made me really angry. . . . [But] everybody was very supportive instead of being condemning. And my friends told me that it was a program of honesty. I couldn’t tolerate the meetings much more than one a week for the first year, which is really tough for somebody who’s recovering from alcoholism. But I went to therapy every week . . . [and] I stayed at the meetings because it was the only place where I felt like I could, with other people, be honest. And that’s pretty much why I stayed with Alcoholics Anonymous.

  I’ve been continuously sober for nineteen years, but there’ve been some years when I haven’t gone. I chose to end my relationship with my parents, and because of the spiritual focus of the program, I knew there were some people who would tell me that I should just let God heal the relationship. And I couldn’t tolerate that. And honestly . . . the one great thing about AA is every time I go and somebody only has a day or two or a week or two or a month or two, it does reinforce my desire not to drink and go back there. Really. It reinforces that. But there are other aspects of AA—they tell you, as you all know, when you first came in that you can’t say no to a request. And then it took me several years to learn that yes, I can say no . . . to, like, a request to speak or do service work. And I think that’s particularly true with women in AA. They come in very codependent, and it takes a while to learn how to set boundaries and say no. And some AA meetings are supportive of that and some are not. Like most people in AA, I came in . . . I didn’t know how to relate to other people. And I tended to pick the most dysfunctional people in the room. A lot of newcomers pick people who are kind of where they are. And it’s a painful thing to learn that not everybody in the room is safe, not everybody in the room is healthy, and not everybody in the room has your best interests at heart. They can be 13th-stepping [taking advantage of another member sexually or financially]. Some people are sicker than others. And I think AA works best if someone’s in therapy. But that’s not a traditional AA approach.

  I think for the first six months to a year, everything is so raw and so, depending on how much alcohol you consumed and for how long, most people’s nerves are shot and their relationships are shot and usually their finances are shot. It’s really nice to be in a room full of people who understand what a big mess you have. The only problem is that after six months or a year of drying out and making a few better choices, what I’ve found is a lot of my family of origin patterns and a lot of bad habits of interrelating with people surfaced, and I can take the same language of AA and justify those same old patterns of behavior. A lot of what I thought of as being a good AA person was really me acting out a whole lot of my people-pleasing nature. I wanted everybody in the room to like me, so I didn’t question what they said. That can get you in some odd situations and weird relationships, depending on who’s in the room with you.

  So much of AA depends on who your sponsor is. Those relationships, when people are coming out of alcohol addiction, become just incredibly important. You can choose the wrong people, and it can be a car wreck. It’s potluck who you get; it’s potluck who comes to a meeting.

  I don’t think alcohol is the problem. I think alcohol is the symptom. What I’ve seen in my own life, and also in AA, is you stop drinking but you tend to act out compulsively other places. The smoking, the caffeine, eating, sex, gambling. The addiction switches.

  One of the things I’ve never seen any studies on is, I think I’ve probably known five to ten people who’ve killed themselves in AA . . . just in the years I’ve gone. My sponsor killed himself . . . and four or five people who go to this same meeting have died by killing themselves. This is why a lot of people I know, in their third or fourth year, go into therapy, some kind of therapy. Because they understand that being sober is not solving everything. If they’re lucky, they go into some kind of therapy.

  [In] AA, people don’t care if you’re in therapy, [but] some people do care if you take prescription drugs around mental problems. The weird thing about AA is there is no organization. Every group is autonomous. Every group sets their own standards. The reason I stay with the group that I go to is we have a lot of therapists, we have a lot of priests, we have a lot of social workers in it. So they have a different perspective than if it was a group of people who . . . only have the AA orthodoxy to fall back on. I came from an evangelical Christian point of view, so I’m always very hesitant when people start quoting the Big Book at me. It’s like, you know, don’t tell me chapter and verse about this. Because I don’t believe it’s an orthodoxy. AA is definitely a spiritual path. People say you can take God out of it, and a lot of people do. But at that point, you pretty much go to it for a social and a group support network.

  I have seen AA not work for everyone for a lot of different reasons. And when you talk about AA, it’s one of those nebulous things like saying “the Catholic Church.” Some parishes may be really, really great and strong and wonderful with a great priest. And others can be really, really corrupt, with a pedophile. Who knows what you’re going to get? That’s the bad thing about therapists just telling people to go to AA. They have no idea what they’re going to get.

  MARTINA (INTERVIEW)

  AA is just not for everybody. And when you do come across something in your life that’s maybe causing you to have a craving or something like that . . . you’re just met with a lot of slogans and things. You know, “One day at a time,” or “Work the Twelve Steps harder,” “Pray harder.” It’s never really addressed why you might have these cravings in the first place. So it’s really hard to get the help that you need, and it is very rigid. People would share their experiences, but always with the afterthought, “AA saved my life.” And then the AA slogans would come in, and everything was credited to AA. They are very rigid and no other options are really offered to you, as to any kind of help you may need.

  Young people would come in—very desperate, just clinging to anything that would help them. AA [was] offered as a solution without any other choices or options . . . and they needed other help. It would seem obvious to me, as I got to know them, that there were other things they needed in their life to help them get over whatever reason they were drinking in the first place. And they were struggling. They were distressed. They needed someone to talk to, even if it was just going to their general practitioner or someone who they could talk to and maybe recommend a therapist or a psychiatrist, or whatever they may need at that point. They really needed something like that and they would struggle. Some of them would commit suicide because it became just too much for them. [Then, in the meetings] the impression you would get was that they were pretty much at fault for this, because either they didn’t work the program hard enough or go to enough meetings, or they had some kind of character defect that prevented them from working the program right. So, it always basically came down to—these people died because they had this disease of alcoholism or addiction, and they were flawed, and that was just the outcome. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one that could see beyond that—that maybe this person could have been saved if they were offered some other kind of treatment. But [some of those who had done well] saw that as the only way. It worked for them for so many years, that that was the answer to everything. It’s just the get-tough kind of mentality: “If it isn’t working for you, just suck it up. Get tough and work the program, and you’ll be fine.”

  And, talking to a lot of these old-timers, they all had the same drinking patterns through their life. They had been alcoholics for many, many years, and it was a lifestyle. My second sponsor, actually, was one of those old-timers. She had been sober for twenty-five years. She was a good person and she was doing well. I felt bad that she felt the need, after twenty-five years, to still label herself as an alcoholic—that that was what she was, and that she still needed AA. I remember mentioning to her at one time that maybe after twenty-five years, maybe she shoul
d take a little credit—you know, “You did a good job. That’s great.” But she couldn’t do that, you know? The only reasons she was sober twenty-five years, in her opinion, was because of AA, and because of God. And without this, she would surely drink again. She really felt that way. And it was, actually, kind of sad.

  It seemed like we had a lot of people that were mandated into AA through the court system. But that could be dangerous, I think. I think if someone’s in the court system because, maybe, multiple DUIs, I can see where a judge, maybe in frustration, or to try to help the person, would send them to AA. But there were people who, when they got drunk, beat their wives, or molested their kids or something, but they wouldn’t do that when they were sober. The judge might mandate them to AA, thinking, well, alcohol is the problem. And that’s fine, as long as that person stays sober. But you’re in a group of people who know nothing about this person. What if this person shows up drunk or something, or, you know, slips? Then it’s kind of dangerous, I think. Something else needs to be done for that person other than sending them to AA.

  I was able to work through my own issues. I was able to learn about myself. Not just in therapy, outside of therapy, I could reflect back on my life, and just get to know myself more, and why I did the things I did. I realized that it had nothing to do with character defects or that I had to be humble and be kept down all the time. I could recognize my strengths, too, and where I could grow. And, it was just beneficial all around for me. I do have an occasional drink once in a while. But I came to that conclusion after some therapy, and realizing that, although abstinence certainly is something that some people really should do, for me, it wasn’t. I could have a couple of drinks now and again, and I don’t have to worry about it continuing, and turning into, maybe, becoming physically dependent on the alcohol again. That never happened to me again, except that one time when I was originally hospitalized.

  Inpatient is when they first expose you to an AA meeting. It was a hospital that used the 12-step principles in their therapy, or whatever. And the initial meeting, inpatient, was more an informative kind of meeting—just learning about what AA was, and what it was about kind of thing. But then, in the outpatient rehab that I was doing, we were required to go to three meetings a week, whether it be NA or AA or whatever was appropriate for a person. We were required to get a sponsor, and to at least work through our first step while we were in the program. And that’s all that was offered. There was nothing—no other options were ever talked about or offered to anybody.

  They will be very adamant about saying this is not a religious program—that it’s spiritual in nature, but it is not a religion. But as you read the Twelve Steps, it’s very obvious it is a religion. And it tends to be more Christian in nature, I think. And like I said, for me, it wasn’t so much of a problem, because I was raised a Christian. I do believe in God. I feel spiritual, and I felt strong enough in my religious beliefs that I didn’t have to follow theirs. But it’s very strange, you know? It’s like you’re told, if you don’t believe in God, you have to believe in something—some Higher Power. And it could be anything, you know? It could be the group. It could be another person. It could be a doorknob or a rock. I mean, it just seems so ridiculous, and just crazy, you know? I just didn’t get that. But it’s just the way they took the religion, like they were some separate group. That God saw them differently, somehow, and favored them, and looked upon them favorably, as long as they stayed sober. You know, it was just very strange. I’m just really glad I didn’t really fall into that or buy into that. I think, in some cases, that some people had the attitude that as long as they toed the line, followed the rules, that they were in God’s favor. You know, God would treat them better.

  Honestly, I think [the faith part of AA] could be done without. I don’t think it belongs there. It should be a support, and the support-group setting where anyone who has an addiction problem should feel free to come without feeling harassed about their religion. You know, I don’t think it’s very important. . . . I mean, I would have prayed regardless if I was in AA or not. And people who have that inclination are going to practice their religion or spirituality, anyway. People who don’t buy into that, or don’t believe in God, or are atheists, or whatever, I don’t think should be subjected to this as part of their treatment. They [atheists] do have a separate meeting, and I’m sure it works well for a lot of them. But God is in the Twelve Steps, or at least a Higher Power, so I don’t think you’ll ever really get away from that.

  TOM (WRITTEN ACCOUNT)

  After twenty-five years of abstinence from alcohol, I returned drinking five years ago when I retired. The reasons are many and varied. I have never bought into the “disease model.” To me, the disease model is a lot of smoke and mirrors. I was abused by my mother and sexually molested by a high school “guidance” counselor. Did these incidents cause me to develop a disease?

  I got drunk the first time I ever had my first drink when I was eighteen. This continued for twelve years. I finally quit in 1979 and did not touch liquor or drugs for twenty-five years. People who work in the field of addictions maintain that my addiction was caused by some malfunctioning gene or some other idiotic conundrum, or that I was predisposed to the disease of addiction. Really? How was it that I was able to quit for twenty-five years? Can a cancer patient quit having cancer? Can a diabetic suddenly decide not to be a diabetic any longer? My addiction was a direct result of severe emotional trauma, and my substance abuse was a reaction to blot out my serious mental torment.

  During my drinking and drugging days, I had many experiences in “treatment” centers, private counselors and a host of other charlatans all claiming that I had a disease. Treatment centers are, by their very nature, heavily disposed to this convoluted thinking . . . [that] to maintain any type of stability I must get involved in a 12-step program, and it begins even while one is in the hospital.

  To further elaborate on my hospital experiences, one instance stands out in particular. In this group, each person is given a large sheet of poster board and then is asked to cut out things from a stack of magazines and paste them on the board while soft relaxing music is playing in the background. At this point, I expected to find myself embroiled in Tinkertoy or Lincoln Log therapy. Then there were the usual group sessions. Each person had a sheet which was to be filled out and shared with the group. As a bit of an aside, the pencils were made of pliable plastic just in case someone in the group went berserk. The counselor would then ask: “How are we feeling today?” “Angry?” “Depressed?” “Happy?” “Sad?” etc. This would be followed by the usual rant session.

  Hospitalizations are a total waste of time, and most of the people I spoke with in treatment held the same views. Most people went there to get “dried out” as I did, play the game, get out, and go back to doing what one was doing previously, i.e., drinking or drugging. I cannot imagine the therapists were so oblivious to all this that they really believed that all this nonsense was useful as a part of one’s “recovery.”

  Speaking of recovery, the 12-steppers are always “in recovery”; even if the person has been off the stuff for years, they are still considered to be in recovery. No one ever recovers. Ultimately this leads to dependency on the group rather than on a healthy self-reliance. If I were to state that I used to have an addiction to alcohol, I would be met with hoots of derision from 12-steppers, since total recovery is impossible. Is it any wonder why there is such a lack of success in the treatment industry? One is essentially set up to fail. If one is never to recover, why bother? I believe that there is a method to this madness. It keeps the revolving door constantly revolving and the money keeps rolling in.

  Most of the meetings I attended ranged from the mundane to the laughable, since I would often see several of these people walk into a bar immediately after attending a meeting. Some members who usually attended meetings and were suddenly absent were described as being “out there”—meaning, of course, that they went back to drinking or
drugging. The comment was often made that his or her disease “got ’em.” The “old-timers”—those with the most abstinence, or who claimed to have the most—were treated with subservience boarding on awe. These people generally ran the meetings. They would often give shopworn speeches about the old days and how they beat demon rum with the help of their “Higher Power.” As I was to learn, a higher power could be anything. People said, “Well, it can be anything; you can make a doorknob your Higher Power if you wish as long as you stay clean and sober.” A doorknob? This is utter insanity.

  After a few years of this nonsense I finally quit drinking because I came to understand the damage I was doing not only to myself but the emotional trauma to my wife, who never knew what she would find when she came home. She knew that I drove drunk and feared that I would either kill myself or some other poor unfortunate who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The really sad part of all the “treatment” business is that it is costing taxpayers billions of dollars. Treatment centers are a scam. Individual treatment centers take in hundreds of thousands of dollars annually with little to show for their effort, since many who leave the centers often return to their addictions. But, they are always welcomed back no matter how often. There is one stipulation: one must have insurance or the available resources to pay out of pocket.

  LINDA (WRITTEN ACCOUNT)

  To detail my 12-step experience in proper context it is necessary for me to go back to before I ever began drinking alcohol. I am forty-eight years old and grew up in [a small town]. I remember suffering from anxiety problems at a very young age. My mother had me on some kind of tranquilizer the pediatrician prescribed when I was eleven because I would have emotional meltdowns. I recall my first very bad depression, which coincided with the onset of . . . OCD at age twelve (though it would be decades before I would have a name for these intrusive, horrific thoughts). I tried to just make it through these episodes throughout my adolescence. The severity of the obsessional thoughts and accompanying depression would ebb and flow. When the thinking would start, I would lose interest in everything I enjoyed and would reach a point of feeling nothing at all save misery. I made it through these periods and kept good grades and was a well-behaved girl to all who knew me.