We Are Not Saints

by David M

  I had always assumed my problems were caused by alcohol. I was wrong. My problems stemmed from my inability to handle situations that other people encounter, address and resolve countless times in their lives. The steps of alcoholics anonymous gave me a way to approach problems and to handle them in a way others take for granted. I had to learn how to think, and when to ask for help.

  The eleventh step is about connecting with a higher power on a conscious level. This is a very personal step for me, and I have only discussed it with my sponsor until now. Even then, I was worried that my beliefs would conflict with his and it would drive a wedge in our working relationship.

  Without going into great detail, I don’t feel that anyone is wrong for seeking a relationship with God, but I don’t believe any one religion has cornered the market on the truth. I believe this is why the program of Alcoholics Anonymous is based in spirituality and not religion. We are all encouraged to seek a higher power of our own understanding.

  While in rehab, a local minister was brought in to talk to everyone individually. Most of these meetings took less than fifteen minutes. I went into the meeting with a relatively open mind, but when the minister began to explain that what he believed was the truth, and what I believed was a sly misguidance of Satan; I became argumentative.

  Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t only defensive, I was also relatively well educated in the religions of the world, including the one he was selling. Our fifteen-minute meeting went on for well over an hour, and only ended when the counselors put a halt to it. In the end, he left feeling frustrated. I left feeling entertained. The meeting did, however, motivate me to reestablish my relationship with the one I call God.

  Whether intentionally or not, I had been raised to believe you should only present yourself to God when you are at your best, and that to do otherwise would be disrespectful. I would never present myself to God as a drunk. While many alcoholics come to AA feeling abandoned by their higher power, it was clear to me that I was the one who had abandon God.

  I had tried to use spirituality to get sober and I had failed. I had tried Alcoholics Anonymous without spirituality and I had failed. It wasn’t until I had both that I had any chance of success. I cannot maintain a relationship with God without sobriety; I cannot maintain sobriety without AA, and I cannot remain a viable member of AA without God. It’s my trifecta. It’s my Holy Trinity.

  The minister I just mentioned was not a recovering alcoholic or a member of AA. If he had been he would have known that it is not important who we choose to call God, only that we are willing to believe in a power greater than ourselves, and that we work to cultivate a relationship with that higher power. It is this more than anything else, that has kept me sober.

  The twelfth step is about sharing what we have learned, and living a better life based on the principles we have learned in AA. I came into the program of Alcoholics Anonymous because I could no longer stand the way I had been living, and there were people in the rooms who gave me something to look up to. Now it is my turn.

  People come to AA for help all the time, and I feel it is my responsibility to be there for them. If I want to keep living the sober life that has been given to me, I must share it with others.

  This doesn’t mean preaching on street corners or dragging people out of bars. That would be foolish. Some people can drink responsibly. Some people can drink irresponsibly and still lead productive lives. I am not one of those people, and it would be useless for me to resent them for doing what I cannot. It would be equally futile to drag someone kicking and screaming into a program they may not need and do not want to be a part of.

  As a member of Alcoholics Anonymous I am here for the person who has lost all hope that they will ever gain control of their drinking and, having nowhere else to turn, reaches out for help. I believe it is my duty to show the newcomer what is possible in sobriety by example, not just words.

  Again, these steps are the cornerstone of Alcoholics Anonymous and my sobriety. They are not intended to be done once and forgotten. They are a daily roadmap for living designed for those of us who are not born with the natural ability to navigate life. Alcoholics don’t like to ask for directions. We like to have a few drinks and sort it out ourselves. This is why I was lost for much of my life. I refuse to be that foolish any longer.

  Chapter 25:

  Though I’ve been coming around for several years now, and I raise my hand at the end of meetings when asked who has a year or more of continuous sobriety, I still consider myself to be in early recovery. This doesn’t mean I need to sit back and keep my mouth shut at every meeting. I have a little experience, strength and hope to offer those who need it. It just means that I still have to be very diligent with the five essentials.

  I must also lean very heavily on those in my support group. I don’t make it to a meeting every day anymore, but rarely does a day go by that I don’t talk to someone in my support group or the program, and I still go to three of four meetings a week. As hard as it is for me to admit, I still need constant oversight and support.

  I frequently find out the hard way that my ability to reason my way out of situations is still not foolproof, and it never will be. There are a few things I have learned in early recovery that I am fairly certain of though.

  I know now that I have an incurable disease, but that it can be treated. I had always assumed that there were two types of alcoholics: those who were treatable and those who were terminal. I thought I was the latter, and that I was destined to die with a bottle in my hand. I believed that Alcoholics Anonymous was for curable alcoholics, and that I wasn’t one of them. I don’t know why I felt so unique, but it’s clear to me now that I am not.

  I am not special. I am not unique. I am treatable. I will die with the disease of alcoholism, but I do not have to die of it.

  I have also learned that there is only one drink I can control, and that is the one I don’t pick up. Once I put any mind altering chemical in my body, all bets are off. If I make the choice to pick up that first drink there is no way to know when, where or how it will end.

  There is a good chance I will wake up in my own bed with a terrible hangover having caused very little or no harm. There is an equally good chance that I will wake up in jail, in the nut house, or that I will not wake up at all. Once that first drink hits my system there is no way for me to govern the situation or determine the outcome.

  I do know however, that if I ever pick up that first drink it’s because I made a conscious choice to do so. I can blame alcoholism for craving a drink, but I cannot blame the disease for the physical effort required to take a drink. If a bottle of bourbon ever manages to jump off the shelf, race across town, break into my home and pour itself down my throat; it’s no longer a disease, it’s a fucking poltergeist.

  I have learned that no matter how well I work the program; life still happens. Cars still break down, some people are still assholes, bills still have to be paid and politicians still lie. Life goes on. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. But no matter what happens, a drink will only make a bad situation worse.

  I have seen friends endure overwhelming personal losses in recovery, and survive without a drink. I’ve also seen teenagers, with teenager problems, pick up a drink and die. For twenty-five years I attempted to drink my problems away without success. Life is better today.

  I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will have to work the program of Alcoholics Anonymous for the rest of my life if I want to stay sober. People who improve their health through diet and exercise don’t step on the scale, or look in the mirror one day and say, “Yes, I’ve done it,” and then go back to eating like a pig and sitting on their ass all day. At least they shouldn’t.

  I believe it’s the same for an alcoholic. If I quit doing the things that got me sober, I will find myself drunk in no time. By the same token, I cannot let the things sobriety has gotten me get in the way of my sobriety. If I stop going to meetings to spend more time at the job
sobriety has earned me or with the family sobriety has allowed me to have a relationship with, I will soon find myself without sobriety. The first thing I put before my recovery is the first thing I will lose when I get drunk.

  I have come to believe that it is my duty to give back to the program that has given me a second chance at life. Exactly how selfish would I have to be to turn my back on the fellowship that was there for me in my hour of desperation? When I had nowhere else to turn; they welcomed me in. For that I owe AA my life.

  I have also found, through my own personal experience, that psychological problems other than alcoholism do exist. The problem in my case was that no medical professional had a snowball’s chance in hell of diagnosing me until I addressed my alcoholism, and became honest with them.

  Like many other alcoholics I know, I constantly lied to doctors and psychiatrists for fear they would get in the way of my drinking. Because of my lies, there was never any hope of proper diagnosis or treatment. I never thought I was hurting myself with my dishonesty; I just thought doctors and psychiatrists were idiots.

  Once I addressed my alcoholism I discovered many of my maladies were nonexistent, and the conditions which did exist were easily treated. Clearly, I’m not the model of perfect mental health, but I’m a hell of a lot better than I was before.

  Finally, I learned from a friend and mentor in the program that there are only two absolutes: There is a God, and I’m not him.

  I’ve heard it said that God watches over drunks and fools. In my case it must have been a full-time job. I should have been dead on many occasions. I can only attribute my continued existence to a loving God with infinite patience.

  I hope one day God will sit back and smile in the knowledge that at any time he could have cast me into the pit, but he did not. I hope one day he will be proud. Until then, I’ll continue to do the best I can with this new life he has given me, one day at a time.

  Epilo gue:

  I look back at the fog I lived in for twenty-five years in absolute amazement. How did I survive, and what took me so long to get out of it. I don’t regret my past. I’ve forgotten more adventures than many people will ever experience, but I’m glad that life is in the past.

  I’m a much different person than I was only a few short years ago, and I like who I’ve become. I genuinely care about people, though I still struggle with expressing it from time to time.

  I no longer fear the future. In fact, I can’t wait to see what happens next. Every trial and tribulation I have faced in recovery has ultimately ended in reward. I don’t always see it right away, but the results are unmistakable.

  I managed to salvage my military career, and will soon be retiring honorably. I have found a job I love, working for people I respect, and I believe they are happy with their decision to hire me. I find it hard to believe anyone would have, or should have, considered me a valued employee several years ago.

  My finances are in order…for the most part. I’ve had to eat a little more spaghetti than I would have liked, but it’s beginning to pay off. Doing the next right thing isn’t always easy, but it has its rewards.

  I don’t crave a drink anymore. In fact, it’s rare the thought even crosses my mind. When the thought of a drink does pop into my head, it’s gone just as quick as it comes. It’s no longer an obsession. I don’t know when this miraculous transformation took place; I just know it has, and I’m thankful.

  I’m doing my best to be something I’ve never been before: a law-abiding and productive member of society. It doesn’t come naturally for me, and takes a lot of extra effort, but I’m trying. This isn’t to say I don’t make the occasional legal gaffe. That wouldn’t be honest.

  I recently purchased a motorcycle in Wisconsin and rode it all the way home to Pennsylvania with no license, insurance or registration. Hell, I didn’t even have a plate on the bike. When I got pulled over by the police, I assured the officer I was just taking the bike home and would not ride it again until it was legal. I forgot to mention that “home” was still eight-hundred miles away. He let me go with just a warning. Well, we are not saints.

  Of the many gifts sobriety has given me I think the one I am most grateful for is the ability which has eluded me the longest, and that’s the ability to finish what I’ve started. I’ve set many lofty goals over the years, often knowing deep in my heart I would never see them through. Changing my attitude of predetermined failure has been a daily struggle, but if you’re reading this book, then you should know the struggle is paying off.

  For many years I denied I was an alcoholic. When the evidence to the contrary became overwhelming I assumed I was beyond help. Finally, I came to realize I am no different from the millions of people who have found a better way.

  If anything you have read here sounds too close to home, then I beg you; seek help. There is a path that leads to a better life. All you have to do is take that first step. God bless.