"My inner addict is named Uncle Steve"

When I hit my one-year sobriety milestone in August, the first words out of my mouth on birthday night were, “I am never cured.” The last were to thank the others in the room because I know damn well I couldn’t have done it without them.

We are not alone.

One of these days I think I just might introduce myself at a meeting like that. Instead of the standard, “I’m an addict named Zach”, say “My name’s Zach and I am never cured.” But I’ve heard that when you single yourself out like that it’s secretly a ploy for sympathy or an attempt to make yourself different when, in those rooms, we really are all the same.

I think about that, though, being different. Every once in a while the diseased part of my brain (whom I’ve taken to affectionately calling ‘Uncle Steve’) tries to tell me that I have the disease-light. Because I was never homeless, because I never lost my job, because I didn’t grow up in a family of addicts, etc., that somehow I am not ‘as bad’ as other addicts. I even once had a sponsor tell me that. That person is no longer my sponsor.

The danger, for me, in thinking that I’m “not as bad” as other addicts, is that it is the path back to using. It is a variant of the idea that I am cured, or that I am better. I am not. I am still an addict, I always will be. The difference is that I have a solution now. I have a way to deal with my disease, a way to deal with myself, and a set of tools that help me to deal with the world so that I can accept life on life’s terms instead of making myself crazy trying to bend reality and the people in it to my will.

Your will be done, not mine.

An old timer, someone whom I love dearly and not just because she has such a fantastic ability to see through bullshit, likes to say that the only difference between herself and someone with one day clean is that she simply has more experience in using the tools of the program. As time goes by, I find that statement more and more true for myself as well.

This shit disease in my brain never quits. A friendly ‘hi’ from a beautiful woman is still enough to send me into a flurry of imaginary conversations and scenarios, including the most minute of details for what our wedding day is like and how much hair our third child is born with. Uncle Steve is always having coffee with someone I’m attracted to. He talks to the boss at my work almost constantly, taking umbrage at my low pay and underappreciated position. He obsesses over exes from years ago that I never wanted to be with in the first place. He sees a round of sample beers and says, “oh that’s cool, I’ll order that next time.” Never mind the fact that I never enjoyed drinking no matter how much I did it.

The best advice I’ve ever been given on how to deal with these obsessions is to apply the spiritual principle of Honesty: to admit and accept that I am still an addict. This is not who I am, but what I am. I am never cured. My brain will continue to obsess, to make stuff up. But by following the spiritual principles of the program, I can align myself with God’s power and let it flow through me. I don’t have to let the disease rule me. I can hear those imaginary conversations, smile and nod, and say to Uncle Steve, “How’s that working out for ya?” He’s like the crazy Uncle that everyone in the family loves, or the friend who people keep around even though he’s always coming up with the stupidest ideas.

The ideas I come up with aren’t so bad, though, and it is truly a blessing to be in touch with and able to heed my own instincts. Last night, I went to a meeting I’ve never been to before. I love doing that. I love hearing the stories of healing, listening to newcomers going through what I and so many others have been through. I get to hear how others work their program, and that is really good for me to hear. It’s something I need reminding of, that each of us works the program in our own way.

It works if you work it so work it ‘cause you’re worth it.

I once heard someone say one thing they enjoy about coming to meetings is that, when they’re having a bad day, they can listen to others’ stories and know that they don’t have it so bad after all. Good ol’ Uncle Steve sure jumped on that one. He was shouting, “What? That’s so fucked up! You gonna USE other people to make yourself feel better?” That always cracks me up, when Uncle Steve thinks he knows how to use the principles of the program.

Something I’ve heard many times: “My higher power, who I call God—and if any of you got a problem with that I don’t give a shit!” Uncle Steve likes to jump on that one, too. He gets all judgmental, wanting to get up in the person’s face and explain to them that when their faith in their higher power is a faith that is secure, there’s no need to beat others over the head with it. He wants to point out that, even though the Other is saying they hate being judged, they’re simultaneously judging others.

It’s not up to me how others work their program. Take what you like and leave the rest, we say of the meetings. My Recovery is up to me, and others’ is up to them. I am free to give my advice when it’s asked for, and it’s my responsibility to shut up when it’s not. No one gets to tell me what to do or how to work my program--how to live my life, and the price of that freedom is that I don’t have the right to tell others how to live theirs. It’s a bargain, really. Kind of like Recovery—all I have to do is stay clean, keep working my program, and in return I get to be who I really am as I have been created.

It’s the best deal in the world.

"Suicide survivor"

Never forget--this disease wants us DEAD. It is like a splinter in the brain, constantly filling our minds with thoughts that aren't true. It tells us that we're worthless. It tells us that we don't deserve for good things to happen in our lives. It tells us that we don't deserve to love and be loved.

I am a suicide survivor. I have one hospitalization that prevented me from killing myself, one attempt that didn't succeed, and a third time when I was interrupted before I could go through with what I was planning. But those were only peaks (or perhaps valleys) over nearly two decades of wanting to die. I remember not wanting to go to sleep each night because I knew I'd just have to wake up in the morning and do it all all over again.

This disease tells us that we don't deserve to be good to ourselves, that we shouldn't take care of ourselves because our self isn't worth taking care of. It's wrong.

The disease plays tricks on us, sometimes every single waking second. It tells us lies and distortions, all designed to keep us feeling like shit. To try and make us unhappy. And even those few of us who manage to get and stay clean will always have that nag in the back of our mind saying we are reprehensible, selfish, evil, for being good to us. That we are a horrible, wretched, individual for having the audacity to think that we are loved and deserve to be treated with love.

How we are made, how we have been created, is enough. Who we are, just as we are, is enough. We don’t have to DO anything. We don't have to BE anything other than who we are as we are. The disease tells us different. It tells us we have to do something to earn love. It tells us there must be a sick exchange, that if we do this or say that, or think this, or act some other way than is honestly ourselves, that only THEN will we be loved. It isn't true. If we be ourselves as we truly are, if we demand that others in our lives treat us lovingly, it WILL happen.

Maybe we were raised around people who didn't love and accept us for who we are. I know I was. Maybe we learned somewhere along the way that being ourselves isn't acceptable or is even BAD and WRONG. It isn't. That's just the disease fucking with us. We don’t have to sacrifice ourselves. We don't have to pretend to be someone different. We don't have to be miserable. We do deserve to be happy and healthy.

Other people in our lives, especially those in the grips of this illness, don't want us to be. They want us to be miserable too, for no other reason than because they themselves are and think that how they live is how everyone lives or should live. That isn't true either. And we don't help others by playing into that bullshit. Making ourselves miserable for someone else only keeps them miserable, too.

With Recovery, we set boundaries for ourselves. We begin to change, begin to live our lives being who we truly are. There will always be those who don't like it and won't tolerate it and will try with their last spiteful breath to tear us down. Don't let them.

No one can tear you down without your permission. No one can make you feel miserable without your allowing them to. So don't allow it. Demand of yourself that you be loved. Demand it down through to the core of your being. Know it, deep inside.

Who you are is enough. You really are worth it. Any time the disease tries to tell you that you aren't, it is lying.