My sponsor has me reading a book on the early history of Alcoholics Anonymous, “Dr. Bob and the Good Old-Timers”. It’s an interesting read, and I enjoy seeing how so much of the program didn’t come about by accident. The creation of the twelve steps happened over time as the founders and early participants learned by doing, often by trial and error. There are plenty of great tidbits in there that help to connect the dots and give a ‘why’ to so many things that those of us in the program today take for granted.
One of the stories is about how there would be bottles of liquor on display at early meetings. Bill W was of the opinion that recovering alcoholics needed to be able to be around alcohol, to resist the temptation. One of the amazing things I’ve discovered about the program is that it is because we help each other to achieve our common goal—to stay clean—that we all have a much better chance of success at it.
I can understand Bill W’s point, though. Today, alcohol is legal and prevalent. You can’t walk down the street without seeing a billboard advertising booze. Everything from the hardest whiskey to the low-calorie lite beers are on display, right in our faces. TV is constantly bombarding us with the message that drinking is okay, fun, and guaranteed to get you laid. I myself am of the opinion that professional sporting events are nothing more than over-glamorized beer ads.
For those of us whose issue was illegal substances, the situation is only slightly different. It may be that marijuana isn’t legal, isn’t advertised on tv and radio, but that doesn’t make it any less present in our culture. Meth is at the top of the list for expanding use, and oxycontin keeps threatening to take over vicodin as the most abused prescription drug. We live in a drug culture—period. Drugs are everywhere. The encouragement to use is inherent in our society which tells us not to delve into our feelings. Instead we are to take happy pills and forget all about our troubles.
Alcohol wasn’t my drug of choice, but it seems to be the one I have the most issue with these days precisely because it is so in our faces. It’s not just advertising. Most people drink. Many who do drink to excess. Over the weekend, I had an issue with my neighbors. They had taken over the courtyard outside our apartments and were having a good-ol’ time. They weren’t especially loud, but they were definitely drunk. I wasn’t tempted to join them in a drink, but I did feel a bit left out about not partying with them. It got to the point that I felt the need to leave my home. So I did. I took myself to a meeting.
At this meeting were two old-timers, neither of whom had relapse as a part of their story, and that was something I’d been needing desperately to hear. Relapse is not a part of my story either. There are many who say that relapse is a normal part of Recovery, and it can be, but it doesn’t have to be. I’ve been judged by those who have relapsed who look at me with disdain because I haven’t. I’ve been told by addicts I’ve just met that I will relapse at some point—it’s only a matter of time. I’ve even heard that the fact that I haven’t relapsed proves I’m not a real addict.
Bullshit.
The fact that I walked into the rooms of my own accord does not mean I am any less of an addict than those who are there by court order. The fact that I have not yet relapsed does not mean I am destined to do so. It certainly does not make me ‘better’ or ‘worse’ than those who have. My story is simply different.
I have paid the price of admission; I have endured the pain. The last time I chaired a meeting, I started very simply: “I have been in jail. I have been institutionalized. I have been an abuser and I have been abused.” I do not have to go back out and have one last run to prove to myself or anyone else that I am an addict.
I don’t ever have to use again.
Something one of the old-timers said was that he was an alcoholic because he said so. I have heard a number of newcomers struggle with feelings that they weren’t ‘as bad’ as other addicts. The best advice on this remains exactly what the old-timer said: you’re the one who knows if you have the disease or not. No one else can tell you how ‘bad’ the pain you’ve been through in your life has been. No one else can know what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling.
There are those who feel alcoholism is different than drug addiction, but to me it is all different manifestations of the same disease. I see it like cancer: lung cancer is different from prostate cancer, but it’s all still cancer. I self-identify as an alcoholic when I go to AA meetings and have no problem doing so. Alcohol may not have been my drug of choice, but I have parts of my story that will make any alcoholic nod and say, “he’s one of us.”
I still feel those flickers of not belonging. I see the fools outside my pad drinking and feel not a part of even though I don’t want to drink. I go to meetings and feel not a part of because I haven’t relapsed. At the meeting I went to over the weekend, someone spoke very specifically to this point in a way that cuts right to the heart of this disease.
At the heart of it, most of us feel that we are inherently unlovable.
As I heard on a speaker disc once: you’ve got this disease because at some point in your life, you bought into the idea that you are not enough. Somewhere along the line, you became convinced that who you are, just as you are, isn’t good enough. This is why the phrase, “I am enough” persists. It is a common thread, something that anyone who attends enough meetings will hear eventually. I have spent entire meditations on just those three words: I. Am. Enough.
The program gives us tools, a new way to deal with ourselves and the world we live in. It gives us the chance to learn that we ARE enough. I remember so clearly the day I clued in to how I truly did not love myself—that I in fact hated myself. I had about six months of recovery under my belt and discovered this deep, hidden kernel. I spent hours on the phone that night. Looking back on it now, I consider it one of the best moments of my recovery because, after that realization, it became something I could work on. The veil of denial was lifted, and I at last, for the first time in my life, was able to start learning how to love myself.
We’ll love you until you learn to love yourself.
I don’t have to relapse to be worthy of the love of others in the program. My story is what it is. I didn’t set out to specifically not relapse; it’s not something I did, it’s something that happened to me. I work my program one day at a time. I don’t ever say, “I will never use again.” Instead, I tell myself, “just for today, I don’t have to use.”
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