The information in this chapter comes from either what I have heard at self-help groups or from what I have learned from working the Twelve Steps.
Please note that these are one person's perceptions of self-help, support groups. What I have written here does not represent the official view of the organizations.
When I called AA, I was desperate; I would have done anything to control my drinking. I was really frightened. I believed I was just going to continue to go downhill, losing more and more. I believed that all my life I was a bad boy, always doing the wrong thing.
What was most important for my entrance into AA was that I believed I was powerless over alcohol. I had to reach a point where I hated the person I saw in the mirror. When I looked at my reflection, I sensed that I had evolved into the type of person that I had always despised. Gone was the ambitions college student who was out to change the world. My years of struggling to control my drinking made me realize beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not safely drink. I had tried everything available to control my drinking; AA represented the last house on the street, as they say.
I still remember contacting the AA central office that Saturday morning. Seeing my wife so disturbed about my drunken behavior of the previous night, I finally realized I could not control my drinking. The central office took my first name and my phone number then had a member call me back. The voice on the phone invited me to come and talk. I drove to this man's house where he told me the story of how alcohol had ruined his life, and how AA had given him a new life. Although he was over twice my age, I identified with his feelings and his downfall. He explained the one-day-at-a-time concept: he did not give up drinking forever, he merely put off drinking until the next day. He said if one day was too long, just do it five minutes at a time. He gave me a meeting list and a few pamphlets. Most of all he gave me hope. I drove away with the idea that maybe I wouldn't ever have to drink again. It had been years since I had felt any hope. He became my first sponsor. As my sponsor, he was one I could call at any time of the day or night with problems or questions. I did not call him frequently, but just knowing that he was there, helped me cope with life. Several times I went to his house for long talks. He was always able to untwist my tangled ideas. By witnessing the success of the AA program, my sponsor had acquired a sure belief that was evident every time he spoke. His strong belief in the power of AA to transform lives gave me great comfort. My sponsor knew how to get others out of the prisons that their lives had become. I liked how AA empowered me to change my life by doing specific tasks. The program gave me control over my world. My sponsor gave me the conviction that if I did certain things, I would never have to drink again. This concept was so different from my experience with psychiatry; the doctors just wanted me to just sit around and wait for the medicine to work. In addition, the doctors could, at best, only say that I probably would get better if I took the medicine. The psychiatrists never pointed out any success stories.
My first AA meeting was a speaker meeting at a VA Hospital. The speakers each had over a year of not drinking. I listened carefully, for I had a notion in the back of my mind that I could return to drinking if I stayed sober for a year. After a year of not drinking, I thought I could solve all of my problems, then go back to controlled drinking because by then I would know how to avoid the mistakes that alcoholics make. I felt different. I had earned excellent grades in psychology. I figured that what I learned in psychology classes and from meetings would enable me to control my drinking. I could not face the idea of never drinking again, of never feeling the serenity booze gave me. At the very least, I was determined not to have to waste time attending meetings after that year.
What I remember most from my first meeting was a man who had been educated in a very prestigious university as a chemical engineer. A patient at the VA, he had lost everything except the clothes on his back. He looked to be in horrific health. My thoughts were if he could not control the booze with his education, maybe I can't either. Maybe alcoholism is a disease.
I continued attending the VA meeting and started going to others. I found some happy people. I laughed deep belly laughs--it had been years since I had laughed so hard. Hearing recovering alcoholics share what booze did to them, and how AA had changed their lives, I began to change. I felt a part of something. I found a place when I could get some direction.
For a number of months, however, I was not 100% sold on AA . My plan was to stay dry for a year and then return to social drinking. What particularly interested me was that so many people carried out my plan. Some tried AA for one month, three months, one year, or two years and then returned to drinking with the thought that they could handle it. None of them could. Their lives got worse. Booze broke them all. Their failure to change into normal drinkers planted the thought in my brain that maybe a period of absence would not cure me either. In my first year, family members were giving me a rough time because I was going to so many meetings. At one point, my wife packed her bags to leave as my AA meetings were too disruptive to her schedule. That incident was very frightening. I thought she was going to leave. By that time in my life, I had gone crazy, become an alcoholic, and got my girl pregnant; I could not bear another major failure. But I knew I needed the meeting so I went anyway. In my first few months, I planned drunks. I wanted to convince everyone that I was a person truly in need of help. I wanted to get into bar room fights and go to jail like real alcoholics. But after a while, I realized that I would be the one suffering.
The people I met sometimes shocked me. Everyone was a chain smoker. Most had been married and divorced at least once. Many had been to jail; some had served years. Some were arrested hundreds of times. Most either had quit or had been expelled from high school. On the other hand, seeing people who had done all those things and now were successful was uplifting. I fancied that maybe I too could be a success despite all of my failures.
Acceptance of my alcoholism came one night at a meeting. I looked at a Styrofoam cup of coffee and understood that I did not want to ever be a social drinker. A social drinker drinks part of a drink, then forgets to finish it. Stopping after a single drink was no fun. If I went back to drinking, I wanted to drink a lot of booze. If I went back to drinking, I would definitely have wanted to pick up where I had left off.
The sayings and slogans used in the meetings made a great deal of sense. They said, "It's the first drink that gets you drunk." and "When you get run over by a train, it is not the caboose that kills you." My relatives and friends told me, "if you just didn't drink so much." I thought my problem was in just drinking over some certain limit. I did not realize once I drank the first one, it was impossible for me to stop the compulsion. I always wanted to know the "why" behind all of the advice that AA members offered. They said, "Don't analyze, you don't have to know Ohm's law to turn on the light." In those days, I had many problems ranging from leaky roofs to frozen pipes to rusty cars to decayed teeth. They said, "First things first." My most important problem was my alcoholism; in due time the other problems resolved themselves.
As time went on, I began to chair meetings and share my story at hospitals. When I first told my story I was so frightened that I typed it out ahead of time. In later years, I was to speak to hundreds without any notes.
Basically, recovering alcoholics help each other by sharing their experience, strength, and hope. I found that members did not jump on me for making mistakes or getting into jams; rather, they related what they had done when they had faced similar circumstances. I encountered some who did more then talk about their lives. Some helped me fix my car. Others helped fix my plumbing. One member taught me to fix my car, and I became very good at it. I have saved many thousands of dollars in repairs over the years by using the skills he taught me. When I gave my oral presentation for my MA degree, my examining board brought out Champagne to celebrate my passing, but I did not have to drink because an AA member stayed by my side the entire day. I have accompanied members to funerals and court appearances. The true kindness of recovering members has filled me with a sense of belonging which I never experienced before. I came to believe that they really care.
Simply listening to the people in the meetings had a profound effect on my attitudes. Members said, "We are all just one drink away from a drunk." When I was sober for about eighteen months, a man who was two years sober drank. He describing how he lost his job, lost his wife, wrecked his car, and ended up in jail--all in one night. My thoughts were maybe that could happen to me, maybe I can never safely drink again. A while later, I heard of a friend dying from suffocating on vomit after drinking. I had known him well. There did not seem to be an earthly reason why he should be an alcoholic. He was young, had a pretty wife, nice house, healthy baby, and good job. Moreover, he had a great deal of land which he was holding as an investment for the future. He had been to a rehab--the best in the area. Why did he drink? I was forced to accept the disease concept of alcoholism. Up to this time, I had thought that alcoholics drank due to problems and/or inferiority complexes. This man had no problems and nothing to feel inferior about. This incident had a vital effect on my recovery program. His death may have bought me my life.
When I first entered AA, I was taking sleeping pills and tranquilizers. I was still very nervous, and my doctor thought I needed them. Gradually, over an eighteen month period with my doctor's guidance, I stopped taking all meds prescribed for my manic-depression. Occasionally, someone at the meeting would urge me to get rid of my pills because they believed I would be led to drink. This giving of medical advice was probably the only bad part I ever experienced in AA. I needed the pills at the time. To quit my medication cold turkey would have been dangerous. The advice was given since so many AA members have gone back to drinking after first taking some sort of tranquilizer or pain pill. I have heard so many times of people who felt good after 2 pills, so they jumped to 8, 16, 64 and more. One man, off booze for twenty-eight years, got drunk after first taking mood altering medication. I was able to take medication because I followed the directions and was in regular contact with my doctor.
I experienced no physical withdrawal when I stopped drinking. This was not the case with Valium. Before quitting this tranquilizer, I slowly cut back to where I was only taking one two-mg dose per day, which was probably not clinically effective for a person weighing over 250 pounds. Still, I experienced the strange sensation of having bugs crawling under my skin. My fingers twitched. I stopped drinking one day at a time; this was not possible with Valium. I had to take it forty-five minutes at a time. After each forty-five minute period, I would decide to try another forty-five minutes. The tablet was in my pocket, at the end of the forty-five minutes, I would be alone and be able to take it, but I just kept putting off and putting off. After a day or so the worst was over, and I was able do it for a full one day at a time.
I was happy and hopeful my first eighteen months in AA. Some call these feelings a pink cloud. When leaving meetings, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from me. However, my mind was still not totally sober. I continually dreamed of drinking. The dreams were so vivid that I even started to believe I had gone out and drank, but I could not figure out when I could have worked a drunk into my busy schedule. I began to doubt my sanity. My memory was not good; I would hear good messages from others, then leave the meeting remembering nothing. Even though I had talked with the same 10-20 people twice a week for over a year, I could not recall their names. What aided my memory was that I took pamphlets home and read them over and over. My sponsor also lent me a number of books to read. Some of the books, I read repeatedly. I eventually read the book, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions over thirty times.
Many did not believe I was an alcoholic--after all I usually only drank beer, I did not drink in the morning, and I had not lost my job, wife, or driver's license. After I was in AA a short time, my wife started saying, "Do you still have to go to those meetings?" then, "It was better when you were drinking, at least I knew where you were." Being afraid of the reaction of my parents, I did not tell them of my AA involvement for two years. I do not think my mother ever really accepted the fact that I needed meetings. Whenever I was visiting the family for a vacation, she always complained when I left for meetings. She tried to manipulate me into not going. Despite her pleadings, I went to the meetings. I did not think that I could live without them. I probably was right. I left knowing my life depended on the meetings, but I experienced much guilt: I felt like I did when I got into trouble in elementary school. It took all the power within me not to stay home with my mother.
After my second anniversary, I knew that AA could stop my drinking if I did what the members said. On the other hand, I wondered about my nervous condition. After all, nearly all manic-depressives stay on medication and/or go in and out of hospitals all of their lives. My doctor seemed to think I needed medication for a long time. I had, also, never met any other manic-depressives managing without medication. A neighbor and close friend was in and out of the hospital with the same condition. I believed that sooner or later I would once again be locked away. I felt as if there was a time bomb inside of me waiting to go off and destroy my life. If people found out about my life-long condition, I would lose my job and my career. After all, the last time I went out with a bang. I did not think that I could go back to teach school if the kids knew that I regularly went crazy. Often teen agers will use anything to win an argument or to justify low grades. Telling their parents that the teacher was crazy again would become a common excuse for my students not doing homework.
In the middle of my dread, I felt the hand of God. One weekend, I went to the Boston area to fight in a judo tournament. As is my custom, I called the AA office and asked for a local contact. The person whom I was put in touch with just happened to be a psychologist who had been in AA for some time. We went to meetings and spent hours talking. He was the perfect person to give me direction. Over and over, I asked him how to avoid another nervous breakdown. In reply he quoted from AA books. The same books which I had read many times. Somehow I had failed to get the message on my own. His office was filled with books written by Freud, Jung, Adler, and others; yet he chose to read AA to me. He told me that at times in my life I would run into great obstacles; at those times, I would have a nervous breakdown or a spiritual awakening. I immediately felt like a huge load was lifted from me. His answer gave me hope that I did not have to be doomed to repeated attacks of mental illness. This man, whom I never saw again, was an example of how God speaks through people.
A while later, I started to attend Recovery, Inc. meetings. I had heard that the meetings are for nervous people and former mental patients, so I certainly qualified.
A woman, long sober in AA, directed me to my first meeting. I went even though it was some distance from my home because I was willing to go to any length to stay out of mental hospitals. I was uneasy at my first meeting. However, I became at ease when I was introduced to another AA member who answered my many questions. I did not like the structure of the meeting. In AA people are constantly walking around, drinking coffee, and maybe snacking on cookies. Alcoholics talk about anything they feel like for pretty much as long as they want. Recovery, Inc. wanted the members to stay seated, to speak only when called upon, and to use Recovery language. Coffee and snacks were offered only in the later part of the meeting. What's more, the meeting was twice as long as AA's. It was ego deflating to be accustomed to speaking at length at AA meetings, and then to be told that I had to attend a few meetings and study a book before I could talk. Nevertheless, I forced myself to sit. About half way through, we were allowed to ask questions, boy did I have a lot. In a later part of the meeting, called "mutual aid," I was able to talk over my concerns with the recovering alcoholic whom I met earlier. He replied to my skeptical notions with excellent explanations. I saw the logic in their methods. I accepted that nervous people did not have to get well exactly as alcoholics. More information about Recovery, Inc. is found in the Appendix and in some of the sections in Part 2, especially "Strive for Humility."
I went back to the meeting for years and eventually was trained to be a leader. Leaders must have some control over their nervousness and need to understand the methods described in the book Mental Health Through Will Training by Dr. Abraham Low, the founder of Recovery, Inc.
In Recovery, Inc. I learned how to function in life despite feeling depressed or nervous. One of the most painful events connected with my nervous breakdown was the social stigma of having been locked up for being crazy. Recovery, Inc. was a little, safe island where everyone had experienced the same feelings. Recovery meetings were full of hope. Former mental patients always have depressing thoughts in the back of their minds. When will they relapse? When will their rational reasoning leave and be replaced with disjointed thoughts? When will they be paralyzed by guilt and fear? When will the world once more lock them away? Going to a hospital symbolized that my behavior was so bad that I had to be removed from the world. Recovery, Inc. was a place where I felt I belonged. Mental illness represents complete isolation from all human beings; it is a loss of connection. Being locked away and put on medication means to me that my thoughts, my opinions, even my sense of self were not valid. After being locked away and medicated, I felt I could never trust my mind. I was afraid of my thoughts and feelings. I doubted that I could ever trust my thoughts; I felt as if I was driving a loaded tractor trailer whose brakes could fail at any time. I did not know what normal was. Medication took away all my feelings and greatly slowed my thoughts, and since professionals said that medication made me sane, I assumed that was how a normal person was supposed to feel. It was a terrible way to live, but I guess it was better than being locked away again. Through the Recovery program, I found that it was OK to have strange thoughts pass through my mind or to feel happy or sad. In his book, Dr. Low painstakingly details innumerable human situations and their associated feelings.
Recovery's concept of "Endorsing yourself" gave me self esteem and self worth. Every day of my life I endorse myself or pat myself on the back for each and every effort I make toward being a responsible, productive member of society. I endorse myself for getting out of bed, for shaving, and for getting dressed. I remember when I was incapable of such actions. I endorse myself rather than wait for someone else to give me praise.
Growing up in a world totally devoid of praise or encouragement and full of criticism and reprimand, I eagerly looked for attention and praise from others. Feelings of happiness and goodness came my way when I received praise from others; however, depression and inferiority feelings swept over me when I did not get the expected praise. My mood was completely dependent on the whims of others. Along the way, I lost myself; I only sought what would bring me praise. I left behind my feelings and what was important to me. I needed Recovery meetings to learn a new way of seeing myself. I could never have given up my incessant search for praise without Recovery, Inc.
All of my life I have loved to read. So naturally my AA program involved a great deal of reading. Besides reading the AA books and numerous pamphlets, I regularly read the AA Grapevine, AA's magazine. In one article, a person spoke of reading a certain chapter in one of our books twice daily for thirty days in a row as a prevention for depression. Willing to do anything to avoid mental hospitals, I read the chapter about the third step in the book, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions as directed. The step was: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. After doing the reading as suggested, I concluded that I was immune from attacks of depression. Such was not to be the case however.
By the time I had six years in AA without a drink, I thought I had life in the palm of my hand. I had done a good job finishing up my Master's degree; the research for my thesis was recommended for publication. I was invited to speak at a scientific meeting. My advanced degree permitted me to do part-time work as a consultant, thus helping me to accumulate material things. I loved driving my new car. Judo and jogging kept me great shape. I amassed a table full of trophies and medals. But one night, I walked out of my regular Monday meeting and into a dark depression. I lost all joy. I lost all ambition for anything in life. I did not have energy or desire to do anything, particularly going to work or meetings. My thoughts lumbered along at a fraction of their former speed. All I wanted to do was stay in bed. I had no desire to live. Luckily, I had no ambition to kill myself either. This depression, which lasted for many months, seemed as bad as any others I've had, but it was different; actually, I was different. I had acquired a quiet dignity that refused to be swallowed by depression. I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, to get out of bed, get dressed, go to work, and go to meetings. Nothing gave me joy, but I did what needed to be done anyway. When I attended meetings, much of my pain left for the hour, but immediately returned when I reached home. Although I spent a great deal of time in bed, I still carried out my responsibilities. I do not know how good my teaching was, but I showed up. At school I made a movie on the scientific principles of judo and karate. In the evening I took a college course. I coached wrestling. None of these activities gave me any good feelings. All I lived for was to be able to go to bed when my responsibilities for the day were completed. In Recovery language, I "moved my muscles," and by not giving in to my lowered feelings I was "not coddling my feelings or pampering my thoughts." Because AA members had suggested writing thoughts down, I continued my discipline of recording my thoughts. For a long while, I put off going to a mental hospital one day at a time. Later, I was able to put off going until the weekend. I knew in my guts that I needed shock treatments and Thorazine, but I just postponed them until the next day. All that I had heard at meetings left me, all those inspirational messages I had said at meetings were gone, I only had this drive to put one foot in front of the other.
After several months, I went to a religious retreat that our parish was having. At the retreat, I tried to turn my will over to my Higher Power. I eventually realized that my depression came on because a dream had died. With my defeat and injury a few months before in the Judo Nationals, I had to face the fact that I would never be great in judo. When I returned home from the retreat my depression was gone. A month or so later, I was starting to get depressed again, then after I fought in a judo tournament the depression left for good. The judo tournament, like all athletic competitions, was full of excitement, people, and extreme exertion.
From that experience with depression, I came away with acceptance of my manic-depression. I knew my condition would always be a part of me, but I received a special strength in knowing I could function despite lowered feelings. Life has always had new meaning since then. I treasure life today. No matter how stressful life becomes, I can still realize that at least I want to live; I can remember when I didn't. Today, I have the humility to understand that I am an alcoholic and a manic-depressive, but that my Higher Power (HP) grants me life in spite of those conditions.
Soon after joining AA, I began doing service work. My first major responsibility was being the group"s office representative. This position involved driving to one of the largest cities in the state to attend a monthly meeting dealing with our answering service and area-wide AA activities, such as dances and picnics. At the time I was afraid of driving, especially in large cities. But, people at the meeting made me feel what I was doing was important, so I went, despite my fear. I felt good doing this important task and gained confidence in my driving ability.
About the same time, I was asked to speak at the local VA hospital's AA meeting. Later, when another hospital opened up a rehab program, I was asked to speak there as well. After over twenty-seven years, I'm still speaking at those places. Sharing with the patients gives me a better understanding of myself and reminds me of where I have been.
When I was new in sobriety, there were few meetings. Two other members and I started a meeting at the church I attended. Even after two years, there were still usually just the three of us, but we became very close and are still sober today. To attract more members in the early days, we started to make home-made soup every week through the winter. Eventually the meeting grew. Today, it is the biggest discussion meeting in the area. In the winter months over one hundred people enjoy fresh bread and home-made soup. Each week, a different person volunteers to cook the soup. When my turn for soup making comes, I put my all into the soup, for cooking the soup symbolizes an opportunity to give back a little of what has been given to me. At some of these soup meetings I bake dozens of cinnamon rolls to go along with the soup another member cooks. Every 5-15 minutes hot rolls come from the oven.
After ten years or so in the AA program, I experienced a spiritual awakening while gazing at all the contented people at this meeting, for I realized that I was of some use in the world. By hanging in when few others were interested, I helped keep the meeting going. I thought of the hundreds (perhaps thousands) who entered our meeting, ate our soup, and went off with enough strength to live the rest of the day without drinking. Many who started in our soup meeting, now have decades of sobriety. I realized that my presence had helped make the world a better place. I felt worth something. My upbringing, my mental illness, and my alcoholism had convinced me of my worthlessness. I thought I was just a bad seed. From just sitting at a meeting with just two others, I became a worthy member of the human race. I did not have to do anything big like discover a new energy source, invent a ray gun, or be the president.
The three of us went on to start other meetings. My efforts at starting these meetings gave me a feeling of real belonging, of being a part of something. At the same time, I realized that I had not had a desire to drink for some time. By worrying about other people, I had stopped worrying about myself. As of today, I have not had a desire to drink for many years. The desire has been removed. Moreover, I learned a valuable lesson--not giving up. When the meeting only had 2-3 regular members, I never dreamed the meeting would succeed, but it grew to being one of the biggest meetings out of the nearly one thousand in our area. This lesson of persisting carried over to bring me success in my professional life.
For much of my life I had felt unlovable, but in time I started to really sense the love in all the meetings. I used to say, "The love is so thick you can cut it with a knife." I spoke of unconditional love: love which did not require one to be rich, educated, black, or white. I only had to show up to feel loved. Every other group of people in my life had written or unwritten requirements. Alcoholics Anonymous only wanted me to have a desire to stop drinking.
During the drinking phase of my alcoholism, I weighed 300 pounds. After a few years, the combination of not drinking beer and practicing judo had reduced my weight to around 200 pounds. My weight was controlled by exercise, I still basically ate until everything was gone, with no feeling of fullness. So when a fellow AA member asked if I wanted to go with him to meeting of Overeaters Anonymous (OA), I went. Please note that more information about OA and other self-help fellowships is found in the Appendix. The people in the meeting resembled those in any other kind of meeting in the United States: some were grossly overweight, some were thin, and others just right. I appreciated how the tools of the OA program were explained at each meeting. The tools are methods OA members use to control their food addiction. During the break, it was great to receive hugs from almost everyone. As in most AA meetings, the chairperson gave a brief accounting of her life; then a topic was discussed. The meetings gave me a warm sensation. Secret feelings were often discussed. Overeater's Anonymous made me feel more connected to others. In OA I learned to plan my daily meals in advance instead of sitting down and grazing.
Years ago in my area, all AA meetings were full of chain smokers. As a non-smoker, I was offended by the smoke, but there was no where else to go. Instead of going to one of the most popular and smokiest AA meetings, I started to visit Al-Anon meetings held in the same building. The meetings were interesting. The spouses did not seem to see life the same as the alcoholics did; it was like the alcoholics and the spouses were living in different homes.
Al-Anon meetings helped me deal with people who were irresponsible and who blamed others for their troubles. Many of my students fell into the same category as alcoholics. My students' lack of responsibility upset me. Early in sobriety, I drove a friend to a Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meeting in a nearby city. There was only one other person there besides the two of us. I really related to what was said. Since it was fairly far away and since I thought I was just an alcoholic, I did not go back. But soon after an NA meeting started nearby, I went and have been going to NA ever since. Today I feel that I belong as I was heavily addicted to prescription drugs. In fact, I am basically addicted to much in my life: food, caffeine, alcohol, pills, and people (for praise). In NA I heard over and over that a drug is a drug. In NA, drug use is seen as just a symptom of a disease. A specific drug is not the problem. The disease of addiction is the problem. Many in NA did not use the traditional narcotics like heroin. But, we were all addicted to some sort of drug. A better name for our fellowship would be Addicts Anonymous, but then we would be known as AA--the same as Alcoholics Anonymous which had already used these initials for many years. In NA we seldom talk about the drugs we used. We encourage everyone to talk about their recovery, rather than their drug episodes.
As I brought one addiction under control, another rose to take its place. Of course it must be noted that my active addictions became more benign as my years of clean time accumulated. At one point I drank 20-30 cups of coffee each day. No one is arrested for driving under the influence of caffeine, but I thought it was a problem because I needed my fix of caffeine before facing a task or talking to people. As with booze, I gulped my caffeine, protected my supply, and, in the end, fought to control my use. Once, when I went camping I took two cases of pop. At restaurants which provided free refills, I ate less in order to drink more pop. How many reasonable people drink a six-pack of pop with their dinner? A few years ago due to a medical condition, I was told to stop drinking caffeine. Just as with giving up the booze, I was haunted with a terrifying fear of living without caffeine.
Jogging was an addiction for me, albeit a tremendously healthy one. Along with judo, jogging transformed me from a three-hundred-pound chunk of fat into a well-conditioned athlete. My exercise regime lowered my blood pressure, pulse rate, and weight to super healthy levels. I thought about running, dreamed about running, talked about running, and read about running. In short I was obsessed. Jogging brought on a runner's high. The workouts also removed all traces of anger. Running started to become the be all and end all of my life. When I could not run on certain days, I felt uneasy and grumpy. Someone at the meetings told me that my jogging was keeping me from facing my problems because it was covering everything with a runner's high, just as my boozing masked all problems.
From hindsight, I would not have wanted my life in recovery to be any different. When I sobered up, I had many feelings and issues to deal with, my highs from exercise were the crutches I needed at the time to deal with the pain of reality. Eventually, I came to feel, then accept, my feelings and work through the hurts and resentments from the past.
The acid test for an addiction is what happens without the drug. When I first gave up caffeine, I had to stay in bed for days due to headaches. For months I felt as if I could not plan anything past my nose. I felt like my brain was in a fog. I needed coffee to become a functioning person.
All my life I did everything to excess. Ultimately, the excess became an addiction, which crowded out other parts of my life, until the addiction was my life. I use the NA program to deal with my addiction: there is something in me that makes me run to my addiction rather then face reality. What I use to escape the world be it pills, alcohol, or exercise is merely a surface symptom. Narcotics Anonymous helps me discover why I avoid the world when it does not meet my demands.
One day, a fellow alcoholic helped with just me a piece of paper. It described all of my feelings and belief systems. The paper came from an Adult Child of an Alcoholic (ACOA) meeting. The meeting had just started in a nearby town. I started to go to this ACOA meeting almost from its start. The meetings were intense; I usually did not even get up for coffee or to use the rest room--I did not want to miss anything. Everyone talked about the feelings I had buried in the deep recesses of my mind. The meetings were mostly composed of members of AA and Al-Anon. For various reasons, my attendance at ACOA was a bit erratic for a number of years. Then my Higher Power caused some changes. My original sponsor died after over thirty years of continuous sobriety. My new sponsor said that all my current problems related to ACOA issues. At the same time, a new meeting, on a more convenient evening, started in the same town where I lived, so I started to attend every week. The ACOA program exposed a different aspect of my personality, and I grew to love another group of people. These meetings put me more in touch with my feelings, especially those with roots in the past. Listening to others tell of their fears and hurts that originated in their homes, I remembered past hurts and shared them. My sharing brought me closer to others. I did not feel so alone with my hurts and feelings.
For years, my program included many meetings with a few AA picnics thrown in for good measure. Later, I began to go weekend retreats. Most of those retreats brought spiritual experiences: experiences that allowed me to find God's will and gain acceptance of my life.
I also started to go to conventions. One of my first was AA's fiftieth. I can still remember the electricity in my spine as I stood in Montreal's Olympic stadium saying the Lord's Prayer along with 77 thousand other recovering alcoholics. There were more countries present than there were sober alcoholics when the Big Book was written. When I came into AA, I felt all alone, no one had my problems. On that night I felt the tremendous power of the program. Before that convention, the biggest meetings I had attended contained around one hundred people. Many meetings at the convention appeared to be attended by over a thousand, with most of the speakers having between 20 and 30 years of sobriety. When they spoke, I felt as if God was speaking. One speaker said, "AA can unlock the person inside." I believed him, and his promise ultimately came true in my life. Another summarized the way AA works by saying: "Most therapies say come to us we will change your thoughts, then eventually your actions will change. We say do these things and your thoughts will change." The multitudes of successful recovering alcoholics and the great wisdom of the speakers combined to give me a spiritual awakening. My conviction that AA could work miracles was made stronger, for I had seen and heard about so many miracles.
Since then, I have been to many other conventions of both the AA and NA fellowships. In my area we hold an AA conference every year. Our first was attended by several hundred people. At the time I was struck by all the progress our fellowship had made. There were times in that town when only two or three showed up for a meeting, now there were hundreds. I wonder how big AA will get, and how many people I will meet and grow to love. Conventions make me aware of just how many people I know. They make me feel connected--instead of isolated. They fill me with hope. I leave believing that if all these people can make it so can I.
In Twelve Step meetings, members often speak of working with their sponsors. A sponsor has walked the path ahead of us, and is someone we can relate to. A sponsor is often someone we admire and want to be like.
I have always had a sponsor, and I have used many people as sponsors. When life became overwhelming, I talked through my problems during, before, and after meetings. People at the meetings saw right through me: they knew exactly how I felt inside. Usually in a few short minutes they unraveled all the confusion of my worries and projections. I came to believe that God spoke through them.
My first sponsor, who I had for many years until he died (he was in his eighties), I used as a source of strength. In my early years he served as a resource to answer all my questions and concerns. He lent me AA books. I admired the way he told his story of recovery from active alcoholism. I so much wanted to be a success like him. The strength of his gratitude and spirituality instilled in me a sense of hope, a belief that the AA program is indeed capable of causing profound changes.
Soon after my first sponsor died, I found another who was in the same field as I and highly educated. This sponsor, active in a number of fellowships, was a strong believer in the steps.
One bright sunny day, I bicycled to his home to do another fifth step, when I rode home that evening I realized that my life had changed. Before I began talking, he shared what he viewed as his most shameful, sinful part of himself. This introduction put me more at ease. For a while, my inventory went like all the others I had done in the past, but after he asked a few questions about my feelings, I began bawling my eyes out. His questions caused me to begin to feel the hurt from my past. No one had ever done that. In other inventories, I had stuck just to the facts--I did not appreciate the value of my feelings. After crying, I was lead to appreciate the great pain that my inner child was carrying around. My life was disrupted when current situations resembled shameful events in my youth. Inside of me was this inner child who still reacted as a helpless child. This inner child caused me to continue to feel deep shame and guilt. Much, maybe all, of my substance abuse was an attempt to not feel the feelings of my inner child. I learned that I had to feel the fear, hurt, and anger I experienced as a child. Only then could I get closure on my pain and move forward as an adult. I had to look my demons in the eye.
From that day I have not been the same. Great personal success fell into my lap. In the years before, I worked hard, yet felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall because I always fell a little short of success. After that inventory, my life bloomed. I completed projects which resulted in much publicity and praise. The public showed me great respect, but the important part was that I now felt that I deserved it. The great hole, the emptiness inside had left.
At another point, I was hung up on my male image. My male role models were arrogant, know-it-alls. They displayed anger and contempt for others. These males, all blue-collar workers, prided themselves in being able to build or fix anything. They showed no emotion other than self-righteous anger. My sponsor assigned me to (1) write on a piece of paper all that it means to be male in my family of origin, (2) ask my HP to be rid of all parts of that male role that were objectionable, and (3) go outside and burn the paper. I was trying to be someone who was not really me. I was following bad role models. In forcing myself to act like an ignorant red-neck, I was denying other aspects of myself. My sponsor's assignment helped me to build myself into the kind of person I wanted to be.
Sponsors are sort of like counselors, but ones who have gained their wisdom from actually working through problems, instead of just becoming certified or licensed by attending college. They have walked further ahead down the path of self-discovery.
After around ten years of sobriety, my personal life seemed just peachy: my car was running, all the bills were paid, my judo competitions always brought trophies or medals, my running was up to marathon distance, and my education was finished. However, I suffered burnout as a teacher. I felt as though I was trying to beat down a wall with my head. Paper work and many different preparations each day were overwhelming me. When I attended high school, the teachers seemed to teach the same single subject year after year. In contrast, I taught three, four, or five different subjects each year. What made matters worse was that year after year my administrator kept changing my classes, so I could not use previously developed materials. Some classes were filled with angry teens who were either not in class or were twenty minutes late because they were in the principal's office, being yelled at for something they did the day before. Students in these classes showed no respect and engaged in complaining, whining, blaming, and manipulating.
During this time, male teachers were assigned by themselves to study halls in the cafeteria with over a hundred students. On the other hand, female teachers typically had only five to ten students in their own room where the kids would help with stapling papers and other time-consuming tasks. Being a large male, I was assigned cafeteria study halls. Many students were bored because they had to sit in study halls for four periods each day. Each day large numbers of students sat with no homework, nothing to read, and nothing else to do. Many could hardly read. Some were way behind on homework and were failing almost all of their classes. These students had maintained this complete lack of effort for many years, but the school just continued to socially promote them.
To make matters worse, my different bosses held conflicting priorities. The department chairman stressed the importance of covering the material no matter what; the principal wanted the kids to have fun with numerous activities; the guidance counselor wanted all students to pass since students failing classes created scheduling difficulties. I felt like a piece of dough being pulled in several directions.
I brought my mood down even more by recalling the worst of former years, especially the angry parents who blamed the teachers. All of these students, whose parents came in to blame the school, have spent a considerable amount of time in jails and some have showed up in AA meetings. However, at the time the parent's strong convictions made me feel guilty.
This stress at school caused my self-esteem to fall. I thought I was a failure. Day after day, I felt as if I was treading water with weights tied to my legs. Many days, I felt as if I used all my energy to just keep my head above water. Some days, it felt like I had inhaled a lot of water because the principal put extra weight on my legs. I felt stupid and helpless. I believed that I must be inferior because even with all my education and training, I still had a hard time. I kept beating myself for going into teaching. My brother had tried to talk me out of becoming a teacher when I was in college; I hated myself for not listening to him. I believed all my years in college and graduate school had been wasted. My workouts and meetings were the only relief from the pain of teaching. I was quite good in judo and running; hence, I could really work off anger. Sometimes I ran for over ten miles, at other times I would lose over ten pounds in a judo workout. I treasured my workouts for they gave me a certain measure of peace.
For several years I tried to leave the teaching profession. I applied for other jobs, included college teaching. I studied for and took civil service tests. I did activities to make me look good on a resume, such as taking more courses and working a variety of jobs in the evenings and summers to increase my range of experience. Nevertheless, there were no jobs in my immediate area of the country. Finally, when I was beginning the process of entering the army a trusted AA friend said, "What are you running away from?" He admonished me not to run away, but to first get used to the job before I left. His remarks caused me to do a great deal of thinking and praying.
A short time later, I accepted that it was God's will for me to stay in my present job for some unknown reason. I obtained books on burnout. I accepted that my job was out of my control, but decided to control my personal life. I showed up for work on time, worked hard, then left on time. I controlled what I could and accepted the rest. I reminded myself over and over what I learned in the books: Only the best people get burnout. Those who do not care and are not good at their jobs never get burnout. After I accepted God's will, exciting, unforeseen opportunities appeared.
One September another teacher asked me to accompany a group of students on a camping trip. I agreed to go, I love camping. Well, it turned out to be an eight-day geology trip in Colorado and Utah. I did not believe that we would ever get to go until we walked on to the plane. I even was able to take my son. We saw and learned about some of the most beautiful places on earth. I saw that some good could come from teaching. Since that time I have accompanied many other groups to Colorado, Arizona, and Florida. As a child growing up in a poor, Pennsylvania coal-mining town, I dreamed of seeing the world. My teaching job enabled me to live out those dreams. Eventually, we developed the trip into a graduate course for teachers and experienced some great, fun times by being tour leaders for adults. The trips motivated my son to study geology.
At one point, NASA took applications for teachers to fly aboard the space shuttle. After I had applied, the local newspaper ran a front page story complete with pictures about the six teachers in the county who had applied to ride the shuttle into space. The article turned me into a local celebrity. Everywhere I went people asked me about space travel. This was the big pat on the back that I needed. I had always loved space travel, and now I was given a chance to talk about my passion. I guess it was good that I did not get picked because the shuttle blew up, but I would try again; it all sounds so exciting.
A year or so later, I got close to some young people by serving as a sponsor to an Alateen group and as a volunteer counselor in a camp for children of alcoholics. I thought that all teen agers hated me, but I found love and acceptance from these kids. I began to see that kids hated school and authority figures, not me. While at the camp, I used to pray and mediate while watching the waves breaking on the beach. One evening, when I thought that God was answering me, the waves suddenly grew much larger, although no storms or boats were around. The experience sent shivers up and down my spine and brought tears to my eyes. My attitude suddenly changed to include hope and a sense that God had a role for me in His universe.
I found a new purpose in teaching when I started to work with students having problems with alcohol and other drugs. The support group eventually grew to twenty-five students. The group received much backing from the school, community, and county. It especially grew when I was able to devote more time during my sabbatical leave. We held mini-conferences and camping trips, in addition to participating in dances and conventions sponsored by NA. We networked with all the other support groups in the area. These kids were the worst behaved students in our school. Their problems ranged from poor attendance to terrible grades. Nearly all showed a total lack of respect for school personnel. After joining the support group, some turned themselves into productive citizens. Some went on to the merit roll, to become "students of the month," and many went to other schools to speak about their experiences. My principal labeled our support group a model program for combating adolescent substance abuse. It was exciting to effect a change in the world. As a product of the sixties, I had always wanted to make the world a better place. One of the students in the first group graduated from college and served in the Peace Corps. Eventually I worked with community leaders to establish a recreational center, where kids in our community could go to have a good time without using drugs. We raised money to build an addition to our rented facility. Community members donated furniture and recreation materials like pool tables, video games, and air hockey tables. Besides providing a facility for kids to hang out, we take them on field trips to bowl, swim, skate, and camp.
The people in AA and NA told me over and over again that I never had to drink or use again. Sometimes it seems easy not to drink when life is going well. However, the principles of the Twelve Steps work in the down times as well as in the good times. Despite painful living problems, I did not have to drink, use other drugs, or go into a depression.
In the twelfth year of my recovery, my father passed away. For six months, he lay in bed, refusing all medical attention while still drinking. I spent many weekends at his side. I was grateful that he saw me successful and that we had developed some sort of relationship. The many Al-Anon meetings that I attended had taught me the uselessness of trying to force him to stop drinking. We would not have been able to talk at all if he knew that I was going to lecture him about the evils of drinking each and every time we met. When he died, I was at a retreat for AA and Al-Anon members. On the night I received the news, people held me in their arms and permitted me to cry. I felt sad--but not alone. At my father's funeral, I read the twenty-third Psalm for the epistle. My friends, relatives, and neighbors witnessed the fact that I was finally able to talk. They all knew that I had once suffered with a serious speech defect. The experience of my dad's illness and death caused my brother and me to grow closer. We were able to share our feelings, to have real communication.
A few years later, while driving home from a Christmas visit to relatives in another state, I demolished our new car in a snow storm. Being two hundred miles from my home and with my family, I felt totally helpless. This accident represented my biggest nightmare. However, my HP was looking out for me because the people traveling right behind us were going by our town, and they took us right to our door. For months afterwards, I was afraid when driving. Nevertheless, the programs I had attended all those years allowed me to feel my fear, and then start driving again. Recovery, Inc. says to do the thing you fear, and I did. As soon as I arrived home from the accident, I called my sponsor and did as he directed--I went to my knees and thanked God for allowing us to still be alive. The next day's mail brought news that lifted my spirits. An author, whom I had written to over a year before, was asking me if he could publish my letter in a future book. His request was exactly what I needed, but why had it arrived on the very day I most needed a message of hope. It could very well have arrived on any one of hundreds of days before or after.
After my car wreck, I started to have back problems. I was forced to greatly reduce my judo and jogging. After a year or so of doing stretching and back strengthening exercises, I felt that my back was much better, but I went to have it X-rayed to make sure. The doctor's examination revealed that my back had been broken and that the break had caused my backbone to be displaced. I never felt much pain and did not, for a long while, know exactly when it broke. With my years of physical training, I was accustomed to putting ice on injuries and backing off of exercise for a while; accordingly, I did the same with my broken back. As a consequence of the injury, I was forced to give up running and competitive judo. When examining my back, the doctor discovered that I was hypogyclemic, which is low blood sugar. This meant that my daily ups and downs were at least partially caused by the level of glucose in my blood. When my blood sugar level fell, it went way down, real quickly, causing a complete loss of energy, which I had interpreted to be just a part of my manic-depressive nature. To control this condition, I was advised to give up caffeine and sweets.
Giving up so much at once was hard to take, but the evidence was inescapable. Looking at the X-rays, I was stunned like a deer in the headlights. When I was made aware of all I had to give up, fear thoughts ran through my mind: Maybe, I'll go back up to three hundred pounds. Maybe, I'll go insane (I believed running had been controlling my moods all those years). How can I ever face life without caffeine? I believed that joggers were special people, they seemed to have so few physical problems--when you wait in a doctor's office none of the patients look like joggers. Most of all, joggers could eat anything they wanted, as much as they wanted, and still be thin. I did not want to give up my great physical health. In my heart, I knew that I was a compulsive overeater, and only lacked a weight problem due to running. I did not want to become an average middle-aged person, who like everyone else had to watch his diet. Running cleared my mind and gave me a runner's high. I did not want to give up the highs.
With profound humility, I decided to follow the doctor's orders one day at a time. Another factor motivated me: I wanted to be a good role model for my teen-age son.
Well, one day at a time, I did follow all of the orders without any major problems. However, the experience was not as I expected. I did not expect a great deal of trouble with not eating sweets, yet two years later I still craved cake, ice cream, and doughnuts. I wanted to beat up people who appeared happy when eating sweets. I guess it is easy to avoid seeing people drinking booze or jogging, but sweets are such a part of our day-to-day culture. My house always contained large amounts of my favorite deserts. People constantly asked me to join them in eating pieces of cake. It got so that I had to leave the room when others ate deserts. People looked so contented when stuffing their faces with sweets. I felt it was not fair that I was denied the joy that was everyone else's birthright. When I first sobered up, I felt the same about booze, it seemed that everyone else could get good feelings with alcohol. Life did not seem to be fair. This obsession with sweets left me when I found a restaurant which served hot fudge sundaes containing artificial sweeteners. Knowing that I could have a sundae if I wanted one made my life easier to bear.
I allowed myself to grieve not being able to jog. For a year, I felt sad when I saw the pavement freshly painted with arrows for races. Bright sunny days brought lowered feelings to me because I could not go out and jog.
Months later, I finally accepted that I could never run again. My acceptance came at a retreat for Alateens. I realized that it was time for me to devote my time and energy to something other than physical fitness. I saw the start of a new season in life. After my acceptance, I slowly found other activities, such as weight training and yoga, that I could do in a moderate way--enough to keep me plenty fit. Before this time, I was only focusing on what I had lost, not what I had gained. Not jogging an hour or two every day freed up time for me to work towards other goals. This was not an end, but a beginning.
It is interesting to note that everyone whom I told about my not being allowed to eat any sugar has given me pity. They really felt sorry for me as if I had some sort of incurable disease that was making my limbs fall off or something. Many could not even imagine how I could do it. On the other hand, no one outside of Twelve Step programs showed me any sympathy for not drinking or taking pills. Our culture just does not understand how hard it is for an alcoholic not to drink.
As I was adjusting to my new life without running, sugar, and caffeine, my mother suddenly died. People from the program were around me in my grief. Before I left to bury my mother, I shared at one of my regular meetings. A woman touched me deeply when she said, "Go do what you have to do, but come back we need you." It was what I needed to hear at the time. Her comments came to me repeatedly as I went through the grieving process. My sponsor and I called each other long-distance almost every day.
For months, as I labored to put my mother's affairs together, I allowed myself to be sad, for I accepted that grief was both normal and necessary. I walked about my home town remembering my childhood and mentally saying good-by to all my childhood experiences. I grew to understand that a part of my life was over. At a meeting, a dear friend saw to the core of my sadness when she said, "You have to grieve the fact that you never had and never will have the kind of parents you wanted." For so much of my life I seemed to collect achievements; and with each accomplishment, I could not wait to tell my parents. I wanted their approval. When I was a child, I received criticism and was compared to my perfect brother. In later years, it appeared that my parents were happy when my achievements were written in the newspaper, but I never felt that I was good enough for my parents. Part of the problem was that my mind was in a different world. I had a M.A. degree, and an unrelenting curiosity about the universe. They had never been to college and had only been concerned with getting enough food on the table. They saw no benefit in intellectual pursuits. Living through the Great Depression, frequent strikes, and work slowdowns had caused them to see only the practical side of life.
When all was finished with my mother's estate, my brother and I had inherited a fair amount of money. It seemed that, even though my father made a good wage after we left home, my parents continued to live in the same frugal manner that was necessary when the family was poor. As a result of receiving this inheritance, I was finally able to move my family out of the trailer park and into a house. The one we picked was our dream house complete with fireplace and swimming pool.
One day, walking through the book stacks of a local library I spotted a book entitled, I Ain't lazy, crazy, or stupid. The book was about adult attention deficit disorder &ADD). The book described my entire life--my troubles with school, excess energy, and confusion over how to act. In time I consulted with our school's employee assistance program, a psychologist, and a doctor. These professionals confirmed my suspicions, I had ADD. My inability to focus and unfocus my attention had caused me problems all of my life. In one sense I was relieved to discover that I had a medical condition, instead of being lazy, crazy, or stupid as people thought. Somehow, I had adapted to get some things done, but I had done what many with ADD do--medicated the pain with drugs, in my case, mostly alcohol. In order to get things done in my life, I stumbled upon a few useful methods that worked well for me. These are described in Part Two under "Do first things first, " and " Make a decision and act on it."
Although against all mood-altering medicines, I did go on a small dose of medication for my ADD, after consulting with my sponsor. The medicine helped me greatly by both calming me down and by allowing me to be more organized while dealing with a mountain of paper work. After a number of months it did not seem to work as much as at the beginning. However, by cutting back at times or going without for a few days, the pills did seem to resume working. I guess at times, we all may need to take certain medication which may affect our moods.
Narcotics Anonymous
Adult Children of Alcoholics
Conventions
My Sponsors
Job Burnout
Problems in Recovery
Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD)