OKaysez

 

Made A Decision

               We repeat what we don't repair.

Why Me?

        Newcomers to A.A. often say how baffled they became when

they found themselves unable to stop drinking. This is especially

true of those who managed on their own to stay sober for a week,

month, or even years, and then picked up again.

 "Why?” “Why?” “Why?” they cry.

But the answer isn't complicated. We drank because we are

alcoholics. Every pleasure centre in our brains lights up like

the dashboard of a giant Boeing 747-400 when our brains

get a hit of alcohol. 

Non-alcoholics don't get that kind of a hit from our drug

of choice. They might get a nice buzz, but we get

skyrockets in flight!

We also drank because early in our drinking days we

discovered we could self-medicate with booze to block out

those pesky “feelings,” like fear, anxiety, frustration,

isolation, dependence, and over-sensitivity. 

And we drank to allow free rein for our impulsiveness,

defiance and grandiosity.

Drinking worked for us on many levels, so naturally, we

drank. And alcohol worked for most of us on all these

levels for years and years. 

And then, it didn't. 

That's because ours is a progressive terminal illness

that relentlessly over time goes from bad to worse.

For anyone interested in the science behind this, there

is a ton of it available in books and online. But it mainly

boils down to our alcoholic brains being wired

differently, it's that mental illness part of our physical,

mental and spiritual illness in action as described

in our A.A. literature.

Early in my own recovery I read that there are three

stages of alcoholic  progression. The first takes roughly

20 years, unless we boost the booze with other

mind-altering chemicals and then  it can take far less.

During those 20 years we look pretty much like most

heavy drinkers, but toward the end of that time it all

starts getting - and looking - a lot worse. 

The second stage is shorter, usually no more than five or

six years. That's when our livers start giving up the fight

when it can't process our intake any more. In this stage

we no longer get hangovers, we suffer bouts of alcoholic

poisoning. But I still called mine hangovers when the

poisoning hit, because I didn't have another word for what

was going on with my body ... other than terror.

The final stage of our disease is when our liver, or brain, or

both (along with other important inner bits) can't take the

abuse we've been giving it and finally pack it in. When it's

the brain that gives up we can experience delirium tremens,

imaginary situations as if they are real. These can often be

horrific visions, but one of my best friends (and one-time

drinking buddy) became terrified when she saw tiny

muppet-like demons running around her house.

Following the DTs there can be a total loss of our mental

facilities and permanent residency in a little rubber room

(wearing adult diapers), all down to a neurological

condition commonly known in A.A. as "wet brain."

Other joys in the final phase include (but are not limited

to) agitation; anxiety; screaming headaches; shaking;

nausea; vomiting; disorientation; seizures; insomnia;

high blood pressure; tactile, auditory, and visual

hallucinations (more delirium tremens); fever; excessive

sweating; and finally, isolation and loneliness lived in a

skeletal body beneath a poisoned liver’s swollen gut,

followed by the relief of suicide or a very, very ugly

alcoholic death.

Alcohol is absolutely an equal opportunity destroyer. I've

witnessed final stage alcoholism when responding to calls

for help made from sufferers in both the ghetto and in

gated communities. 

The DRUG ethanol, found in all our alcoholic "beverages"

- from beer to those pretty fruity rum drinks - is a killer.

It's found in wine, from rot-gut cheap to the most expensive

Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. It's really a good idea

for anyone in recovery to never forget that.

Hollywood has given us many scenes of drug addicts

climbing the walls, screaming and pulling their hair out

during withdrawal, but death from that kind of drug

withdrawal isn't usual. Alcoholics, on the other hand,

were often found dead during morning checks in those

"drunk tanks" (jail cells) used to house drunks during

A.A.'s formative years.

Our disease wants to kill us in the ways described, but

it isn't fussy. When we're drunk we feel invincible,

so our disease can take us out in a variety of ways. It will

use automobile accidents, falls from balconies, tumbles

down stairs, domestic violence, drowning, suicide, or

even just a staggering fall to the floor causing  our spleens

to bleed out. (One of my dearest A.A. friends drank again

after ten sober years and died that way.)

But now - the good news: 

While the elevator of our disease descends faster and faster

toward the end, we don't have to reach the stage where

the bottom drops out to hurtle us downward to our death.

We can get off at any floor - and then go upward again

via the staircase. Twelve steps up will get us to safety.

If we drank and drugged for years it will take time to

build back a better life for ourselves, but we will find

companionship, encouragement, love, and a blueprint

for living a sober life at our very first A.A. meeting. 

As my friend Lloyd E. said in a meeting recently: 

I went to my first meeting as a hopeless drunk and I left

there as a drunk with hope.

Recovery and hope are there for us if we want it. A.A. offers us

our way out. It lets us give our disease two fingers up. *

Daily working the steps of recovery, prayers and meditation,

talking with our sponsors, studying our literature, all take

us to a better quality of life. It works best when we

embrace everything A.A. has to offer.

And our meetings are our ongoing first-aid - our medicine. If

you doubt it, start watching the faces of your friends in

recovery when they arrive at a meeting wearing stressed

or angry faces. Watch as their expressions change over

the length of the meeting, first smiles, then even laughter.

By meetings-end everyone leaves relaxed and filled

with renewed hope. Medicated! 

Ours is a chronic, terminal illness. Many cancers are, too.

Likewise kidney disease, diabetes, and so many others.

But we don't have to have painful chemotherapy, or dialysis,

or daily jabs of insulin. All we have to do is get our ass to

a meeting for our medicine to kick in and get us through

another sober day. 

It doesn't matter if you don't feel like it, if you don't want

to go, if you don't like some other members of your group,

if you're depressed, if meetings have become boring,

if you can't be bothered ... stop giving yourself excuses

and just go!

"Sometimes my Higher Power needs to have skin on it,”

someone in a recent meeting of mine said. Mine does, too.

While I have many lovely moments of silent communion

with the God of my understanding, I only actually hear

God's direct messages to me when they are spoken by

other A.A. members, usually during a meeting.  

When recovering alcoholics drift away from meetings

they risk drinking again. That's a fact. And for us, to

drink means to court a fate worse than death -

or death itself.

* (If a British friend gestures two inward facing fingers at you, you’ve just been told to fuck off).