The Beauty of Meetings (Requiem 4)

There is a myth out there that alcoholics have a drinking problem. I see why people would think this. I hear people in meetings say it all the time. They are wrong, though. Drinking is not our problem. It is our solution. There are some people who DO have a drinking problem. Their solution is to stop drinking. You take an alcoholic and a problem drinker. Let's say they both have too much to drink one night, get in the car, drive off and get pulled over. They get hit with a DUI, go to jail, and get hauled before a judge. The judge says to them "If I see you in my court again, I'm going to send you to prison." Up until now there is no difference between the two. Here is the difference: the problem drinker thinks about his job, his wife, his insurance rates, and decides he is done drinking. He makes a decision to stop drinking. The alcoholic starts thinking about what prison is going to be like. He knows he is going to drink again. The thought of not drinking scares him infinitely more than prison.

So for the second time in less than 4 months I started drinking and woke up in a hospital. It was after midnight. I called for a ride from my aunt and waited for her show. While I was waiting a nurse came in and gave me my discharge instructions. It included this computerized printout showing my condition and the treatment. Apparently, I was suffering from severe alcohol intoxication and chronic alcoholism. It told me I should stay away from alcohol if I couldn't limit my consumption. If I was unable to stay away from the sauce, there was help available in the form of a 12 step program or a professional counselor. As horrible as this situation sounds, I'm actually really grateful for it. If I had any doubts as to the nature of my condition, they were dispelled. I now knew that what I was hearing at meetings was true and applied to me: no alcoholic drinker once losing the power of choice in drinking ever regains it.

My aunt picked me up and took me to my apartment. I had caused quite a bit of concern when I didn't show up to my normal meeting or come home at a reasonable hour. The next day I woke up, called in sick to work, and then called Jen up. She was really upset with me. It's hard to describe the bond of two people that go through rehab and set about trying to turn their lives around. Strong bonds are forged quickly during times of catastrophe. And make no mistakes about it: my life was a train wreck (as are most that hit bottom). We went to two meetings that day. I stood up as a newcomer again, which was pretty tough. My pride didn't want to admit to screwing up.

We go to these meetings where we find people that are just like us. And in a way, we are given a new life that first time. We meet new people who only see us as fellow survivors of alcohol. People who see us in meetings and have only seen us do good things for ourselves and for others. At first, I think, it's why a lot of people go back to meetings. We go to our jobs where a lot of us have barely been getting by. We're angry and unproductive and always on the verge of being fired. We go home to our families. The people that have watched us make promise after promise to stop drinking and clean up our acts. They've heard it all before and talk is cheap. So maybe we try to reach out to our friends. Except that a lot of us have burned most of our bridges by the time we become willing to make changes in our own lives. If we do have friends that want to spend time with us, it's the friends that we drank with. The friends that did the same things we did at their jobs and to their families. They used to be our salvation, because for a couple hours a week we could just be ourselves and not be judged for it. Now, though, we want to stay sober. And suddenly we find these same friends a whole lot less cordial. They treat us as if we are a spy for the sober side. Or perhaps a missionary from teetotalerville. And so we are alone.

We go to these meetings and people seem normal. They smile and laugh and they look good. They have jobs and cars and houses and we think 'I am not like these people'. And then they start telling their stories. Tragic and Horrifying stories. Awful stories. Stories like ours. And maybe someone gets up and tells a story of driving drunk. And they get pulled over. And the officer comes up to their car. The officer can see they've been drinking and tells them to step out of their car. And they go to get out of their car except they are too drunk, so they fall out of the car onto the ground at the officer's feet. And then they throw up on the officers shoes. And for some strange reason, this strikes everybody as HILARIOUS. So they laugh. At horrible things like this they laugh. And when somebody does an everyday thing like get insurance for their car or get their drivers license, they applaud. And at first we don't get it. We think 'What are these people laughing at or clapping for?' Then one day somebody gets up and tells our story. Some of the details are different, but it's our story. They talk about missing births and disappointing their family. They talk about the pain and the loneliness. And we realize that we aren't alone. These people, we think, have been where I have been. And it slowly dawns on us that these people seem normal. They are happy. They have been in the darkness that we are in and have found a way out. And if they have found a way out, they can show us the way out. And for the first time in months, if not years, we have hope. We are not alone, and hope is suddenly not lost. And so we keep coming back.

So when I had to come back to those meetings and stand up as a newcomer, it was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. Suddenly, the dissapointment, shame, and embarrassment of my life before I tried to stay sober came back.