She was more than a little bit nervous, and it showed as she put on eyeliner and lipstick. She said a silent prayer that she could and would be open to heaven’s will.
Please keep my ego out of the mix tonight.
One could never tell which was more powerful when one spoke at a meeting:
the impact one has on listeners, or the impact one has on self. Helen knew
that whenever she spoke, she heard some of her comments for the first time
herself. Despite her beginning her talk by believing she knew what she was
going to say, Helen was always surprised (usually pleasantly so) at words
that came out of her mouth, which seemingly had never been thought heretofore.
She attributed this to her Higher Power, and she has always heard that this
was how it was supposed to be. In the perfect recovery speaking engagement,
one was supposed to be open, and willing to speak God’s will.
The Speaker is sometimes merely the vehicle for the message.
It is written in the official writings that Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism. In an attempt to bring recovery opportunities to those questioning their drinking habits, there are meetings scheduled in public and private rooms all across America and the world. Some have specific themes, some encourage attendance of a certain group and some are open to the curious and the court-appointed attendees. Most are general discussion meetings, where members share openly. Other meetings are known as Speaker meetings. Members are asked to speak to an attentive group by the chairmen of that specific meeting, a honor given for something as simple as signing up to chair.
The speaker is also supposed to stick to a strict time schedule. Helen never had the problem of having too much to say. And it was embarrassing to come up a little short in the "fill-in" department. So she had to be on her toes with pacing.
Before long, she was settled in the auditorium of a hospital on the outskirts of town. In her hand, Helen had a coffee mug that was given to her on her second day of sobriety. This would bring her serenity through memory cues.
She listened as Jennifer put pressure on her with a warm introduction. She stood amidst applause and hugged her friend, who was chairing this meeting as she celebrated her third year in the program.
Helen looked down at her shaking hands.
"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen.
"Thank you for that wonderful intro Jennifer. I’m limited by my humility steps to add anything to that, but you sure said some nice things about me. I appreciate it.
"My name is Helen Wade, and I am definitely an alcoholic.
(Hi Helen!)
"I am an alcoholic, and I am very fortunate to be sober.
"I am, quite frankly, fortunate to be alive.
"Five to eight years ago, I didn’t care if I was. I certainly never thought I would be alive AND this happy, some five years later. I had my toe tag for the morgue already filled out.
"I am empowered to speak with you tonight about how it was, what happened and what’s it like now. And I cannot do this without telling you a little Helen History.
"I was born in the early 60’s into the original dysfunctional family. My father was an alcoholic, and worse … he was a drunk.
"And, as a drunk, he sought relief from inside of a bottle for every bit of pain he came in contact with. The apple didn’t fall too damn far from the tree in terms of that coping mechanism."
(Laughter)
"We moved a lot when I was real young, because my old man didn’t keep jobs. It seems that showing up drunk, and/or punching your boss is a deterrent to career maintenance. Who knew?"
Scattered murmurs of laughter put Helen at ease a little bit.
"I was, quite naturally, the middle child. Neither the strong, empowered oldest, nor the cute, last-o’the-bunch Baby child … I learned early on how to stay out of the way, because my opinion didn’t matter much.
"I also learned to stay out of the way because when drunk, my old man liked to slap around Mama and us kids a little bit. So, it was always best not to upset him and to definitely hide when you heard him launch into a fit. He was a non-discriminating abuser. He didn’t care if you were the cause or the effect of his anger; he’d wallop you anyway.
Eyes glistened and heads nodded as compassion was shared in the audience of fifty-plus.
"You would think that this kind of environment would make for a close bond between siblings, or a close bond between us and our other parent.
"It does on TV. Such was NOT the case in my family.
"My eldest brother was killed in a motorcycle accident one week after he turned 17. The hope was that he would become everything my father wasn’t. He didn’t have time. While I have fond memories of John, I cannot recall him ever treating me like that wonderfully protective Big Brother that the movies love to romanticize. I think he was running for cover pretty often, as well.
"My younger brother and I get along well, but we ain’t no Hallmark card, let me tell you. (laughter) We’ve never had huge fights, nor have we had a lot of jealousy between us. But we were only barely in each other’s weddings and outside of some holiday visits, our lives and our paths don’t cross that often.
"Between my father’s ridiculous sense of reality, and my mother’s use of pills —I knew all about Mama’s Little Helpers long before my classmates did—I was left pretty much on my own to grow up.
"I did my homework and studies alright. I was neither a great student, nor a particularly bad one. I caused little or no trouble in school. Are you kidding me? Give that father of mine one more excuse to whip my butt with his belt? I don’t think so."
Helen was gathering momentum and pulling the crowd in with comments that most could relate to as children.
"My mother and I never formed that strong bond that one dreams about as a little girl. I cannot remember her ever hugging me for absolutely NO reason, nor do I remember her ever coming to my defense when the old man was on a rampage. I guess she feared for her hide as much as I did, so she wasn’t about to interfere. I learned early on, that it was far better to be neither seen nor heard around my household. The path of least resistance—that was me.
"In terms of those special Mom-to-daughter "Call Home moments", to give you an example … I can remember the day I began menstruating. My apologies to those in the audience who are offended by this level of candidness. I realize this is not Femininity Anonymous … anyway … this horrific, incredibly shocking change is going on within my body. Do you think anyone bothered to tell me? Do you think I was prepared for this kind of upsetting moment?
"Not that I’m bitter or anything …"
The room ripped with laughter as the crowd sensed a need for release from the tension from this foreboding self-disclosure. The usually-shy and withdrawn Helen was now beginning to feel the power she normally generates when she shares her story with fellow drunks.
"So anyway … I put some toilet tissue in my underwear, not knowing what else to do. These were the early 70's and schools weren't nearly so progressive in Sex Ed. And I approached dear old mom to inquire as to the possibility that I might be bleeding to death, or at least, was a very, very sick child. And she laughed.
She laughed.
You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room.
"She must’ve just had a mickey in her drink or something; this was before my brother had died, but she was already into numbing pain, even then. And she laughed.
"I didn’t see a damn thing funny about any of it. I was scared.
"She said she’d find some time to sit down with me and explain everything. I’m still waiting for that special moment to hear about it; it’s been over 20 years. She died when I was still drinking pretty heavy, so I don’t think I’m gonna get "The Talk".
"However, I have a pretty good idea what’s going on now, so you guys can stop volunteering to explain everything to me about that … take me on tours, share with me your special stories … whatever".
The guffaws returned and that tension built with the mention of the speaker’s mom’s death had now subsided.
"Well, life trudged on, and I went to high school, and I met the social phenomenon known as Mr. Cold Six-Pack."
Similar to a Revival’s call to Hallelujah in a tent in rural America, several "Oh Yeahs" could be heard throughout the room.
"Now, Mr. Cold Six-pack was an immediate hit with me, because it was introduced to me by people who seemed rather neat, rather cool, and I so wanted to be liked.
"I don’t know why I wanted to be liked; I’m confused as to why. I’ve never been to Vladovostik and I have NO burning desire to go there. I was in unexplored territory, with this wanting to be accepted. I’d been okay without worrying about that for years.
"I don’t think … I’d ever been liked up to that point, but I did have some general idea that being liked was a better alternative than existing the way I was, so it seemed like a good direction to go into.
"And these potential friends offered me some beer one afternoon in the summer. If I say yes, maybe they like me. If I say no, maybe they don’t.
"It was a beautiful, sunny day, and there was really no reason to take a drink. The sunshine felt good on my face, we were near a lakeshore and I could have easily enjoyed the smell of the air.
"But they seemed so happy and seemed as if they were having so much fun. They were laughing and frolicking gaily and I wanted to be like them. It was kind of a fluke that I had spent the day with them anyway, so I didn’t want anyone to DISlike me . . . so, I said sure.
"And my life changed that day."
Helen paused, to take a drink of water from the special coffee mug she brought with her to the podium. Either she was getting a dry throat while talking, or she was entering some particularly emotional material.
"Because there was something in that beer, in that alcohol, that made me a different person. It made me feel warm on the inside, for the first time. It made me feel accepted, for ONE of the first times in my life.
"I liked the new Me. It must be the beer.
"I liked beer."
Helen smiled a broad one.
"Most women you know, perhaps, cannot drink as much as men. I was the exception to that rule. I made friends … because I could "hang with" the boys. They’d never seen anyone in a skirt drink as much as I could. And so I had newfound respect: I could DRINK.
"I could do something right. That alone was a good feeling.
"And it wasn’t long before they wanted to see what this drinker looked like out of that skirt. I wasn’t quite so open to that, but hey . . . I was willing to listen to anything."
The laughter started early in her punchline and continued while Helen took another swig from her mug. She smiled and winked at Jennifer.
"That was in my sophomore year of high school. While I didn’t go out and knock off a liquor store that or any other week, I did manage to find a way to somehow always have alcohol.
"It wasn’t very hard stealing it from my dad; he couldn’t keep up with all his use and when he got into a fifth, or a six-pack that I’d pinched from…?
"Well, he just wrote it off to bad memory or faulty reality or something. He must’ve never suspected me, because I was never caught by my parents. That would have been something: being lectured by my parents against the evils of substance abuse."
Laughter.
"I’d pay to hear that one."
Real laughter, belly laughs and deep bellowing laughter.
"I had few problems with the law, either. While I was funny and humorous as a drunk, I was no smart ass. I had NO desire to spend my life appearing in court, so I watched my P’s and Q’s. I stayed out of trouble.
"And when my 17-year-old friends offered me a joint one day, I took about half as long —as I did with the beer— to say yes. I REALLY enjoyed pot and noticed that I could smoke that every day and not have blackouts or . . . the runs. I liked that. I smoked it a lot.
"And, as you can imagine, my grades began to deteriorate. Not that anyone at home noticed. I’m pretty sure they knew what school I went to, but as far as knowing my teacher’s names, forget it. I signed my own notes, so I could skip whenever I wanted to. I had a liberal policy about school attendance. I went to school whenever it was cold or rainy. Otherwise, I might be out partying.
"You know the story."
Heads nodded in approval across the room.
"My parents couldn’t afford to put me through college, and given that I had found a new social agenda, as well as the fact that my parent’s didn’t give a rat’s ass about either of us kids after my brother died, I moved out.
"Into trouble.
"I now had the opportunity to drink every day, if I wanted to. And who was I to turn away from opportunity? I cashed in on every chance I had. I hit Happy Hours. I visited friends, merely to party. I drove drunk (was there any other way?).
"And then love came to town."
"I met David at a pig roast. I had begun to look somewhat attractive, largely because I had stopped worrying about how I looked. I had put on a little bit of weight with my beer drinking, but just before we met I'd lost weight quickly due to some diet pills. I liked the way that made me feel, too"
"Go figure.
"David was big and strong and six years older. He walked right up to me. He looked deep into my eyes. He talked a real good game. And he had a bag of cocaine that was seemingly endless.
"I was 19 years old. I have no idea why he even gave me the time of day, but we talked for hours that night. I guess the coke kept us up.
"Within a month I was in love.
"Within two, I’d moved in with him. My parents made this big stink about my moving too fast and doing things the wrong way, but remember who this was advising me. I had gained enough alcoholic cockiness to nod at them and go on. No one was going to deny me this man. I’d do anything for him.
"And I did.
"Anything.
"Lie to his boss about his whereabouts. Keep a job and keep him in groceries when he was out of work. Look the other way when he came in late smelling of the ladies. The only place I was going to draw the line was him hitting me, but he wasn’t that kind of guy.
"I should have drawn the line on his drug use. He was a Waste Case at times.
"Here was this Drop Dead Gorgeous guy, sleeping in my bed, giving me attention sometimes, and I was living in denial that his drug use and abuse was as bad as it was.
"And by then, I was not so interested in drugs as I was with alcohol. I was a daily drinker, I passed out three or four nights a week. I was dwindled down to nothing, weight-wise. I had managed to hang onto a job at a law firm for some time. They liked me and I did good work. Remember: I was the master at staying out of trouble’s way.
"We existed together as ‘singles’ for two years. I don’t know why, but he asked me to marry him.
"I do know why I screamed ‘YES’. I’d never find another guy like this one. The sun rose and set on him. We eloped, telling very few people. I think we sent my folks a card from the honeymoon.
"Honeymoon … hah!
"It was an excuse for driving a long distance to pick up large quantities of coke. This was the ‘80’s ladies and gentlemen, and white collar coke habits were on the rise.
"Suffice it to say we lived a hectic married life. We were on the go, largely because Dave had made some pretty big connections and was always trying to keep his suppliers happy and his clients satisfied. He aimed to please.
"And even with all the drugs, I can now honestly say that I have been loved by another human being. And this man who loved me often took the time to tell me or show me. There were some times for me when life was really good. Makes you wonder why I drank my face off during those times.
"I managed to keep my job and even managed to sign on with an advertising firm as a creative assistant. On the outside, things looked pretty good. On the inside, I was a wreck. Completely aware that I was NO LONGER a normal drinker, I began to hide my drinking.
"Hide it from a coke addict, no less."
The laughter now was more in terms of the kindredship the group felt for the speaker, rather than for the hilarity intended.
"And there were very few attempts to try to cut back or quit. He was living such a fast paced life, always sweating getting busted, when he wasn’t staying up three nights in a row, that it started to wear on me.
"And here I was … trying to live the role of Ms. Polly Pure Bred at work.
"I was 23 years old and I was having an identity crisis and I don’t know where to turn.
"And then Dave did get busted."
Silence. Coughs. Helen sips.
"Ever wake up to a nine millimeter aimed at your head? It’s better than coffee for the alertness factor. It will definitely get you going . .. in more ways than one!
"And in case any of you were a-wondering . . . neighborhood cops and DEA agents are not necessarily the most polite wake-up call artists one earth. I think it has something to do with donut breath."
Cheap shot. Old Joke. Roaring laughter.
"Fortunately, for some odd reason, there was no coke in the apartment when they raided us, so I wasn’t hauled down to lock up. But Dave was, for items found in a previous "search-and-rescue" and they set his bond at $175,000.
"Now I knew we were in deep stuff. They don’t set those kind of bonds without having a pretty strong case against a pretty big time dealer. And I realized only then how Big Time a dealer my lovely little bed partner/husband was.
"So we started making plans (Dave’s father put up some property to cover the bond), and we were a-scrambling. There were basically two choices: tell everything we know and hope for leniency, or … hope that some bigger fish were caught ahead of us and thus post a vigorous defense.
"If we take the first option, Dave is dead within the year. He’d be the victim of the adage ‘Honor Among Thieves’. There are very exceptions to that rule in the drug world. Squealers die.
"If we take the second, no doubt he’s in the Big House for upwards of ten-to-twenty.
"He didn’t wait around to find out.
"I came home to him.
".357 Magnums blow a pretty good size hole in the back of one’s head if you place it in your mouth. In addition, you have a pretty good chance of not missing.
"He did, and he didn’t … miss that is.
"Half his head was splattered across the kitchen wall when I stumbled upon him.
"Needless to say, I was devastated
"And within three months, the heat was off with the police, my mother was
dead, and I was hanging on by a thread. I didn’t like or trust any of the
friends I had made with my five years in Dave’s circles.
"I had lost whatever friends I’d had before I met him. They have a tendency to forget who you are when you don’t stay in contact with them for long periods of time.
"I had me . . . and I was broken into pieces.
"And I had liquor.
"What a combination!
"I did not know where to turn. I felt very much as if I had no choices. I redeveloped an old skill: I stayed out of people’s way. I think in many ways, all of this crap that had settled down and around me was viewed by me in much the same way as my father’s intrusions into my safety net.
I knew that stealth existence was my best plan. If no one saw me, no one suspected me of doing anything wrong.
"So, I did what I had to do.
"I had no family.
"Dave had no will and there was nothing left from his "estate" that the law didn’t claim as public property.
"His father and his family rarely had anything to do with me. They offered nothing in the way of support, financial, emotional or otherwise. I had no one whom I could fall back on for financial assistance. So I HAD to keep my job.
"So I did.
"But I hurt so badly on the inside. I was a 24-year-old widow who had seen so many of the fast lanes that I didn’t need a car anymore. I didn’t want to revisit the Happy Hours or the pick-up bars. So I stayed in a lot.
"I watched cable TV and I drank.
"For almost three years.
"Did I mention I was depressed?
"My soul’s conversion came one day when I was riding around at 9:30 in the morning, drinking some Southern Comfort (I kept a bottle at work, as stupid as that was). I don’t know, I was delivering something for work, and it suddenly dawned on me that what David did actually took more courage than cowardice. He took action. He controlled his own destiny. It was a way out.
"It was my way out.
"I decided it was a good idea. I completely rationalized it and I completely understood it. I was so firmly entrenched into alcoholic thinking that I saw no ill logic in it. It sounded like a plan.
"I bought a gun. I didn’t want to do pills, and I didn’t want to use the automobile as a means. I had no offspring or other real family to worry about, so I figured the gun was quick and painless.
"And then my Higher Power had something to say.
"I was raised Catholic—that might say something about my drinking!—and I found myself inside a church one day. I had been walking by it downtown one day, and I decided I wanted to check in with that ole God and let him know about my plans. It had been about three days since I’d made The Decision. It seemed to be a very rational decision.
"I can honestly say I had an open mind. I was an alcoholic deep into self-pity, thinking like a drunk and suffering from a hundred forms of fear. But like most alcoholics, it was my spirit that was sick. And I truly believed that a church was one place where I could get some rest for my soul. And I wanted to get some answers before there were no questions to ask. So I was okay with being open to God.
"Father Bill must’ve seen me coming. He gave me a few moments to myself and then he approached me and asked me if everything was all right.
"I think it was the uncontrollable sobbing that I was engaged in that caught his ear. We were alone in the church at noontime.
"We started talking. We retired to his study. I told him everything. We set a record for longest counseling session. I think it went four hours. I did not return to work.
"I knew that if I left that man, I was going to have to make a decision about killing myself. By this time in the evening, I did not want to make that decision and I did not want to pull that damn trigger. So by accepting his suggestion that I enter a treatment program that night, I didn’t have to make that decision.
"It was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
"He called work for me.
"He kept up my apartment, paid the rent, took in the mail, kept me from being evicted.
"He wrote me in the nut house.
"And there were no strings attached here, for the first time in my life since that summer day when I first drank beer. NO sex requested, no drugs, no alcohol needed. Just one human reaching out to another human’s soul and spirit.
"He was a true friend. My first one!"
Helen now smiled the smile that must have attracted Dave. The eyes came alive with this smile and sparkled. The lines on the side of her face spoke to a much better place to be than some of the reckless lives the room’s drunks might have.
"And in 40 days, I was out on the street again. I had to take care of ME, without drinking, and I had to begin to assemble a life. I had a job, still, but I had nothing else. And without drinking, someone had taken away my playground. So I needed something else.
"Father Butler suggested his church. Any port in a storm, I guess. I began volunteering a little bit here and there. Started to realize I had some positive assets and some messages to share with confused teens.
"So I went to work. ‘Never miss a day’ I always say. It’s obsessive, or compulsive or something. Pretty weird if you ask me. Another sideways impact of my dad—he couldn’t keep a job, and I couldn’t bear losing one.
"Someone at an A.A. meeting said something about One Day At A Time. Now I knew all about living One Day At A Time in terms of living as a drunk; I simply didn’t give a rat’s butt from one day to the next and I simply took care of ME, TODAY and I didn’t care about tomorrow.
"But, I met a great sponsor early on. Dorothy is still my sponsor and I love her."
Helen took a long stare at Dorothy, seated in the second row, having come in late. The pride in her eyes took the form of moisture. She had arranged her schedule with her husband to free up enough time to hear Dorothy speak on this important evening.
"And she assured me that if I felt like having a drink today . . . it was okay to agree to have one tomorrow. Because … and you may have already guessed this … by the time tomorrow gets here, it’ll be today, and you’ll have to wait till tomorrow again.
"I could live with that.
"I had a huge hole in my life, but I was MUCH better off than some.
"I had a job.
"I wasn’t in prison. I’d never been to jail.
"I didn’t even have any DUI’s, God knows why.
"I was a widow in my twenties, but that was something I learned to accept. And I learned to accept the fact that I was not going to be able to ever drink safely again.
"I couldn’t handle that for next week, next month or when I turned 35, but I could handle it for today.
"And I did.
"And before long, I had six months. Then I picked up my nine-month chip. And when I picked up my first year chip, I noticed an amazing set of promises had come true.
For the first time in my sobriety, I believed I could make it."
Helen looked at the clock in the back of the room. She’d been speaking for 27 minutes. She had nine to go.
She hit the main points of recovery. Go to meetings. Find a sponsor. In due time, great things will be revealed to you. This is a disease of the mind and of the spirit, but it takes its effect on the body. There isn’t one thing good that can happen to you by putting alcohol inside of your body. It answers no questions. It settles no problems.
And even with five years of sobriety, Helen made a strong point that she knows that if she were to "go back out", her drinking would pick up right where it left off.
She cracked a few jokes. She shared a warm sobriety story or two.
She left to a standing ovation.
She literally had very little idea what she had said. After she got started, she rolled as much from her heart as she did from her head. She accepted the congratulations from friends and strangers as all shared coffee after the meeting.
Her "celebration" continued after with Dorothy and Jim, her husband. They
went to an ice cream restaurant for huge hot fudge sundaes and laughter with
another three couples.
On the way home, Helen stopped by a convenience store for some milk, and
as requested by her team at work, she purchased two lottery tickets.
It was just before 11pm when she made it home.
And the next morning, she had the pleasure of Waking Up, instead of Coming To.
And it was good.