Higher Powers
by David P. Hillgrove
copyright©1997 All Rights Reserved
Write to Dave
Chapter Three
"Hello everyone! My name is Alex and I’m an alcoholic"
The entire room shook with a chorus of "Hi! Alex"
While he collected his thoughts, there was a silence across the room, save
for the slurping of community coffee from Styrofoam cups. The 8:00 PM meeting
was running perfectly on time; it was now eleven minutes after the hour,
following the reading of the opening statements and Step Language.
"This is a good topic for me, for tonight. I need to focus on Gratitude regularly.
Most especially when things are going GREAT for me.
"Things ain’t going that great for me right now, but life is a helluva lot
better than when I was ‘out there’.
"After my initial years of drinking, I took a lot of things for granted.
I think I figured that EVERYTHING that came my way did so because I DESERVED
IT. I complained bitterly about the things that I did NOT receive, but rarely
did I stop and thank anyone or anything for any success or opportunity."
"Then, drinking stopped working, at least on a consistent basis.
"It wasn’t fun any more. I could never be sure when I was going to laugh,
cry or fight. And more and more—it seemed— I tried to fight … anybody, anywhere.
Got my ass kicked enough times for all of you in here (guffaws and laughter
abound). I was stupid … and very, very ungrateful."
"The sadder I got, the more dependent I became on drinking. I was in the
dumps? A little hoddy-toddy oughta cure that! Work was going REAL Bad? Nothing
a little Happy Hour couldn’t cure!
"Wife wouldn’t talk to me? Screw her; I’d rather drink."
"Also … drinking made it so I couldn’t screw her, by the way."
Laughter ripped through the church basement in a wave of emotional release.
Alex looked around the room at several of his close friends. His face was
somewhat flushed.
"This IS a program of rigorous honesty, right?"
Again, laughter. Unusual as it may seem, few people commented out loud at
his humorous asides. Alex had the floor and so the room gave him his space.
"And then I found this fellowship and you people. And you taught me that
I oughta be glad I’m not in jail … again. (chuckles). You taught me that
I should be grateful that I found these rooms. You showed me through example
how true the old axiom is that goes: ‘I cried because I had NO shoes … until
I met a man who had no feet.’"
Alex shifted his weight and leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees.
He stared directly into several members’ eyes.
"I am thankful and I am grateful that I haven’t had a drink today. I thank
my Higher Power for a program that teaches me to believe in myself and NOT
be paralyzed by fear. And I love all of you who grow together
with me in this Fellowship.
"I pass."
"Thanks Alex," commented the majority. The remaining members said something
along the lines of "nice share", "well done", or "well said, Alex".
Alex stared at his shoes.
"My name is Anne, and I’m an alcoholic/addict"
"Hi Anne!" chorused the Fellowship.
This group of needy folks occupied the multi-purpose room of St. Paul’s church
in Madison Grove. It had filled this room with laughter, cigarette smoke
and coffee stains for over five years on Tuesday and Friday evenings, as
well as Sunday afternoons for eleven years. It delivered hope to many whose
emotional bank accounts had run dry due to the mental anguish brought on
by Demon Rum.
"I gotta tell you, most of the time I hear the topic ‘Gratitude’ I wanna
throw up. I mean … what could a divorced woman, working in a retail department
store till all hours of the night … feel grateful for?"
"And to hear these Big Book Thumpers stand up and tell us ‘how grateful they
are to be an alcoholic’ or some such nonsense makes me wonder if they took
a lot of acid as younger folks."
Anne paused for the presumed laughter, which did not come.
These rooms laugh at references to alcohol, pot and some pills. LSD is not
on the approved commiseration list. Recovering alcoholics develop a wonderful
sense of humor, and they are given to laugh at themselves. Many "old timers"
didn’t reach their nadir in substance abuse with anything but liquor and
some pills. And this crowd, this night, did not find Anne funny with that
crack.
"But there was something that kept me hanging around. You people had something
that I wanted. You laughed. You smiled. You enjoyed yourselves without booze."
"And you didn’t HATE me! You didn’t make me prove myself. You let ME in your
groups, and you listened to me and I didn’t have to bring the booze, the
drugs, food money or sleep with any of you."
Now the laughter, and a myriad of rolling eyes and glances a-casting.
"And for that I am grateful. Grateful to finally find kindred spirits. Grateful
to learn how to laugh without a buzz-on.
"And yes! Grateful to BE an alcoholic.
"Because without having hit my alcoholic bottom, I would never have had a
burning desire to quit drinking. And knowing that I do not have the capacity
to do so on my own, by myself, I never would have found you, or this great
spiritual program."
"I am grateful to feel great! I pass".
"Thanks Anne!
And so it went. From nineteen after eight, until four minutes before nine
o’clock, nine more members of the Tuesday Night Sobriety Seekers on Hawthorne
Avenue shared many of their inner most thoughts, feelings, frustrations and
insights. Some talked too long, some spoke in measured verse, and some spoke
in recovery buzzwords and pat phrases that many had heard thousands of times
before. Words of wisdom were shared, and as always, most knew not how much
influence they presented to this room full of struggling humans.
Their humility hopefully kept that in check.
Helen sat and listened tonight. She was a regular sharer. She’d even cried
a few times while self-disclosed some rather personal story. She possessed
enough of the rather deep, rather intimate stories of an alcoholic, and Helen
was above average on the emotional and passionate scale.
But tonight she didn’t feel like talking. True, she had some frustration
from work. And true, she had much to be grateful for; she knew that. She
may be able to "reach someone" with her perspective. She had almost five
years of continuous sobriety. So it was likely that someone in the room of
24 people would grow from her words.
What she really needed was to sit down with her sponsor and sort out this
mess from work.
Dorothy was thirteen years her elder, and had nine years longer sobriety,
and she was wise beyond her years. She had steered Helen through some particularly
sobriety-challenging times, and now that Helen’s obsession to drink was somewhat
removed, Dorothy remained a wonderful sounding board and a fantastic friend.
And she didn’t let Helen feel sorry for herself. Not for too long.
But tonight, Dorothy had some family things she needed to do, a basketball
practice for one of her children or something. Helen would call her later
and they’d have a chance to catch up one day this week, perhaps for lunch.
Until then, Helen had her Program, her Steps and her Higher Power to help
sort things out.
Her life had changed with this program, putting her in church basements at
night, instead of in nightclubs or bars. Or drinking alone, a redundant statement
if there ever was one. And while life was not perfect now, it would only
get much, much worse if Helen chose to drink in misery over work’s troubles.
She could handle most anything these days, a skill she never had before picking
up her first Sobriety White chip and joining the Fellowship.
Following the meeting, she did not stay around as she usually does. She did
not seek out the newcomer who may need to hear from someone that everything
is going to be alright. She did not check up on any of the "white knucklers"
she knew of, whose length of sobriety was so short that every day was a challenge
for them. She simply nodded to a few friends and excused herself politely,
missing the Meeting After The Meeting. She drove her four-year old Saturn
auto home.
Upon entering her townhouse apartment, Helen felt a little better about herself
and her situation at work. It was 9:30, and so she settled in with a cup
of cocoa and a sitcom. On some days she reviewed her work for the next day,
but she was caught up for the most part. She called her best friend, her
sponsor, her oasis Dorothy Lane, and asked her to lunch for the next day.
She was relieved when the plans were cemented for the two of them.