By The Small Bow Family Orchestra

A member new to our group chairs the meeting and adds his own “agenda” to the format, tells people to only read 2 paragraphs and then he reads a page and 1/2!! A woman I’ve never seen comes in few minutes late, asks if we share here and is informed yes after reading, then sees there’s no coffee (we don’t make coffee at this meeting) spends a good 10 minutes clunking around making coffee, finally sits down, shortly after says something to guy next to her and leaves  I believe without drinking any coffee)! And then the true meeting and growth begins for me. Listening with the “ear of the heart” (from my Benedictine college days) to others, sharing myself what I hope has some value to others and feeling the threads of community and caring weave around all of our wounds as they will be manifested. After closing the meeting as we’re putting away books and chairs, I pour a cup of the off brand coffee with some reluctance (yes I’m a bean snob) and send some compassion and well wishes to the woman who left the meeting, hoping she finds a place where she can be heard and grow in the sunlight of the spirit.

Today is 194 days. On July 22nd I totally surrendered, in my room at a detox facility in La Plata, MD.  Before that, I was drinking every day, starting before noon. I hated drinking. But I had to drink.  

I asked God to help me. Then I started listening to guys in the program. It isn’t easy; life still happens. But I haven’t come close to a drink in 194 days. At age 51 — after 30+ years of obsessing over booze — I can call it a miracle.

I’ll have 8 years next month, and I feel very sober, and the program is woven into my life so much these days that it’s just another part of my life. I mostly go to German AA meetings to practice my language skills. A night meeting is a way for me to hang out with people. I have a sponsor, but we just meet for coffee now and then and chat about life. 90% of my friends are 12-step people. I needed the “content” of meetings so much in the early days, but I still need the friendship, fellowship, and connection that they provide.

February 18 marks a year since I stopped drinking and joined AA. 

I thought time would slow down. It didn’t. It sped up.

I notice it most when I hold my toddler’s hands. Are they supposed to be this big? 

The strangest part of the year has been meeting different variations of myself in the rooms and not hating them. Sometimes even recognizing myself with a kind of tenderness. 

The most unexpected thing I did this year: I stopped gossiping, not out of virtue. It just got boring.

I’m a 75 year old gay man, Army vet, retired with two small pensions, and did some prison time. Life has been good since I was released from prison 8 years ago. I have managed to get by on my pension checks. I’m a simple man with simple needs. Oh, did I mention I have been clean and sober for almost 23 years?

A couple of years ago I was convinced to get an apartment with a guy I met in prison. All went well until the first of last month when all hell broke loose. He’s a schizophrenic and prone to very violent outbursts. Not physical, but really loud, paranoid, verbally aggressive and threatening. He decided he couldn’t live with me anymore, got a U-Haul and was gone in a matter of hours.

That left me with an apartment I can’t afford, nor can I find one that I have been able to rent. I’ve been searching for a roommate but no luck there either. So my cat and I may find ourselves homeless next month. Lots of stress, anxiety, and fear around that. Also a lot of grief going on over the loss of my friend who I am very fond of. He’s not getting the help he needs from the Veterans Administration and I genuinely  fear he is a danger to himself. Trying to process all these emotions is not easy. I am a practising Buddhist and am attempting to use the Dharma to help me through it with mixed results. But I persevere. I am not a fan of 12 Step groups and have coped well all these years without them. 

To quit trying to come to terms with this is not an option. Nor is returning to drinking and drugging. Everyday I wake up and set an intention to do what is necessary to find suitable housing and to be here for my friend if he gets back in touch. That is set in stone.

Whether it is AA, NA, GA, OA whatever the A is, as long as it is keeping you away from the DA, it’s working. I know in my case it is. Sober over 41 years.

I’m in my basement, next to the Tupperware containing what’s left of my mom, hiding from my housekeeper, sucking on nitrous. So, how am I doing? Not great. I’ve become an unwilling participant in my own life but way too afraid to do anything about it. So I guess I keep sucking down this poison, sexting some guy I met in rehab, hoping when I come to, life will magically be better without any active involvement from me. 

I’m hanging in there, feels like by my fingernails. I’m really feeling weird because my spouse and my parent are both unhappy, and I can’t tell where the line is between “caring” and “codependent.” This feels especially tricky because my parent is aging, and has sacrificed a lot for me, and maybe I’m just an asshole who doesn’t want to pull their weight, and I’m using “boundaries” as a way to justify my own selfishness? If you know the answer, please share with the class.

I’m 23 days sober from alcohol. Never blacked out, I don’t think anyone would have called me a problem drinker. But after starting electroconvulsive therapy in November, I wanted to give myself the best chance at not being miserable. And swearing whenever appropriate or inappropriate is cheaper, and a lot less fuckin’ shame.

I’ve been trying to do more of what seems to work . . . but boy oh fuckin’ boy, do I miss pretending. Living honestly is more straightforward, so sticking with that. Simpler.

On January 1st I was transferring my kids from strollers to car, left my phone on the roof of said car, and realized about 30 minutes later through the Find My app that the phone was somewhere around the apex of an onramp to the Taconic Parkway. So there’s that.

A week or so later I sliced my finger open while absentmindedly taking off the vacuum-sealed lid to a canister of coffee. Could’ve used a stitch or two but I obviously don’t have time for all that self care. Now I have a scar that looks like the Yellowstone logo. Badass, amirite?

Then I got an eye infection which, despite my best efforts, I can’t find a reason why that was my fault. But surely it was — because everything that goes wrong in my life, or around me, sends me into a spiral of all the things I’ve done wrong.

Sounds like that’s the alcoholic and addict talking on one shoulder and the sober guy looking at the ground and nodding along quietly on the other.

Despite ALL THAT and the SIGNS that I was COMING UNDONE everything is actually just fine. The kids are happy and healthy and at an age where they’re just a delight to be around. So unbothered by replacement phones and finger bandages and red, puffy eyes.

The newish job I scratched and clawed for feels at times, gasp, manageable instead of drinking from a firehose.

My marriage is much more looking at two different screens while lying in the same bed and the occasional real conversation (good things), and much less vitriol and finger pointing (not good things).

That pesky self care on occasion looks a little less like Sour Patch Kids and a little more like Fuji apples. But fuck me, SPKs might as well be part of my 12-step program.

I could write a version of this every month. Hell, I think I do. But when I put words to paper, damned if it doesn’t read more like a healthy, full life and less like a series of indignities. It’s a good reminder.

fin

ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN