Conceding to Our Inner Most Selves …


Courtesy:Curveoftheearth (Special Archives)

Another week is drawing to a close. The theme of cold persists. Temps are moderating, and will rise in the next week. We are still in minus digit territory tonight.

It was a normal Thursday. We begin step 2 this weekend.

I was up early today to do some safari. I departed early to make some stops at the mall on the way out, and I was at the church earlier than I expected, so I had time to set up and read some more of my book “The Samaritan Secret.”

I was very pleased when my friend Danny showed up and had the next Installment of the Blood Gospel series. If you enjoy a good religious, supernatural, archeological story, then The Blood Gospel is a good choice, written by James Rollins and Rebecca Cantrell. The second book in the series is called Innocent Blood. We got a copy last week and it is being passed around, and I have it now.

We sat a small group. Many of our guys were absent. We read from the Big Book and the opening salvo from More About Alcoholism. The first few paragraphs of the read could be substituted for How It Works.

“Most of us have been unwilling to admit we were real alcoholics. No person likes to think he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows. Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers have been characterized by countless vain attempts to prove that we could drink like other people. The idea that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker.”

In working the First Step right from the book, we come to the point that we have to make that concession that indeed, we could not drink like normal people. That we indeed had to admit that we could not just have one, therefore MORE. And that the only cure for our problem has to be complete abstinence from alcohol.

Because in the end we are led to the point of pitiful, and incomprehensible demoralization.

Been there, done that.

It is sad because we learned this past week that a friend I grew up with lost her husband to the disease of alcohol and Bi-polar disorder. We are all mourning with her. Sadly her husband did not find the cure, and it took him to his grave. Like we need reminders of the severity of addiction to alcohol and the scourge of mental illness, that, when combined are disastrous.

In working my steps with my sponsor, the last portion of the homework last week asked us to commit to paper our bottoms. I had two.

And from the reading tonight, I thought more about my last one. I would walk into the bar on a Saturday night with a lump of cash. There would be an hours worth of drinking before they opened the main hall, giving the crowd a head start on the first buzz.

At midnight the hall would open and the music would start. We would all, well, I would maintain my composure until the 1 a.m. bell that would always mark the beginning of stage two for the night. They would blast the dance floor with Cold Gas and the music would pound.

I imagine that by 1 a.m. I had drank several drinks. And somewhere nearby the bartender I knew would serve me up to a point. That’s where things get fuzzy. I imagine that eventually he cut me off. And I ended up on the doorstep in a haze. And some lucky person poured me into a cab and either myself or someone else told that cabbie where to go.

Because I always ended up at home in one piece. I probably knew how to get home, even in a blackout. I know that at some point towards the end I knew I was licked. I watched a lot of Oprah at work and was coming to the point where I said that first prayer, then the second and the third.

The alcoholic I really needed made himself known to me, and I believe that that interaction was divinely inspired.

I could not have pulled off that little miracle on my own, nor would I have known where to find someone who had put down the drink and was standing in my shop on the day I admitted my problem to him.

All those illusions and delusions had to be smashed. The alcohol was not going to make me younger or prettier. It wasn’t going to magically turn me into one of “them.” And I was done. I never thought about others, nor that one would ever be enough, because when I drank it was for MORE.

That is a constant theme … MORE !!!

We had to conceded to our innermost selves…

I knew I was done, and today I know that I can never go there again.

Mother Teresa says to a member I am familiar with that
“You must protect this special gift.”

Once you cross that invisible line, and many don’t see it, but you just know that at some point, you may cross it, and from that standpoint, there is no turning back, you either sink into the pit, or you stop digging and work your way back out.

You reach your bottom, when you stop digging.

We mourn the loss of our man, and we pray for his family.

May he be a reminder of just how perilous this life can get.

Eternal rest grant him and may perpetual light shine upon him.

More to come, stay tuned …