Hey.
First of all, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at you at all. In fact, I feel precisely the same way about you today that I’ve felt about you since I met you: you’re way too good looking, intimidatingly guy-ish, have a great, easygoing manner about you, and I’ve really enjoyed the few times we’ve hung out. I’m not mad at you.
But I am furious at the disease.
This fucking disease. It killed your dad, it killed your brother, yet it convinced you that you could drink normally. In Chapter 5 of the Big Book, it refers to alcoholism as “cunning, baffling, and powerful.” I agree, and I also think of it like this:
A.A. is magic. Alcoholism is brilliant and evil.
Better people than you and I have lost our way. It’s so subtle and easy and overwhelming.
I remember in 1996, after being sober for seven years (but not going to AA for two I became convinced that I could drink again. Hell, if ANYONE should have been able to, it was me. I was 20 when I quit. My father is crazy. I had learned new coping mechanisms. I had become successful. I had met a beautiful woman (also sober), married her, and we had a new baby boy. I had grown up. I was cured. Forget the car crashes, the prison sentences, the police chases, the blackouts, the illnesses, the rehabs, the pain, the tears… I had outgrown the illness.
So we both drank on that day.
It took two days for me to get drunk, two weeks to be drunk all the time. Seven years for me to stop drinking again. But it was bad the whole time. Buying duplicate bottles to drink one publically and one privately, wrapping empties in duct tape, setting the bar so low that if I remembered going to sleep, it was considered a win.
Because I hadn’t outgrown the illness. The illness outgrew me. And took over.
Maggie? She was fine for 9 years, and suddenly lost control. She’s immediately got sober again. In away, her experience is scarier to me, because there was the facade of normalcy.
My friend. I love you. We aren’t great friends outside the rooms, but we’ve walked together a few times, talked together a few times, and we’re kindred spirits.
We have the same disease. The fucking disease.
I hope you don’t die. But if you do, I hope it keeps someone else sober.
Love to all. Even you, Stuart.
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Hey bro, glad to have you back.
tough post, but a good one.
rock on.
Oh my God Rich. It might be the PMS, but I’m crying. Fucking CRYING!
I cannot even tell you how much I hate, hate, hate, hate HATE alcoholism.
Thank you for sharing. Again.
You’re much more eloquent than me (or is it I?). Plus, I can’t come right out and say what I mean when I post (peeps from work read it). While my experience has been a bit different, my sentiments are the same.
Powerful post Rich.
Without help, it is too much for us.
Well said, pal.
You remember what reading your blog did for me recently don’t you? It helped to stop me going down this path.
Love to you man.
Great post. Glad you are back friend.
NFH: Head above water, baby.
Eric: never mention your job on here again. fuckers.
Peter: Thanks, man.
Tracy Lynn: totally.
Callisto: no words, man.
Jen: Rock on.
Well put.
And best thoughts to your brother.
Live - Easy - But - Think - First
I heard an old timer yesterday at my home group say this “Keep Coming Back” we all rolled our eyes, but we knew he was right…
Some people are sicker than others. And with that said, we cannot get anyone sober all we can do is plant the seed and hope it grows. After that, it is all up to God and they who are still struggling.
You are all in my prayers
Jeremy
My husband was an alcoholic and remained so until he died at the age of 52. The fights, the treatment of his children and disregard for our marriage, lowered charges by the judicial system - none did anything to deter his drinking. He has been gone for almost 7 years and the long term scars are still evident - in my life and thinking and in my childrens lives. I am scared for the genetic fallout with my children. I admire you and the way you are able to face this addiction. Maybe if my husband had allowed an intervention such as AA, our lives and memories might be happier. ‘Keep up the good work. Love your family.
Oh Rich.
I Can’t
Even.
Imagine.
I have no words, but through your blog, I learn a lot.
Know that you inspire, even when you don’t mean to.
I hope he returns to normal soon. I am reminded, as always, that an addict of any kind can’t have just one. Not one drink, one sip, one taste.
I hope he remembers that soon.
G
Powerful post.
Relapse has sure been the blog topic of the week. Lynette (http://bigassbelle.blogspot.com/) posted the other day about three friends and the consequences of their return to active alcoholism. The man I credit with keeping me in the rooms of AA relapsed after 7 years. It’s heartbreaking to watch him struggle. He comes back for a meeting or two and is gone again for months. Like you, I don’t know whether my friend will live through this. I pray for him daily.
Hugs to you and your AA brother, and all others who struggle daily.
I come from a long line of alcoholics, and it did and does shape me. It impacts how I view human interaction, it directly influenced my choice of whom to marry. A biological quirk (I have that Asian inability to metabolize alcohol, so in my 20s I tended to get deathly ill before I got drunk) kept me from the fate my dad and my grandfather and probably generations before them went through.
Sometimes our bodies take care of us, sometimes we fail to take care of our bodies. But it’s our psyches that really need care, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that. I hope your friend remembers again.
[...] I haven’t mentioned most of my AA friends on this blog, but I have mentioned one. [...]