Beginner's Meeting: Hope Blossoms

Today I was ready. Today was going to be the day. When opportunity struck, I was going to raise my hand and speak. I sat and I waited, listening to everyone else share their good and bad times. And, just as I thought the moment was going to come, I froze.
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All I was able to do was sit there, smile, and listen to the next speaker, and ended up again waiting for the perfect opportunity to raise my hand. But no matter what I did, I just couldn't say a word. I have been coming to the same meeting for quite some time now, so I'm no longer surrounded by strangers. I've seen their faces and I've heard their stories, time and time again.
Believe me, I have plenty to say. I have tons of stuff going through my mind that I'm just dying to get out. But saying those things out loud is something I just can't bring myself to do. An annoying voice in the back of my head continuously says that my story is not worth sharing; that it has been told before. Why would someone want to sit through another repetition? I have no life worth talking about, nothing of interest has happened to me. I was never arrested, I never got pulled over, I didn't go to rehab or become homeless. So how can I say that my life has become unmanageable and that I cannot drink?
Simple: Once I start drinking, I cannot stop. I knew this from the time I took my first sip. The taste was overwhelmingly gross. I gagged at every sip. But for some strange reason, it felt great going down. I would often convince myself that the next taste would be better and, for a drink that made me feel so good, I would just have to get used to it. It was a simple price to pay. I enjoyed the feeling at fourteen years of age, and as I grew older, I began to love the feeling so much that I actually started to plan my life, my days, and my moments around the opportunity for me to get that feeling again.
At first, it was once in a while, then once a week, then twice a week, then just about every other day, with a day in between (swearing to myself that this is it; I've had enough; I'm not going to drink anymore).
But then a three-day weekend would come up, or a holiday, or a "just because life sucks" event, and that would send me right back to the store for another long night.
Then the week came when my partner and I hit our bottoms. We both had events take place in our lives that forced us to look at ourselves and see how destructive we had become. There was no escaping it -- we were alcoholics, and it was time to stop.
During our time trying to get sober, he was attending AA meetings and I was forced to stay at home and take care of the household, kids, and sobriety on my own. When I did attend the meetings, on special occasions, I felt I was on the outside looking in. I did not do the ninety-day meeting plan, I did not get a sponsor, and I couldn't pick a home group -- because I did not know where I belonged. I felt that since I did not raise my hand and introduce myself the first time I came into the rooms, I missed out and now had lost my speaking privileges. My partner, however, jumped headfirst into the program. I was only able to get my feet wet.
I felt lost, abandoned, and alone. Although I was trying to be supportive of his work in the program, at the same time I resented it. I resented him, because I wanted to go and be a part of it, and inside I felt I could not. It's not easy when both parents are in the program at the same time. I guess the worst of it is the feeling of having to put my program on hold. I had to deal with my alcoholism on my own.
This put me in familiar territory, because being alone was something I did well. You see, when I drank, I was never one to go to the bars and hang out, never one to mingle in parties. I drank alone. I have always preferred to drink alone. It allowed me to be myself, in my head. The crazy thing about it was that I often would wallow in self-pity because I was alone. I had no friends to hang out with, no one to talk to. I would fi nd myself sitting by the door drinking, listening to the commotion going on at the bar across the street, and wishing and wanting so desperately to be a part of it, a part of them. But I was too afraid to venture out, too afraid to be a part of them. I felt I didn't belong and I had no right to become a part of them.
And I hated my partner for it, because here I was drinking alone, and he was out there with the guys at the bar having a jolly good time. I constantly felt abandoned and rejected. For he would rather drink with them than with me.
So, of course, to pay him back I would drink some more. I would think, I will hurt him by drinking some more for leaving me here alone. That will show him. Boy, was I an idiot. I would end up drunk out of my mind, sitting by the window and burning cigarette holes in the sofa when I blacked out. I would be so drunk that there were many times the cigarette just tumbled out of my hand, often behind the sofa, and I would frantically have to pull the sofa back and get the smoldering cigarette before it burned a hole in the carpet. Sometimes I would wake up wet because I'd passed out and spilled beer all over myself. Then there was my long walk to the bathroom, where I would throw up, then make my way back to the living room. I would fall flat on my face, getting rug burns, then sit back on the couch and say to myself, I'll have another. So, while I was puking and passing out, he was out cold in bed. I really showed him.
When we started to get sober, I had this insane thought. Things were going to change; things were going to get better. He was finally going to hang out with me and be with me and life was going to be just great. Boy, was I wrong.
For the first two years, he was working the program and I had no idea what that entailed. But you can only imagine that while I was begging him to running off to a meeting. When I was desperate for some conversation, I was brushed aside for another member. I would be crying by myself at the window for feeling so alone. He was dashing out the door. This was not easy, not easy at all. I couldn't believe that my life was going to be this way. This feeling of loneliness keeps following me, I thought. I was tired of crying and I was tired of being alone. The thought of picking up a drink crossed my mind many times.
Often, I would say to myself, Oh, to hell with it all. Nobody cares whether you're sober or not, so why should you? I wanted to hide myself in a bottle -- that was the only way I knew how to deal with things. Drinking was the only thing that gave me a voice to speak up and say, out loud, what was on my mind and what I truly felt inside. So, when I put the drink down, in one sweep I lost my courage, my voice, and myself.
The funny thing is that I never truly had these things. My courage was an illusion because if I had any courage, why was I hiding behind a bottle? Why did it take a bottle of wine and a case of beer to loosen my tongue?
The truth is, I hated myself. There were many times I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I was ugly inside and out. I often walked with my head down. I was scared all the time and ashamed. I can still hear my father telling me that I'm useless and that I'm no good, can remember when I was twelve and he would beat me up and down the block, flinging me around like a rag doll, calling me a bitch or a whore -- loud enough for everyone to hear. I drank to forget about those times. I did not want to remember when he used to beat me with a wiffleball bat. I sure did not want to remember when he played the sweet, loving dad so he could touch me.
So, when I put down the drink, I felt life on an intimate level was over, because in order for any man to come close and touch me, I had to be drunk, drunk enough to the point of passing out and where my mind would reach a point of forgetfulness. I would stay away from everyone because I honestly felt I was unworthy to be near anyone. Why would they want to know me? I'm nobody. I'm nothing.
Things didn't start to change for me until I was reaching my second year in sobriety. An AA friend realized that I was handling my sobriety on my own without any sponsorship. She took me under her wing, started to work the Steps with me, and guided me through the literature. Slowly, I started to understand the Twelve Steps and began to believe that I could overcome this. That if I worked the Steps, my life and my train of thought would improve and things would get better. It took a lot of work; my self-esteem was down the toilet. I felt completely worthless.
I did not understand why she took an interest in me, why she even cared, but I'm grateful that she did.
Every day, I can feel a change come over me; I am more supportive of my partner's work in the program and we are seeing one another in a new and brighter light. When I enter a room, I'm no longer looking for a corner to hide in. I'm actually looking at the many faces and saying hello.
I don't know what the future holds. All I know is that I don't want what I used to have. I no longer take comfort in isolation. I now have friends in my life, and that grows stronger every day. I have hope, where I had no hope at all. And every day, I see myself evolving slowly into a person I have always wanted to be. I have learned a lot from yesterday, am grateful for today, and look forward to tomorrow.
Yesenia V., Long Beach, New York
What kind of help did you receive when you first came to AA? How do you and your group help newcomers today? Post on the Grapevine Forum at i-Say.
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