- Alcohol
- Faith
- Friends & Family
Submitted by: Susanne Johnson
Hi, I am Mari Anne and I am an alcoholic. My sobriety date is Feb. 25, 1991.
I was raised a preacher’s kid and born a twin. My father was an alcoholic and minister of a local church. My mother didn’t drink, although her parents and most of her relatives were alcoholics. She tried to keep the sanity in our home for all of us kids (there were five) but it was difficult given the insanity of religion and alcohol that permeated our home. I grew up looking for something– anything that would make sense of my world. It was crazy on the inside but we kept that to ourselves. My father used God to beat us down and control us and we rebelled in any way we could. Growing up was a continuing battle of wills.
I suffered from soul sickness though I didn’t know it. I grew up with a huge hole inside of me and I would do anything to fill it. My dad was emotionally and physically abusive, although we didn’t talk about it outside our home. We were the preacher’s kids and my dad was a respected man of the cloth in our community. We looked good on the outside but on the inside we were looking for anything to make us feel better.
At 18, I fled my home with a bunch of hippies and hitchhiked from Oregon to New York where the drinking age was 18. Thus began my love affair with alcohol. It took the edge off. It made me feel free and alive. I loved its effects for the next 20 years until it stopped working. I was married with two children, a great career, home, and friends. All looked good on the outside but the inside began to fall apart. I divorced my husband because I was sure he was the problem but depression engulfed me and at times I felt I was falling off the edge of the world. What was wrong? I had it all. Wasn’t I living the American Dream? I didn’t know what to do. So I went to a counselor.
She asked me if I drank too much and I promptly answered, “no.” I mean, I worked a high powered job and gave it 70 hours a week. I owned my own home and was raising my kids by myself. Look at me. Do I look like a drunk? Hell no. I wear suits, carry a brief case and wear high heals. I am no bum on the street. I’m somebody. So I kept drinking and struggling with depression and woke up wondering who was in my bed?
I was wrestling with alcohol and wondering if I should go to a 12-step group. I tried controlled drinking but that just made me angry. God, I didn’t want to be an alcoholic and get help. I wasn’t done having fun yet. Though it seemed I spent more time chasing fun then having it. But I couldn’t imagine life without alcohol.
Two of my close friends had gone to 12-step groups and they told me they’d take me to a meeting. They were both sober. I imagined dirty old men and toothless old ladies sitting around smoking and crying over their lives. That is not what I found. I found the young, the old, and the in-between. I found the well dressed, the not so well dressed– but most people were smiling. They had their teeth and if they didn’t, they would get them soon. Personally, I didn’t get it. Why were they having such a good time? I liked the meeting but after my friends took me I didn’t go back for a few months. I was too scared to go alone.
In January 1991, I went to my first meeting by myself. I still struggled with depression and had learned that alcohol is a depressant. Who knew? I thought it was the last thing that made me happy. I asked some “program” people where a good meeting was and they told me “Unity” on the hill. I was so nervous. I dressed down, not wanting to look like a lobbyist. Again, I was afraid someone might recognize me. I was a star, didn’t you know and had been on the news quite a bit. I never thought about the fact that I might know them too and we both had the same problem and were not all keen on sharing this fact. But at the time, it was all about me. ME, ME, ME!
I parked in the parking lot of the Unity Church and a tear fell down my face. Damn it, my life was about to change and I was scared. I waited until precisely 7 p.m. to go into the meeting. I didn’t want any chitchat time with these people. I just wanted to go to the meeting and leave as fast as I could. As I approached the door, a handsome young man held the door open, smiled at me and asked me, “Is this your first meeting?” I nodded and said, “yes.” And he said, “I’m Guy. You are in the right place.” I thought, “How did he know? Do I look different or what?”
The room was packed with people just like me. I sat in the back and chose the chair closest to the door in case I wanted to make a fast get-a-way. As I listened to people share their “experience, strength and hope.” I heard similar stories to my own. One woman who spoke sounded just like me. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel alone. She shared that she sought out men to fill that big hole inside of her that even alcohol and drugs couldn’t fill. There was never enough of anything to make her feel good enough and loved. Oh my God, that was me.
Even though I loved the meeting and felt comfortable there, I was not yet convinced that I was an alcoholic. I came back to the meeting the following week and had a similar experience of feeling like I was home but the lure of King Alcohol was so strong that it was wrestling with my soul to keep me as one of his. I remember at one such meeting, one man said, “Stay out of slippery places.” I had no idea what he meant but I said, “sure.” The next week I found out.
At work, my friends from the capitol kept asking me where I had been. Why wasn’t I going out with them? They missed me. So with some pushing and pulling they convinced me to go to the bar with them. I thought to myself that I didn’t have to drink; I could just hang, dance and listen to music. Well that lasted about five minutes. Number one, I didn’t know how to dance without alcohol and I wasn’t having much fun with a Diet Coke to sip. It wasn’t the same. I loved playing with my friends and it felt like I had lost the ability to play. I sat there hanging on to my Diet Coke for dear life, trying not to drink. One of my friends came over to me and said, “You’re not fun anymore. What happened?” Well that did it. I ordered my regular wine and thought I’ll show you fun!
Two hours later, when I ordered another drink, the cocktail waitress told me I was cut off. WHAT? CUT OFF? How come? I didn’t get it. I felt fine. How could she cut me off from another drink? It wasn’t even midnight yet, for God’s sake! For the first time in my life I thought there must me some truth to the fact that I was an alcoholic. Other people saw it, but I didn’t. Maybe they were right.
My friends and I left and headed to another bar down the street. I’d show them. But again, I was cut off. That did it. I finally resigned myself to the fact that yes, I was an alcoholic despite the fact that I had a job and owned a house. Maybe I wasn’t a low-bottom drunk but certainly I was a drunk! But I drove home drunk despite the evidence– typical for an alcoholic who suffers from a disease of perception.
My head hanging down, I went back to my 12-step meeting and sat there, resigned to the fact that I, Mari Anne, was an alcoholic and my life was unmanageable. I needed help and would do whatever it took to stay sober and change my life. I was done. I had hit my bottom. On February 25th in 1991, I began my journey into sobriety.
I went to meetings faithfully and got a sponsor, which was suggested to help me deal with life on life’s terms. At one point, I called my sober friend and asked him what to do. “How do you do this life sober?” and he said, “Fake it till you make it.” Well that I could do since I had been doing it my whole life.
I was learning to live in gratitude with the help of my meetings rather than live in fear. I now know that my actions and thoughts had always been fear-based (not good-enough) and did not allow me to be happy. Fear kept me a prisoner in my own head.
In time, my depression began to ease. The twelve steps were paramount to the healing that occurred. I learned that I had to stop blaming people, places and things for my situation and for the sadness and anger I felt. I had to take responsibility for my part in creating this crazy life I was living and take responsibility for my feelings. If something wasn’t working, I needed to change me.
I learned that I was the problem all along. There was so much power in recognizing that I was the problem because if I am the problem then I can do something about it. I had to stop blaming everyone and everything and stop trying to change the world to fit me– it doesn’t work. I learned that the only thing I could do was to change me and when I changed me, everything changed. What a powerful concept.
My sponsor got me involved in service work immediately. Giving back what has been freely given to you is one of the creeds of the twelve steps. I was the secretary at our meeting, setting up chairs, making coffee and handing out coins for sobriety anniversaries. I took meetings into the local jail and worked with others even though I wasn’t sure I had anything to give.
I listened to the stories in meetings and thought I’d give God a shot. Maybe God was not the bully I thought him to be– the judgmental control freak of my fathers making? Maybe this was part of my disease of perception. Just maybe, God was full of love and compassion as I was learning in the 12 step group. So I decided to define him/her as LOVE. My higher power became love and I began to thrive under his/her care. I was ever so grateful that the authors of the Big Book left this heady question of God up to each individual. It has worked where religion has failed. This twelve step program is a spiritual program. They say that religion is for people afraid of going to hell and spirituality is for people that have already been there. There is some truth to that.
My twin sister had a harder life and is just now finding some peace from alcohol and drug abuse, though she had to travel much further down the road then I did. Her road has been rough. I look at us and know that not much distinguishes us from each other other than I went to the 12-step group and she didn’t.
Here I am at 25 years clean and sober— happy, joyous and free. I am filled with gratitude that I had the courage to take the first step to admit that I was powerless over alcohol and that my life was unmanageable. I am all filled up on the inside and my insides finally match my outsides. I’ve never had it so good.