- Alcohol
- Mental Health
My name is Susan, and I am an alcoholic. Today I say that easily, comfortably and without reservation. When I stepped into my first support group meeting in 2004, my brain was so wet I was unable to even form the word “al-co-hol-ic.”
I grew up in South Central Pennsylvania. My parents are alive and healthy, celebrating 53 years of marriage this year. I have two incredible sisters with whom I am very close. I’m in the middle. As far as I have been able to learn, there is no knowledge of previous chemical addiction in our gene pool. My older sister and I broke that record in our family. However there is depression and suicide in our ranks. It is my belief that the member of my extended family that chose death was unable to find his drug of choice. You see, alcohol gave me wings. It saved me for a time. It was my escape from an otherwise miserable existence.
As far back as I can remember, I never felt that I belonged. I always believed that I was the odd duck. I believed I was not pretty, that I was bigger than most and that I wasn’t as athletically, musically or academically talented as my peers. I truly believed that everyone else was born with these talents and gifts, and I was the insignificant, unloved “other” that had nothing special to give.
When I was 14, I took my first drink of alcohol. I was with a bunch of older teens at an outdoor party on top of a small mountain. That evening turned a switch. I was able to dance in the street and in the dark with people I thought didn’t know I existed. The alcohol-driven changes within my spirit were complete and joyous in that moment. I was free. Free from worry, free from fear, free from the compulsion to think my way into isolation. I was a happy, dancing, giddy spirit with the chemical veil pulled over my dark and dying soul.
I was a blackout drinker from day one. I didn’t always drink to that point, but it was definitely the goal when I set out each night. With drink in hand, I sought out men, money, material possessions and anything and everything I thought would fill that void, that wretched aching pit. As my disease progressed, alcohol became my only friend. Alcohol is a subtle foe. Although it gave me wings, it waited patiently and then took away my sky.
When I dragged myself to a support group meeting, I was broken. I had two adolescent children, but only one was talking to me. I was in the middle of divorce number three. My father was unwilling to be in the same room as me. I had no social graces or skills. The bills were piling up, and the credit cards were over their limits. My hair was falling out from malnutrition. I couldn’t stand the reflection in the glass.
I was embraced upon entrance to that room on a Friday evening. I knew. I knew I was in the right place for the first time in my life. I had found salvation, my home. Support group rooms are filled with people that tell my story with their own tweaked details. I had no idea who these people were, what they did for a living or what their last names were, but they were instantaneously my family and have been so for the last 10 years. My sobriety date is April 1, 2004. By the grace of God, I have not found it necessary to take a drink or a drug since that date. I have embraced recovery in all aspects of my life. I worked the steps and just restarted them last month. I’ve found that stagnation in recovery is just as dangerous as walking backwards. I truly feel that in order for me to stay progressive in recovery, I need to be assertive and keep challenging myself to a higher sense of living. I am not in any way an organized-religion person. However I believe in a higher power that I choose to call God. Step two (believe that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity) and step three (turn our will over to the care of God as we understand Him) were absolutely and continue to be quite life changing. I don’t have to be in control of anything but my actions and responses! And trust me, that’s more than enough. I am not responsible for my thoughts, but I am responsible for my responses to them.
I love all the steps, but I love studying and practicing step 11 (improve our conscious contact with God as we understand Him through prayer and meditation, and ask only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out).
I take step 12 very seriously (carry the message of spiritual awakening and recovery to other alcoholics, and practice these principles in all our affairs). I try to help any and all newcomers as well as my various peers in the rooms. Service, service, service. Since I’ve been in recovery, there has not been a time I have not held a service position. Although I believe in the importance of these jobs to keep support groups going, I cannot live my life in the rooms. There are those who do, and I have no criticism of them. I believe there are those that are meant to serve such roles. I feel I must carry the message of recovery to those outside the rooms. I do my best to be an active community service agent. I give back to the community and society that I took from for far too long.
Today I have all my family members back in my life and communicating with me. I feel so very blessed and loved. Thank you so much for allowing me to share my story.