An Interventionist`s take on his own recovery

On Celebrating 32 Years of Sobriety

1st August 1982 -1st August 2014

Read More: Addiction, Alcoholism , Clean And Sober , Sobriety , AA

Thirty two years ago today I woke up in Oz Park in Chicago. I was there because I had cut myself off from life as I knew it and was reduced to panhandling and running to the liquor store to buy cheap vodka. I had been in the park for several months and thought this was yuppie camping. It was of course homelessness. I could not connect the dots between homelessness and addiction. I drank a lot. I did not want to quit drinking. I had used a lot of cocaine and other drugs but I thought that was what people did. I had never thought of quitting but I did want another address. I wanted clean clothes and a shower and a mail box! I called the twin sister of my old drug dealer and she sent her friend Larry G to see me.

Larry was eloquent and intelligent. An addict of what I know to be of our kind. He shared his story and led me to ask myself if my problem was addiction and he gave me numerous good examples. Oh, I tried like hell to talk my way out of it. Sure I drank a little too much upon occasion - but only when I was bored and lonely, as embarrassing as that was to admit. But something always dragged me back into the dark, depressing nether world where I was comfortable with my existential isolation. No matter how firmly I tried to stand, this undertow of addiction was always stronger than me. He used the analogy about crossing the invisible line and I did not understand it. As he left he invited me to an AA meeting, I thanked him politely as I had further research to do.

Four days later in desperation I walked through the front door of the Mustard Seed in Chicago and life changed forever. Thirty-two years ago, however, I wasn't as spiritual or as kind. I learned a saying in AA: the definition of a drunk is someone who can be lying in a gutter and still look down on people. That was me. But my grandiosity was really a cover for fear - fear of being found out as a fake. A fake smart person. A fake caring person. A fake person.  The fake police were always waiting to get me. So I had to hide whatever my "true" feelings were. I had lost contact with the children from my first marriage when they were three and one, it was now 11 years later and I was wracked with shame and guilt. I had no idea what my true feelings were – and I was certainly not ready to feel them.

Of course, I was also afraid to find out what those true feelings were - unless it was in the name of creativity. I had so many yucky feelings that I had simply stuffed that I was in danger of exploding. I always wanted to live on the edge, get close, real close, but never tip over. Surf through waves of tumult and mystery and the occult and feel splashes of insanity hit my toes - and then I'd kick back to safety. Or wind up in some hospital or crash pad. But alive.

I thought that if I got clean and sober I'd have to give up my individuality. I'd have to surrender my precious independence. I'd have to be whoever "they" wanted me to be and forsake forever my entitlement to be me, whoever "me" was at any given time.

Thirty-two years ago today all of me roared up in defiance and thought about refusing to go along with the program. I didn't want to hold anyone's hand and say any stupid prayer or believe in a power greater than myself. You would not have wanted to hug me yet you did.  Hell, I wouldn't even drink or use with these guys - which I secretly knew wasn't true. If you bought me a drink or handed me a joint, well, hey - I was your new best friend for life until I got sober and forgot your name. But a miracle happened quietly, imperceptibly the men of AA did for me what I could not do for myself. They showed me how to get well one day at a time.

But for all the rage and defiance and fear and grief at losing my best friends the drugs and the alcohol, 32 years ago today I knew my life was about to change dramatically. I could keep my identity or knowingly change it.  I didn't have to be swept around by the turbulent tides - I could learn to swim and better still, learn when not to wade into rough waters. I learned the distinction between humiliation and being humble.  I learned I don't have to compete with everyone on the planet - that there's enough love to go around. And that as the Beatles once said, the more love there is to share, the more love there is to make. Or something like that. Imagine.

This morning I get to wake up in my bright, comfortable, home in Olathe, Kansas, thank my wife, hug my dogs and think about my children all six of them and my precious grandchildren. Not an addict in sight! Then I get to open my IPad and get to work doing substance abuse counseling and interventions - something I never would have imagined doing 32 years ago when I was trapped in a closet of self-hatred and addiction, pretending to be free but never more enslaved in my life.

Today, I am abundantly creative, sane and spiritual. Thank you Larry G who carried me when I couldn't carry myself. He later died in his addiction which has always scared me. And thank you to 32 years of real friends - especially the many men who keep me right sized - who have taught me to be grateful and enjoy every moment of life I have the clarity, love and freedom to experience

Thank You South Leawood group and all my friends there who were just there when I needed you most.

The irony of all of this is that the thank you to Larry G is hollow, as you see Larry chose to go back to his addiction and die with a needle in his arm. I used to wonder about this and get upset. Now I see Larry as the angel who was sent to get my attention. I see that as powerful stuff so I think about Larry a lot and use him as a reminder that my reminder is to keep passing it on and I can only do that if I stay clean and sober.

By the way I was reunited with those children in 2010……and we have a relationship based on honesty, openness and willingness. How fitting!

Thanks for listening, and if in doubt talk to someone!